Page 73 of The Lodge

“And—wait for it—croutons.”

I’m in true danger of choking on my chocolate croissant; I close my eyes, focus on getting it down the right way. When I open them, there’s Tyler, eyes bright, beaming.

“So let me see if I have this right,” I say, now that I can speak again. “You actuallydohave preferences, but you let her make you whatever she wants just to mess with her.”

“Correct,” he says. “But wait, she actuallytoldyou I don’t have preferences?”

“She said she’s been trying for years to crack what you like and what you don’t. You’re such a closed book—you change the subject whenever it gets too close to something real.”

He glances behind him, making sure we’re still in the clear.

“I didn’t think anyone paid enough attention to notice,” he says quietly.

“Well, she did. And so did I.”

He studies me for a moment, eye contact so intense it makes me want to sweep everything off this table so I can climb over it and into his lap.

“I’m glad you did,” he finally says.

“Me too.” I glance down, then meet his eyes again. “And I’d love to do dinner with your friends. If you’re ready for that.”

“The only thing I’m not ready for is how much shit they’re going to give me over the fact that I’vefinallyinvited someone to one of our group dinners,” he says. “But they’ll give me shit no matter what, so it might as well be for a good reason this time.”

“Can I ask—after all these years of not going out with anyone, whydidyou pick me?”

I’ve been dying to know. And it suddenly feelsimportantthat I know, given the temptation in my inbox.

“Honestly? It was your cat. And the fact that you were staying next door at all.”

Of all the reasons he could’ve given, I admit that my cat is not one I ever expected.

“You asked me out… because of Puffin?”

He laughs, like he’s only just now hearing how ridiculous it sounds.

“Riv owns the penthouse you’re staying in,” he explains. “No one ever stays there, so when I saw you that day waiting for the elevator, I knew you had to be someone special. Someone Riv had personally allowed into his space. And then when you told me they’d said yes to yourcat—it just surprised me, is all. They only let me have a goldfish, and I’ve known them my entire life.”

I try my best to cover my surprise: all this time, Sebastian has acted like it washispenthouse to share with me.

The fact that it belongs to River instead brings up so many questions.

River has to know I’m writing Sebastian’s memoir, right? To allow a stranger to stay in one of his personal penthouses for a solid month—wouldn’t he have to know? Surely Sebastian would have told him when asking for the favor.

Why would River say yes to an entertainment journalist moving in next door to his best friend—his best friend who’s gone to great lengths to make himself disappear—all while continuing to keep his secret?

It doesn’t make any sense.

“I still can’t believe they only let you have a goldfish,” I finally say.

It’s all I can manage.

“In Pete’s defense, he is a very companionable goldfish,” Tyler replies, not missing a beat, and I laugh.

Something he said earlier nags at me.

“You said I seemed like someone special because River had personally allowed me into his space,” I say, “but at some point you must have figured out that I don’t actuallyknowRiver.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Riv and Jules get requests all the time for people to stay at the resort,” he says. “Travel writers, athletes, food critics—all strangers, but almost always notable in some way or another. They usually stay over at the main lodge or in one of the lower suites.” He shrugs. “I figured Riv knew someone at your publisher and that’s why you got extra-special treatment—all he told me was that you were a writer with a good reputation.”

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