A trip to Alaska wasn’t just the top item on Zoey’s bucket list. Alaska was the whole bucket and the water inside it.
Never had Zoey been so excited, so overwhelmed, and so ready to sleep off the jet lag her nine-hour flight had given her. But Lana insisted on them coming to the rustic little hamburger and hot dog joint, claiming this a rite of passage. The Tourist Trap was charming in the same way the guy at the grill was charming. A little rough around the edges, but amusing. There weren’t any menus, only a whiteboard sign with a Magic Marker. It read Menu: Same crap we always have. Specials: Whatever you jerks didn’t eat yesterday.
Zoey liked it here already.
Swirling her glass idly, Zoey decided the gorgeous cook should have at least added salt to her yellow water and made it room temperature.
If one was going to be a smart-ass, it was important to go all in.
Graham was disturbingly attractive. Too attractive. Grab your moose pee and run back to the hotel on the mountain type of attractive. In Zoey’s world, that level of attractiveness was almost off-putting. Medium attractive was more her type. Safer. Calmer. Less…whatever was happening over there behind that grill.
If the Tourist Trap wanted to make money, they needed cooks who were remotely approachable. Not tall, muscled, scruffy-faced men in blue jeans and snug white T-shirts with warm eyes.
He caught her looking at him and winked.
Graham gave exceptionably good wink.
“Oh, you’re a bad, bad idea.” Zoey groaned, shaking her head. “Nope, not doing that.”
“Not doing what, love?” Lana dropped down in the seat next to Zoey, drumming her fingernails on the tabletop. “Who are we not doing?”
“No one.” The clack of rattling ice cubes against metal pulled her attention. Yep. Sexy T-shirt man was shaking something in a makeshift cocktail shaker fashioned from a YETI tumbler. Strong fingers held the shaker closed with a single hand, biceps flexing as he absently shook the YETI and scooted fresh-seared burgers to the far side of the flat top grill.
Competent and gorgeous just didn’t seem fair.
Lana followed Zoey’s eyes. “Oh, trust me. He’s not for sale. That boy is locals only. But he can shake a cocktail, can’t he?”
Blushing, Zoey took refuge behind her book.
In the land of the midnight sun, June was technically the month with the most hours of sunlight. And since she’d arrived on the summer solstice—the longest day of the year—it was no wonder this day seemed like it had lasted forever. The first flight from Chicago to Seattle had been a series of children kicking her seat back, strangers trying to talk to her despite her earphones, and rushing through the airport terminal because someone—who would remain unnamed—hadn’t given herself enough layover time between flights. Added to her natural reluctance of flying, Zoey nearly clawed her way out of the plane from Seattle to Anchorage, the final leg of her trip.
One look at the mountains rising in the skyline surrounding Anchorage, and Zoey knew getting here had been worth every second.
To her pleasure, Lana had hired someone to pick her up from the airport instead of Zoey having to take a shuttle. Lana accompanied the chauffeur, so Zoey had her friend to talk to on the long drive to Moose Springs. The winding scenic road had been stunning, even with her growing headache and jet lag. The deep green and blue mountains with their snowy peaks rising above the hotel and the quaint Alaskan town with its small lake cradled in the foothills below were incredible. Then they’d pulled into the hotel and Zoey’s jaw had dropped.
Moose Springs Resort was, to put it simply, absolutely fabulous.
Somehow the rustic luxury of the world-class lodge was even better than what Lana and a hundred internet image searches promised. Lana had invited her to come along every time before, but as with all of Lana’s adventures around the world, Zoey had been forced to say no. Just because Lana wanted to fly off to Europe on any given weekday didn’t mean Zoey could afford to take off work to go too. Her friend might be a trust fund baby with more than enough cash to spend on them both, but Zoey refused to let Lana foot the bill of their friendship. Besides, she had a waitressing job she couldn’t risk losing.
Finally being able to say yes to a trip with her friend was just as fabulous as the resort itself.
“There’s just no one interesting here yet.” With a dramatic sigh, Lana’s eyes swept the room. “It gets better around here closer to the Fourth of July… Oh! I see a familiar face. Come with me, and I’ll introduce you.”
Nope. Nope nope nope. Theirs was a friendship with long-established rules. Shaking her head, Zoey leaned in. “I don’t make you listen to stories about my job, and you don’t introduce me to your other friends, remember? Everyone always thinks I’m your assistant.”
Lana rolled her eyes. “One day, you will be less of a stick-in-the-mud. I will break you.”
Taking a sip of her moose pee, Zoey shot her friend a sassy look. “You’re welcome to try.”
Theirs was a strange friendship, but somehow it worked. They had next to nothing in common, but they complemented each other well. Zoey didn’t want to be the center of attention, and Lana had that covered. Lana needed someone she could trust, someone she could talk to with impunity, no matter what she’d gotten herself into this time. Zoey was good at listening without judging too much…or calling the cops.
Another rattle of ice—this time in a glass—was equally hard to ignore.
“Try not to let your eyes fall out of your head, love,” Lana murmured.
“Shut up.” Hiking her book higher up, Zoey glanced guiltily over the top. Sexy T-shirt guy’s attention was locked right on them even as he worked.
“How’s your water, Zoey?”
“Don’t tease her, Graham.” Lana tsked, a tease-me-instead tsk if there ever was one. “Zoey won’t fall for your tricks.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Lana rolled her eyes. “Don’t trust him, Zoey. Graham might look like a sweet thing, but he’s a snob through and through. To him, we’re the enemy.”
Instead of being offended, Graham just dribbled a splash of red-colored liquor over the brightest, bluest cocktail Zoey had ever seen. “Hey, Zoey. Have you ever read Where the Red Fern Grows?”
Zoey blinked at him. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
“So, this kid wants to earn some money, and he decides to do it by catching raccoons for their pelts. He figures out the raccoons will stick their hands in a coffee can to grab a piece of shiny tin and get stuck. Mean, right?”
She tilted her head, confused at the randomness of his comments, then squeaked in alarm as Graham abandoned his counter and headed for their table. “He’s coming over here, Lana,” she hissed.