Page 16 of Hoax and Kisses
I pull out my phone and connect to the house Wi-Fi. In the browser, I tap on the first “fire-making for dummies” video I find.
I watch it, brows creased. “What the fuck is a kindling?”
Surveying the room, I spot logs neatly stacked next to the hearth and a box of matches. No weird white cube that’s supposed to help me light a fire. No convenient bundle of twigs either.
“Yeah, no. I’m not going outside at this hour to frolic in the dark woods for sticks. I havesomesurvival instincts.”
I breathe in deeply and close my eyes, willing the emotions climbing up my throat to stay the fuck down. “One thing at a time, Zoey. You’re just tired,” I tell myself, hoping the reminder will keep the tears from flowing. Though since I’m now talking to myself out loud, I’m not so sure there’s a lot of rationality left in my body.
Am I going delirious from the cold? Is that a thing?
It’s fine. I’ll figure out the fire. If worse comes to worst, I’ll search the place for a warm hoodie to borrow until I can pop into a store tomorrow and buy a few essentials. Because the clothing I packed is not going to cut it. I obviously underestimated how cool the nights are here, on top of forgetting to check the heating system of the rental. And the weather app.
“It’s okay,” I say. Out loud. Again. “I’m a resourceful woman.”
If there’s no solution to your problem in sight, create one. My dad burned this into my brain even before I was old enough to understand what a problem was.
Forcing the tears to abate, I grasp the handle of one suitcase and haul it up the stairs leading to the mezzanine where thead said the bedroom is. When I get to the top, the solution is standing right in front of me.
“Oh, I can absolutely work with that.” With more pep in my step, I stride straight past the gigantic bed to the pristine clawfoot bathtub on the other side. I run a finger alongside the edge and take in the breathtaking view of the lake through the large window.
Maybe my rustic evening fantasy isn’t dead yet.
I turn on the faucet and adjust the temperature, then shed my damp clothes. The goose bumps already covering my body form their own goose bumps when the cool air of the room meets my skin.
When the water level rests just below the overflow drain, I dip a toe and groan with a pleasure bordering on orgasm as the warmth hits me. Without hesitation, I submerge myself, leaving only my head above the steaming surface.
Three weeks.
I spent the first week of the month my dad gave me planning the trip to Pine Falls. So I only have three weeks to endure this place. And in that time, I have to secure the plot of land that’s for sale, convince the people of Pine Falls that their town needs this hotel, and coordinate with the construction and operations teams. Then I’ll be gone as quickly as I arrived.
Easy. Sort of.
Three weeks.
Why did I think fresh air and an escape into nature would do me any good? Selfishly, when I saw Pine Falls on TV, I thought it could give me a break from my exhausting routine. I figured I’d carve out some time to discover what exists outside of my nine-to-five, which I haven’t done in… I don’t know, almost ten years?
But now what? In a town where I have no reception, where I don’t know anyone, where I have no bearings, what do I do?
I have nothing to do but… wait. Wait for the town hall that’s scheduled a few days from now to discuss the land. Wait to talk to the mayor. Wait for authorization to acquire the plot. Wait, wait, wait.
Ugh.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bleak if I wasn’t alone in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by total silence. Not a sound in the house. No creaks, no hums. Only my screaming thoughts. And the wind outside, howling like a wounded animal.
It’s unsettling. Almost eerie. It’stooquiet.
I don’t like it.
I sink beneath the surface, and when I come up again, there’s no way to tell the bath water from my hot tears.
Building the hotel here would give me the key to my father’s legacy. But if I’m really honest with myself, the only reason I’m doing this is to convince my dad and his shareholders that I’m more than just a nepo baby. That I’m capable of running the business, of taking over.
But is it truly what I want? I’ve never had the chance to sit down and think about the type of future I’d envisioned for myself. My dad hardly gave me much agency in that regard, and most of the time, I’m okay with it. I’m not miserable. I love my job. I make good money, I have a killer apartment, and I always get invited to the best dinners in the city.
I’m thriving.
Am I?
