Page 1 of Rook
1
Three more tours and Sasha would be home free.
The end-of-season quiet was creeping in, settling over the dense pine and fir she called her office.
Soon, the last of the tourists would pack up their brand-new, barely used gear and go home. She wasn't sure what she was going to do once she was no longer shepherding clueless Midwesterners or influencers so determined to get the perfect selfie they seemed intent on falling off a cliff.
The solitude was what she craved, what had drawn her to this life, but it also brought a familiar, low-humming anxiety. Too much quiet gave her too much time to think.
She definitely wasn't hiding in the gear shed.
That would be cowardice, and Sasha Forde was no coward. She was merely taking a meticulous inventory of the equipment, her calloused hands moving with confidence over climbing ropes and carabiners. She hoped Erik would be gone by the time she finished.
They said not to date your coworkers.
That was true enough. It was even worse when that coworker you dated became an ex, especially in a place this remote. She wasn't sure what she had been thinking—a momentary lapse in judgment fueled by a shared bottle of whiskey and a lonely summer night.
Now it was clear: this tour company wasn't big enough for the both of them.
The heavy canvas flap of the shed’s entrance rustled and slapped against its frame behind her. Sasha winced at the crunch of approaching footsteps on the gravel path. There was only one other person here today.
Erik Daniel. The ex.
Great.
"Hey, Sash, how you doing?" Erik asked. His voice was laced with a casual charm she now found grating, as if they hadn't both been studiously avoiding each other ever since she’d found him sneaking into Caroline's tent at midnight two weeks ago.
Sasha didn't turn from the wall of neatly coiled ropes. "Did you need something?"
"I know some of the stuff is heavy back here, babe. I thought you could use some help."
"Don't call me babe." It landed like a stone in the quiet shed. She hadn't liked it when they were dating; she liked it even less now.
"Come on, Sash. No need to be a hard ass." He stepped inside, letting the flap fall closed and plunging the shed into dusty, shadowed light. The air suddenly felt thick, too close. "I thought we were just having some fun. We were good together. We could still be good together."
"Erik, stop." She clutched a thick bundle of rope, holding it between them like a force field, a boundary he couldn't cross. "It's over. We're done. We don't need to do this, okay?"
"Why do you take everything so seriously?" he demanded, his tone shifting from wheedling to sharp. The friendly façade cracked, revealing sour resentment beneath.
And right then, Sasha remembered that they were alone, miles from civilization, and her cell phone's reception was spotty at best. Her heart gave a hard, sudden thump in her ribs.
Shit.
"I just want to get things ready for the tour," she said, her voice impressively steady. "Everybody's coming in a couple of days. It's fine."
Erik took another step towards her, his shadow swallowing what little light filtered through the canvas. She hated herself for the instinctual step back she took, the toe of her boot bumping against a stack of sleeping bags. Going deeper into the gear shed only meant she was more trapped.
Since when did she think of Erik as the type to trap her? She’d agreed to go out with him because he seemed nice, easygoing. Not this.
"You always think you're so much better than everyone else," he sneered. "So I made one little mistake. Get over it."
"How is Caroline?" Okay, that was bitchy, but she was allowed. She was the one that got cheated on.
Erik made a sound of disgust and turned on his heel, his anger a force in the small space. He shoved the canvas flap aside and stalked out of the shed, leaving Sasha alone with the silence.
Thank god. She let out a breath, the tension draining from her shoulders. She really didn't want to deal with that anymore.
She got back to work, losing herself in the familiar rhythm of preparation. She tried to forget Erik was still around somewhere. He was infuriatingly decent at his job, almost as good of a guide as she was.
