Page 11 of The Wedding Twist

Would it be helpful to stay in Jack’s class, to learn a bit more about the sport, to be able to casually drop some lingo in an interview and converse with her clientele? It wouldn’t hurt—that was for sure.

With the lodge at 75 percent over the coming weeks, she could definitely handle the online accounting course and Jack’s class. Besides, tying flies was kind of fun.

She would do it. A night away from the lodge and her strangely behaving parents, and a new way to connect with her guests, wherever she ended up working. And if the rumors were true about Annie Flint’s retirement, she’d have to start getting her resume together too.

The mist turned to rain. Celeste turned back toward the lodge and picked up her pace.

Things were falling neatly into place—just as she liked it.

Chapter Four

Jack spooned freshlyground coffee beans into his French press and filled it up with boiling water from the kettle, then gazed out the window at the steady rain beating down on the thick pine forest outside of his house while he waited for the grounds to steep.

His house was a well-built riverside bungalow he’d bought three years earlier from a family of four moving to Ottawa. It sat one hundred feet from the upper Bow River, which flowed from Bow Lake and Banff, snaking down through the Rockies all the way south of Calgary. He had neighbors on both sides, with enough forest in between for everyone to have their privacy but still feel like there were people to rely on if someone needed a cup of sugar or help picking up mail while they were on vacation. This stretch of the river was sandwiched between Sandpiper Springs, a small, gritty lumber town, to the north and Keystone Ridge to the south.

The house had three bedrooms, one of which he used to sleep, another which served as his office, and the third where he kept his bookshelves and a big comfy couch as well as a Murphy bed for when his brother, Caden, came to visit from Surrey with his wife, Julie, and their one-year-old girl, Millie.

There’d been a point when those rooms had been meant to serve a very different purpose. But after Christine had broken things off and left town, he couldn’t bring himself to sell. He liked the quiet of the forest, the way the light trickled through the trees, and the burble of the river at night when he left the windows open a crack.

Every now and then a memory of sitting out on the porch drinking coffee with Christine flashed in his mind, but it had been two years since she’d left and he’d gotten used to having his coffee solo.

It was the perfect home as far as Jack was concerned, but the rising interest rates on his variable-rate mortgage and the steady increase in property taxes that kept up with the area’s increasing popularity meant that if business didn’t pick up soon, he might have to downsize to something smaller in town.

He poured himself a cup of coffee in a travel mug, then whistled for Bodie, his ten-year-old Siberian husky, who leapt from his bed in front of the wood-burning fireplace, panting in anticipation of his morning walk. Only a dog would be that excited to leave a cozy spot in front of the fire to go out in the damp early-spring rain, and lucky for Bodie, inclement weather never phased Jack. He was as happy outside in the snow or sleet as he was on a radiant sunny day. He lived to be outside—another reason why his parents hadn’t been able to convince him to pursue teaching or some other kind of corporate job.

The days he wasn’t working played out the same way: morning walk with Bodie, followed by a trip into town for errands. Then he’d get some chores done at home and do some cooking and listen to a podcast or watch something on Netflix.

His life was quiet and predictable, but it suited him. And he got enough people time from his job anyway—at least when he had customers.

Before leashing up Bodie, Jack opened his laptop and took a sip of his coffee while the machine booted up. He crossed his fingers that the couple hundred bucks he’d dumped into social media advertising, at his brother’s urging, had resulted in a few bookings.

No luck.

Now he was out the cost of two registrations. He grunted in frustration and pushed the laptop closed. “Come on, Bodie,” he said.

It was misty and gray out, but the frigid temperatures had recently been making way for a warmer but damper early spring.

Jack always kept his dog on a leash when they walked. Bodie would love to run free through the woods, chasing squirrels and field mice, but there was always a chance they’d encounter a bear or a cougar, and Jack’s home was empty enough without him losing Bodie too.

When they reached the river, Jack stopped in his tracks. “What in the goddamn hell,” he grunted and gripped Bodie’s leash tightly. The husky must have felt the current of anger right through the leash to his collar, and he started barking at the figure out on the river.

Standing in fresh-out-of-the-box waders and holding a fishing rod was Forrest Halpern, one of the most privileged twentysomethings in the area, who’d recently gotten a huge influx of cash from his daddy to fund the startup of his own wilderness-adventure company. Despite Forrest’s lack of experience as an angler, his company was siphoning clients from Jack as quickly as a frosh with a beer funnel at a frat party.

Jack had heard that he was fully booked all summer, thanks to a series of TikTok and Instagram videos he’d hired a production company to make. Forrest had the experience of Jack’s baby toe, and he couldn’t believe the charlatan was capitalizing on zero training.

And now he was parading right in front of Jack’s place. It was for sure on purpose. Forrest had hated him since Jack had made a side comment to Forrest’s father at a town meeting about his son’s rumored side hustle. Jack didn’t have any evidence, but word from the guys at the tackle shop was that Forrest was moving cocaine, fentanyl, and methamphetamine around in Sandpiper Springs and the surrounding communities that were also on the rougher side, and he’d figured his dad would want to know.

Kendall Halpern, Forrest’s dad and the owner of the province’s largest logging company, had waved Jack off, but after a local high school kid had OD’d at a bush party and the police had questioned Forrest, Kendall had gotten involved and all charges had been dropped.

Now not only was Jack trying to make up ground for his slumping business, but he was competing with a sniveling douchebag who had infinite resources and was probably snorting any profits in powder form.

“Hey there, Wallace,” Forrest called, giving him an exaggerated wave. “Hope you don’t mind—I’m scouting out some new spots! You’re not using this area these days, are you, bro?”

It’s only my goddamn backyard, Jack wanted to say.Bro.“No. Not much action here, though,” he said. Which Forrest would know if he knew anything about anything.

“I’ve got some Helios I’m looking to sell, if you need anything. Just picked up these new Sage X rods. Sweet, eh?”

Jack’s blood boiled. He did need new equipment, but he’d never give Forrest Halpern the satisfaction of taking his castoffs. He gave Forrest a quick wave and kept walking, but not before noting the rookie cast he made, which was even more embarrassing given the quality of his rod, to the tune of at least two grand. Jack waited until he was far enough away to smirk to himself.

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