Page 14 of Hot Knot Summer
“I like that,” Ash nods appreciatively. “Do I get to fly?”
“And tear apart bad guys with your talons,” Lily adds cheerfully, then at my raised eyebrow, “What? Every good fantasy needs some violence.”
“You all are too much fun,” I say, yet I’m smiling.
“But you’ll write us into your book, right?” Lily presses, eyes sparkling.
“Maybe I will,” I answer, surprising myself. “A witch, a werewolf, a fairy, and a griffin walk into a magical bakery...”
“...and solve magical crimes while eating supernatural pastries,” Lily finishes.
As we dissolve into another roundof laughter, I realize I haven’t thought about Chad or Megan in over an hour. Maybe Whispering Grove is exactly what I needed after all.
After promising to return to the bakery, I call a rideshare to take me to the cabin just as it starts to sprinkle outside, darkening the sky fast. The driver is less chatty than the first, which suits my increasingly tired state.
As we leave the main part of town, the road winds upward through thick forest. The trees grow denser, the houses more sparse, until finally, we turn onto a private drive markedPinecrest Cabin.
“Pretty remote,” the driver comments as we approach. “You staying here alone?”
“Oh… yeah, I’ve got friends meeting me later today,” I say, forcing a smile. No way am I about to admit to a complete stranger that I’m here alone.
The cabin itself is beautiful. A classic wooden building nestled among towering pines with a wide deck and large windows. In other circumstances, I’d be thrilled by the romantic seclusion. Now, I just hope the Wi-Fi is strong enough for streaming sad movies.
The driver leaves me alone in the darkening storm. I punch in the four-digit code Chad gave me, back when we were still supposed to vacation here together, then step inside. My duffle bag sits just where I left it earlier. The cabin is just as charming inside as it is out: knotty pine walls, a stone fireplace, a cozy seating area, and a kitchen that opens into a small dining nook. A spiral staircase leads up tothe loft bedroom.
I reach for a light switch. Nothing happens.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter, trying another switch. Still nothing.
I pull out my phone, relieved to see I have one bar of service, and call the number for the rental agency.
“Whispering Grove Rentals, this is Donna,” a cheerful voice answers.
“Hi, I’m checking into the Pinecrest Cabin, and there’s no power,” I explain.
“Oh, dear. There was a storm last night that knocked out some lines in that area. The electric company is working on it, but they’re backed up with the festival preparations.”
“So, when will it be fixed?” I almost gasp the words.
“They’re hoping by tonight.” Her voice is apologetic. “There are flashlights in the kitchen drawers, and the water should still work since it’s on a well with a backup generator.”
“Great,” I say, not bothering to hide my sarcasm. “Anything else I should know about? Bears? Axe murderers? Alien abductions scheduled for tonight?”
She laughs nervously. “No, nothing like that. With the festival, most places are booked solid, or I would offer to find you another temporary location to stay.”
“It’s fine.” I sigh, remembering what both my rideshare drivers had said about accommodations. “I’llmanage.”
“I’ll have someone out first thing tomorrow to check on things if the power hasn’t returned. And I’ll apply a discount for the inconvenience, of course.”
“Thanks,” I say and end the call.
I find the mentioned flashlights and even some candles in the kitchen drawers and set about making the place habitable. Thankfully, the refrigerator isn’t fully stocked yet, so there’s nothing to spoil. The stove is gas, at least, so I can make coffee in the morning with the French press I spot on the counter.
As I light candles, the romantic atmosphere they create feels like a cruel joke. This is where Chad and I were supposed to spend two weeks together, where I thought he might finally mark me as his Omega with his bite. Instead, I’m alone with flickering shadows and a growing sense of ridiculousness.
I heave my duffel bag upstairs and onto the bed, unzipping it, and I freeze. The scent that wafts up isn’t mine. It’s Chad’s, that familiar blend of sandalwood and citrus that used to make my heart race and now makes my stomach clench.
“What the hell?” I mutter, digging through the contents. Men’s clothes. Chad’s favorite designer shirts meticulously folded. His expensive toiletry kit. His stupid protein powder.
