Page 58 of The Lodge

But the other part of me? The other part of me doesn’t take professional opportunities for granted—because I need to pay rent on my tiny, frustrating apartment with the terrible heat and the terrible neighbors. Because I need toeat. Because Puffin also needs to eat.

Puffin, who’s now curled into a bagel on top of the True North book that’s still open in my lap, purring loudly, probably still starving.

I sigh, pick up my phone.

There’s a new text from Lauren.

Ughhhhhhhh, it says, along with a preview of an image.

I slide open the notification and see a handwritten note from the landlord affixed to my front door. I skim it and my heart sinks: in short, Lauren apparently had some loud friends with her late last night while waiting for the locksmith, and they caused three separate noise complaints. Technically, she’s not even supposed to be living with me—so this could get dicey in a hurry if we’re notcareful. This is just a warning, thankfully. If she gets another one, however, I could be in danger of eviction.

My building is pretty strict about quiet hours, I reply.

Yeah, I noticed

If you’re going to have people over, please please please make sure they’re quiet, I write back.I can’t afford to get evicted.

My apartment might be tiny and frustrating, but the rent is fantastic for the location—the only reason I’ve been able to live there as long as I have. I also don’t want to have to explain a move; our parents have never quite understood my choice to work in entertainment journalism. Even though I’m making it from month to month and have a nice little savings cushion from the book deal, I don’t want to give them any more reason to gossip with my siblings behind my back about how they wish I’d picked something more lucrative, with more stability.

A fleeting, terrible thought crosses my mind: I could probably get a gigantic windfall of cash now that I’ve located the long-lost Jett Beckett—auction off the story to the highest bidder, telling the world how he’s been living a secret life all these years as a ski instructor in Vermont. And not only a pile of cash… but a byline that would make my name instantly recognizable and guarantee work for the foreseeable future.

I squeeze my eyes shut, try to force the thought from my mind. Spilling Tyler’s secret could change my life in unimaginable ways, but it would almost certainly ruin his.

What kind of person would that make me?

A smart one, maybe, my inner voice supplies.

Smart or not, I’m not sure I’m ruthless enough to take advantage of someone that way, even out of desperation. Especially not someone who sent me a cat emoji less than an hour ago—who offered to help with Puffin, with breakfast.

Guilt twists in my gut as I pick up my phone to reply.

Hiiiii, I write back to Tyler.

I’m choosing to continue thinking of him as Tyler, since a) that’s the name he’s chosen for who he isnow, and b) I’d erase all memory of my interaction with him as Jett if I could. If I’d never met him as Tyler, I’d sell him out in a heartbeat—but the fact is, the guy I met on the mountain has been nothing but kind to me. Nothing but generous, gracious. Trusting.

The least I can do is let him explain himself.

You didn’t wake me, I was just lost in work, I continue.I could use your help if you’re still up for it? Puffin jumped on my wrist and it’s not feeling great

His reply is immediate:Perfect. Went ahead and started on a batch of Belgian waffles… could totally eat them all on my own… would rather share if you want to come over :)

And then, in another bubble that quickly pops up, he says,I’ll come feed Puffin first, though. Be right there

Our first day on the slopes, he said I looked familiar. Now I know why.

Has he put it together yet that I’m the same journalist who interviewed him years ago? The one who asked himthequestion about walking away? He must have met hundreds of girls back then. Thousands, maybe.

If he were to figure out where he recognizes me from, would he say anything? Or would he be too afraid to bring it up?

There’s a knock at my door. Puffin lifts his head, ears perking up.

“Sorry, buddy,” I tell him as I urge him gently off my lap.

I cannot let myself get any more invested in Tyler, I coach myself as I go to let him in.

Because what sort of future could there ever be for us, even if I ultimately decide to keep his secret for as long as I live?

For the first time, it occurs to me how incredibly lonely he must be after eight years of keeping himself hidden, and how hard it would be for him to resurface after all this time. No wonder he doesn’t make a habit out of having women over—

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