Stella wanted to reach out, hold his hand, but he wasn’t ten anymore.
Except, maybe the gesture was for her.
“That’s when I realized that no one was coming for me. That I was in this alone. She got an apartment a few weeks later, and they returned me to her, but…things changed after that.”
“You stopped trusting her.” She didn’t know why she said that, just a gasp, really, under her breath, but he nodded, shrugged.
Silence fell in the deepening twilight.
Then he rolled over, looked at her. “Joseph Harrington Amherst the Third is a jerk, and he doesn’t get one more second of your brain. Or your regret. You’re not a fool. You just believed in someone who didn’t deserve it. Don’t let him steal your dreams from you.”
His eyes were so impossibly green in hers that she almost couldn’t hear him. She took a breath.
Then who did she deserve?
He swallowed, and his gaze roamed her face.
Oh, what was her problem that she wanted him to kiss her? The thought rose, like steam from the ice into the sky.
She even leaned toward him, her breath caught—
“Romeo!”
His gaze jerked from her, and he sat up, as if they’d been caught in a romantic clutch.
Okay, nearly—
“What’s going on, Mr. Karlson?”
A man stood at the edge of the shoveled path, his jacket open, blowing out a breath, hand behind his neck. “It’s my grandpa. He’s gone missing.”
Romeo was scrambling to his feet—not easy in hockey skates. She used her toe pick to get up and reached out a hand.
But he ignored it, found his edge, and skated over to the side. “Don’t worry, Tom. We’ll find him.”
Then he yanked off the skates and left her standing there, alone under the twinkly lights.
CHAPTER 6
THURSDAY, 9:00 A.M.
By the grace of God, the old man hadn’t been killed. But the image of Gerald walking along the highway chased Romeo into the night, and by dawn he was up, chopping wood, trying to scatter the voices.
His voice. Nothing is going to burn down. No guest will perish. I promise, everything will be fine.
Right. As long as he kept his head in the game and didn’t do stupid things like go skating and daydream his day away with the guests.
One guest.
One very pretty guest that he’d almost kissed.
What. Was. He thinking?
Romeo slammed his axe into another log, and chips flew as it separated and fell off the block. He’d shed his jacket, but the early morning air held a snap to it that burned his nose. Still, sweat trickled down his back.
He’d just finish chopping this cord, then…
Well, then he’d have to ask the Browns to move out of cabin six.
Perfect.
But according to Tom, his father’s dementia had worsened in the unfamiliar surroundings of cabin seven. He needed to be back in his old cabin, the one embedded with memories.
Which meant that Romeo would need to move the Browns to cabin five, clean cabin six before Gerald moved in, then check the schedule to make sure that he wasn’t overlapping guests. A couple had arrived last night with their dog, and thankfully, he’d put them in cabin two.
Breathe.
He picked up the fallen logs and tossed them onto the wheelbarrow. His conversation with Stella crept into his head, her words about his mother at the end. You stopped trusting her.
Yeah. Stopped trusting anyone, really. Until that Christmas with the Christiansens when he’d felt like he belonged.
But he’d been a kid, and since then, had grown up and remembered the very important lesson that he had no one to depend on but himself.
He split another log, then gathered up the pieces. The sun had risen, gilding the ice with gold.
It’s pretty magical, I’ll give you that.
Oh, for Pete’s sake. So what Stella was easy to talk to. And that she’d helped him search the resort for Gerald. And that, when she’d returned to her cabin for dinner with her family, he’d stayed on the ice, watching the lights twinkle against the snow.
She was a guest. Hel-lo. And in truth, sooner or later he’d screw up. And she’d plummet from the sky. Or something akin to that.
He delivered the fresh supply of wood to the decks of the cabins, then drew a breath and knocked on the Browns’ door.
Pastor Brown answered, wearing jeans and a flannel shirt. Kind eyes. “Romeo. How can I help you?”
He made a face. “I was…wondering if you guys would be interested in a bigger cabin? I’ve got one available, and I can help you shift your stuff into it whenever you want.”
The man sighed, glanced inside. The smell of scrambled eggs spilled out, and Romeo’s traitorous stomach growled.
“That’s okay. You don’t have to put yourself out for us. We’re fine here.”
His wife came to the door. Pretty, her dark hair pulled back. She touched her husband’s arm. “What’s all this?”
Bob repeated their conversation about moving, ending with, “I don’t think we need to. We’re all unpacked and settled in.”
Oh. Well. “Actually—” Romeo started.
“I think we should move, Bob,” his wife said, and behind her, Stella appeared, smiling. She mouthed a thank you as her mother also thanked him. “That’s very thoughtful,” she said, while her husband turned to her to argue.
Oops. Maybe Stella was right—there seemed to be trouble as the two tussled over the move, the hassle, and the need for Stella to have her own bed.
Poor Stella even got pulled in when her father suggested she was fine on the couch. He couldn’t believe the lie that came out of her. “I don’t mind.”
What was she saying? But worse, an expression of panic washed over her face.
Oh, Stella.
“Actually, you’d be doing me a favor,” he said. “I want to move one of my other guests. He’s used to having this cabin, but I accidentally gave him the wrong one and he needs to be in this one for personal reasons. I’ll move you to cabin five.”
Stella glanced at him, her eyes wide. But the tiniest of smiles emerged.
Pastor Brown turned to him. “In that case, we’ll be happy to switch.”
Huh. Okay, then.
“Would you like some breakfast, son?” Pastor Brown said. “We have plenty and it sounds like something is alive inside of you.”
Oh. And what was he going to say when Stella grinned at him and pulled out a chair? “Sure.”
And suddenly, he found himself at the table, enjoying eggs, bacon, and Flashy Fox cinnamon rolls reheated in the microwave. Bob was asking him about his plowing job—he’d have to check on Casper’s route after last night’s dusting—and Stella mentioned he’d been a smokejumper, so there were a few stories there. He left out the story of Disco, but Stella’s eyes were on him, knowing.
It felt strangely intimate to share that between them only.
“Sounds like you’re a guy who likes adventure,” the pastor said.
“It was a job, not a calling.”
The man made a sound, nodding, staring into his coffee. Bob and Marilyn—they’d switched him to first names after a couple formal tries—seemed like a couple foster parents he’d lived with when he was twelve. Solid. Sweet. No wonder Stella turned out so…