Page 34 of Scout
Kendrix chuckles. “I wish. Nah, I rented it from a guy who owns a chain of dental clinics. Place is ridiculous. Wraparound balcony that overlooks Mount Rainier, hot tub, fireplace… total rich-people Pinterest board energy.”
“Fancy teeth money,” Scout mutters, impressed. “Love that for us.”
An hour in, we stop for brunch at a café that looks like a log cabin met an Instagram filter. Wood-paneled walls, strong coffee, cinnamon French toast that Scout moans over like he’s trying to get it pregnant.
Kendrix rolls his eyes. “You sound like you’re trying to seduce the syrup.”
“I seduce whoever listens,” Scout says, licking butter off his fork with a grin.
We linger longer than we probably should. Kendrix finishes off his omelet with the slow, resigned chew of a man accepting defeat in the form of Scout’s charm. I nurse my coffee and watch them bicker about whether hashbrowns can only be served with breakfast.
Scout licks the powdered sugar off his thumb and leans back with a satisfied sigh. “Ten out of ten. Would flirt with again.”
Kendrix groans. “Please don’t make that a thing.”
Scout winks. “Too late.”
We settle the bill and Scout insists on leaving a tip that’s borderline outrageous before heading back to the car.
Back on the road, we swing by a gas station. I fill the tank while they argue inside about the superior road trip snack. Scout wins—obviously—and comes out victorious with sour straws, peach rings, and a smug little smirk that Kendrix pretends to ignore.
By the time we pull into the condo’s driveway, the sun’s brushing gold across the treetops.
And the place? Ridiculous.
It's exactly like Kendrix described.
Glass walls. Dark wood exterior. Crisp air, pine everywhere, that peaceful hush that only money and altitude can buy.
Scout whistles low. “Okay. A guy could get used to this.”
“Couldn’t we all,” I say, grabbing the bags. “Pretty sure this place costs more per night than my first apartment did per month.”
Inside, it’s all sleek lines and cozy wood. The kitchen gleams. The fireplace begs to be used. There’s a hot tub bubbling on the deck and three sleeping spots: two bedrooms and a pullout couch.
Scout throws his bag on the couch without being asked.
“Someone’s trying to look noble,” Kendrix says, eyeing him.
“I’m trying to lookflexible,” Scout shoots back, not missing a beat.
Kendrix just shakes his head and claps once. “Alright. Groceries. I thought we could cook together tonight?”
Scout perks up. “I’m in. Please tell me we’re not driving an hour into town.”
“Fifteen minutes,” I say. “You’ll survive.”
“I figured we could check out the town first, stretch our legs, see what mountain people get up to when they're not skiing.” Kendrix smiles.
Scout perks up. “Do they sell maple syrup in mason jars and flannel shirts by the pound?”
“Only on Fridays,” I deadpan. “You're in luck.”
We pile back into the car and head into the nearest town—small, mountain-vibes, with a local market that smells like cedar and overpriced candles.
We spend the next hour or so wandering the little town that sits tucked in the shadow of Mount Rainier—quaint, charming, and painfully photogenic. Scout insists on taking a picture in front of a carved wooden bear outside a tourist shop that sells homemade fudge and hiking socks. Kendrix buys a tiny bottle of locally made ghost pepper hot sauce, declaring it a dare.
The three of us drift in and out of boutiques and cafés, the vibe casual. Flirtation in the spaces between conversation. Glances that linger too long. A low hum of anticipation building in the back of my chest.
