“No.”
“Gabe, be reasonable. She needs a place to stay. She called every hotel in the Five Rivers region, and there wasn’t anything.”
“Which is a sign from God that she needs to go back to New York.”
My mother heaves a deep sigh. “Gabriel Wilder. I raised you to be better than this.”
“What version of raised better involves having a defenseless woman shower in a home with a predatory single man?”
I know I’m being a toddler, but I have to nip this ridiculousness in the bud.
“Don’t be absurd, Gabriel. I’m not even sure which of those stupid sexist stereotypes is less accurate.”
“Seriously, Mom, it’s not a good idea.”
Because I don’t trust myself. Because the idea of Lucy standing under a stream of hot water in my house, totally naked, is already working its way into my spank bank. I don’t need the next three weeks to be an epic battle for self control. I picture myself standing outside the bathroom, hand on the door handle, then turning away. It’s disturbingly believable.
“You’re way too much of a hermit, Gabe. It’ll force you to interact with another human occasionally. And it’s only a couple of weeks. This’ll be over before you know it. You’ll save her a fortune in hotel bills.”
I resort back to the simplest tactic. “No.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Hmm. Okay, then. If it’s a problem, she could probably stay with Easton. He has a lot of room.”
“No fucking way.”
The words are out of my mouth before I can stop or modulate them.
My mother presses her lips together. I can’t tell if she’s stopping herself from threatening to wash my mouth out with soap or trying not to laugh. Unfortunately, I’m pretty sure it’s the second one.
She knew mentioning Easton in the same breath with Lucy would get to me.
She sees way too much.
“I’ll figure something out,” I growl.
“You do that,” she says. “And we can have Easton as a fallback plan.”
I leave her side to begin a much-needed inventory of some of the camping equipment. I pull down a big bin from one of the shelves that lines the walls. Cooking gear. As I open the tote, I’m assailed with the smells—the lingering odor of iodine-treated water, clean forest dirt, the distinctive smell of sweaty nylon straps and slightly musty cloth. Every time, it’s like getting hit in the face with memories of childhood.
With memories of my dad.
Even when I was little, he brought me here and we did inventory together. Checked equipment, like Easton and Lucy are doing now. He was so patient, so good at explaining things. And all the smells locked up this equipment are the smell of safety and childhood and him.
I’ll find some way to save Wilder Adventures, Dad. I promise. Even if it means following Lucy’s plan.
I look up and spot her across the room, making a beeline for where Easton is carefully inspecting life jackets for wear-and-tear. She asks him a question, and he leans close and shows her the places she has to look for damage: seams, straps, hardware. They look cozy together, bent over the neon green-and-black vest.
It’s taking him way too long to explain the basic concept of checking your gear before you go out on the water.
She peeks up at him with those big blue eyes through long lashes, and I know she’s not doing it on purpose, but she’s this perfect, disturbing combination of innocence and absolute, one-hundred-percent competence.
I close my eyes, which doesn’t erase the image in the slightest. If anything, she shines brighter in my mind’s eye.
In my imagination, it’s me she’s looking up at like that. And she’s on her knees.
Gabriel Wilder, you are so, so screwed.
What I know is: She will not be showering, sleeping, or… anything… in Easton’s house.
My mother is watching me from across the room. She knows what I’m going to say even before I stride to where she’s standing and admit defeat.
“She can stay here,” I say. “She can shower at the house.”
I’ll find some way not to pounce on Lucy if she showers in my house. I’ll remind myself that she wants to transform my adventuring business into a book club, and that’ll kill my sex drive.
My mother is a smart woman. She doesn’t say anything except, “Sounds like a plan.”