Page 67 of The Lodge

My wrist still hurts if I twist it the wrong way, but it’s been mostly good this afternoon.

The idea is too tempting to resist.

Let me pack up my work, I write back.I’ll come over

The path back to our building is more crowded than usual: cozy couples walking hand in hand; a group of teenage girls who lookvery copy/paste right down to their matching to-go cups of cocoa; the occasional resort staff member dressed in uniform. Saturday night is in full swing, and I suddenly find myself with plans just like everyone else.

I almost back out at least twice on my walk over.

When I’m talking with Tyler, or texting with him, it’s easy to forget his past; his warmth is magnetic, and he makes me feel so comfortable in my own skin.

When the talking and texting ends, in the silence, I remember.

I remember all the things he ran from. All the people he left in the dark, worrying and wondering and making theories—making accusations. I don’t entirely understand it, not yet.

But I want to.

Was it really his only option to make himself disappear like he did? Would he ever make himself disappear again if things got too hard?

Does he ever regret what he did?

I can tell myself all day long that it’s a bad idea to get close to someone with a history like his—someone who chose to run, to leave everything behind—but what it comes down to is that I like him. I like him alot.

Which is why, I’ve decided, I’m going to just come out and ask him about it.

I want to hear him defend it.Needto hear him defend it, especially if I intend to continue keeping his secret. I haven’t entirely made up my mind yet on what to do about that—I could justify my decision either way—so this conversation will hopefully be the tipping point.

The elevator opens, and there he is, leaning against the wall outside my door, freshly showered and smelling like a dream of shampoo and soap and cologne. He’s wearing a different pair ofcomfy pants this time—black joggers, thinner fabric than his thick charcoal ones—and a light gray V-neck.

“Hi,” he says with the sort of shy smile that seems impossibly at odds with the fact that he’s a world-famous pop star.

There’s already a fire blazing in his living room fireplace, and the Edison bulbs give the place an extra-cozy feel. It’s too warm in here for all the layers I’m wearing, so I tear off my cropped lavender hoodie and the long-sleeved base layer underneath it, leaving only a black tank top paired with dark teal yoga pants.

“Would you like a drink or anything?” he calls out from the kitchen as I check out his collection of novels on the bookshelf. He was not kidding about liking spy thrillers. “Wine or a cocktail?”

I join him in the kitchen, see an unopened sauvignon blanc he’s clearly pulled straight from the fridge.

He notices me eyeing it. “That one’s one of my favorites,” he says, pulling two wineglasses down from a nearby cabinet.

A few minutes later, we’re sitting together on his leather couch. The fire radiates heat, the wine is crisp and chilled, and we’re also splitting some pita and hummus he had on hand since I sort of forgot to eat a real dinner.

Every sip of wine infuses me with more courage.

Unfortunately, every sip of wine also makes me want to forget talking altogether. I’m ready to get to the massage I promised—and maybe more—

But if I don’t bring it up soon, I might never work up the nerve.

Maybe I should just do both at once. All intimidating conversations go down smoother with a side of massage—that’s a saying, right?

In the end, I decide to just dive in before I change my mind.

“Your laptop bag is monogrammed,” I say as casually as I canmanage.TJB. “I realized earlier that you never told me your last name.”

It’s possible that I practiced this intro in my head on the walk over. I know what the ski schoolsayshis last name is… but he doesn’t know that I know.

His gorgeous eyes meet mine, and everything moves in slow motion: the flicker of panic that’s there and then gone—the muscle in his jaw that subtly twitches—the way he seems to be weighing his options.

Truth or lie.

---