Shelly grins. “I’m always up for tequila,” she tells me. “As you know. However, and I don’t want to sound trampy here, Josh gave me that look earlier. I think I’ll go see if he needs turn-down service.”
“You’re incorrigible,” I answer. “Seriously.”
She beams, as though it were a compliment. “Thank you!”
“He’s a spoiled rich boy,” I tell her. “And as a guest, he’s off-limits. So . . . no.”
She lifts an eyebrow. “No?”
I shake my head. “Absolutely not. I know that you’ve bent the rules in the past, but now that Gran is gone, I have to prove myself, Shel. We have to be serious about this. Do not do anything unprofessional. You’re going to have to restrain yourself.”
“Fine. I’ll just go to bed early,” she says, and she thinks she’s sneaky.
“I’m onto you,” I tell her. “You’re not going to his room, Shel.”
She groans. “Fine. I’ll just go put a hair mask on my hair, then, Grinchy.”
She disappears into the lodge, and I ponder whether I should just take a long hot bath with a cup of cocoa.
The fireplace beckons me, though, and I follow Shelly inside and grab a bottle of Merlot from behind the bar.
The tall wing-back chair welcomes me, and the fire toasts my cheeks as I soak up the warmth. Sometimes, after being outdoors in the snow, a person can feel frozen to their bones.
The wine will help that.
I uncork it with a pop, and fill my wineglass to the rim while I softly sing a Christmas carol.
As I sip, I focus on the liquid turning my chest warm and flushing my cheeks. Above the mantel, a picture hangs of my great-grandparents, Sophie and Eberdale, standing on the steps of this very lodge with my gran at their side. She’s eighteen or so in the picture, and she’s black-and-white and two-dimensional. She looks somber, as do her parents. Why do old-timey photos always look so serious? Surely they laughed, too, like we do. I’m sure times were harder, but still. Levity can be found anywhere.
Gran’s eyes look past the photographer, like she’s watching for something on the horizon.
“I miss you,” I tell her grumpily. “I wasn’t ready, Gran.”
Her serious eyes look past me.
“Also, please never have hooked up with Dan.”
I shiver and take another drink at the thought.
Please, God, no.
The grandfather clock ticks the minutes past, and I stretch my sock-covered feet out in front of me, closing my eyes.
I listen to the flames licking at the stone, and before I know it, I’m sliding into sleep.
Chapter Two
I wake to the noise of the Norton party preparing to leave the lodge.
“Did you sleep in that chair?” Hank booms from the foyer. I try to turn in his direction, but my stiff neck protests. I rub it, hard, my thumbs digging deep into the rigid muscle.
“Not intentionally,” I clarify, rolling my neck this way and that to loosen it. “Let me check the weather report before you go. I’m sorry. I normally would’ve had this all taken care of by now. I overslept in this dang chair.”
“You’re up now,” Hank says, without concern. “Don’t fret about it. The weather is fine, see?”
He gestures toward the large windows, and it’s clear and bright. Frost had created intricate designs on the glass in the night, delicate artwork made from crystal.
“Just lemme check,” I say as I spin through my phone. “It can change in a moment.”
But my phone won’t connect to the network.
“Dang it,” I mutter, shaking it, as if that will help.
“Don’t fret about it,” Hank repeats as he drops another bag onto their gear pile. “It’s fine. We’re only going out for a few hours today, anyway.”
I fumble with my useless phone, trying another weather site. It still won’t connect. I can’t even text Shelly.
I get to my feet, straightening my shirt.
“Just give me a minute,” I tell the group. Josh looks up from where he’s lacing his boots.
“We’re not going to be out long,” he tells me. “Seriously. It’s freezing out there.”
“Alaska generally is in the winter,” I tell him, with a wink. Dang it, Piper. Control your tongue.
“So I’ve heard,” he replies, unoffended. He stands up and shakes his hair out before he puts on the stocking hat. “I’m ready. Let’s do this!” he declares.
The group thumps their chests like Nordic warriors.
“Just wait a sec,” I plead, but they don’t. They continue suiting up and I sigh. “The sun sets around two forty-five right now,” I tell them. “Please be back before then.”
“We will be,” Hank assures me, and then they’re gone.
“Damn it,” I mutter, searching for Shelly. I find her in the kitchen, leisurely making coffee.
“Internet is down,” she tells me as I come in. “Good morning, by the way. You look like hell. Wait a second. . . .” She stares me up and down. “You’re wearing the same clothes as yesterday. Did you . . . Piper McCauley!”
I stare at her. “No, I did not sleep with a guest. Lord, Shelly. Get it through your head—we can’t sleep with guests.”
She relaxes. “Good. Josh turned in early last night, so I didn’t have a chance to work my magic on him.”
“Again, we can’t sleep with guests,” I tell her. “Fantasize all you want, but keep your paws off him.”
“A girl can dream,” she says stiffly. “You don’t need to call me out.”
I roll my eyes. “Did you have a chance to check the weather before we lost our signal?”
She shakes her head. “No. I checked it last night before bed, and it’s supposed to be clear, with a high of negative seventeen.” She glances at me. “I low-key checked their gear this morning. They’ve got all of the right stuff, Piper. They’ll be fine.”
“I don’t know why I’m so unsettled,” I admit.
“Because you’re a perfectionist,” Shelly tells me. “They’re gone for the day, though. You can relax, let down your hair . . .” She eyes me. “You can relax and comb your hair,” she amends.
I shove her arm playfully and she grins.
“Seriously, though. Go shower. I think you spilled wine on yourself. I mean, unless you committed murder in the night.”
I glance down and indeed find a wide crimson stain on my shirt. “This morning just keeps getting better and better!”
Shelly laughs, but I honestly feel a bit deflated. She notices.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, her tone turning serious.
I shake my head. “I . . . I don’t think I can do this, Shel.”
Her head snaps up.
“Are you being serious right now?” she asks. I nod.
“I’m not Gran,” I tell her. “Gran wasn’t afraid of a thing. She ran this place for so long by herself, and she was perfect. Me, on the other hand . . . I overslept in a chair in the great room and let my first tour group since Gran died leave without a weather report. I’m hopeless.”