by Dani Collins
She so wasn’t in the mood for lame humor.
“Dad—” The date had snuck up on her, but now it was here, she was feeling it. “Can we have a down day? Go somewhere?”
He lifted his hands to indicate the window and the wilderness beyond it. “Where would we go? Every day is a vacation here.” He’d lost weight and gained some muscle. In between the snowy ones, sunny days had tanned his face and arms. He looked ten years younger and happy.
She shouldn’t begrudge him that, but kind of resented he was in such a good mood today. “It’s mom’s birthday.”
His expressed changed, but not in a way that reflected her own heartache. He sobered and looked at her with a sympathy that bordered on pity. As if he was sorry she was hurt, but it was her pain, not theirs.
At least, that’s what her overactive imagination thought she saw before he looked to the floor and all she saw was the top of his bald head. “I didn’t realize.”
“I know. And I could use a day off. We both could.”
He sighed and she tensed, knowing that sigh. It was the parental, tough-love sigh. I know that’s what you want, but we can’t afford it.
“We have six real beds coming today and they need to be assembled. Rolf wants one and asked to use our trailer to store some equipment, since it locks. Did you know there’s been some thefts?” His head came up, but he didn’t look at her, only stood to pull on his gray, zippered cardigan and close it. “I’ll need you to get your things out of the trailer and, well, that snow is supposed to last all day. The parking lot will need shoveling more than once. I can’t go anywhere.”
Her heart was scrunching and crumpling under every word. He was really saying ‘no’ to her? Today?
She knew she was being pathetic, but she was genuinely tired, which made her that much more emotional. She was also really conflicted and missing her mother as a friend. She would understand how frustrated Glory felt at not having time to write. She would be really excited at Glory’s new story. Probably. She would almost certainly encourage her to keep writing it, telling her to get over her fears and go for it properly.
What about the lodge, though? Glory was lying awake at night, trying to figure it all out. If her mother was still alive, she would be writing her own damned books and none of this three-story behemoth would be weighing down on Glory like this.
It made her mother’s absence that much harder to bear.
“Let’s plan a lunch later in the week.” Her dad smiled and tapped his temple. “I’ll think of somewhere special.”
She didn’t want to go somewhere ‘special.’ Later. She wanted her mom to be here to tell her what to do.
“Come on, Glory.” He tried to hug her, his tone making it sound like she was wallowing and should snap out of it.
Maybe she was. “It’s been a long week,” she mumbled, unable to return his hug. “And I’ve got my period.” That always had him treating her like she was radioactive.
The back ache added to her crappy mood, keeping the clouds around her low and damp. She pushed herself through the breakfast routine, sullen.
She manned the coffee bar in the mornings, when it was busiest, because the cook and busboy had their hands full keeping up with filling the buffet and washing dishes. Even Devon’s crew had started buying punch cards for the coffee, now that it was premium grade.
Glory had fully mastered the machine and efficiently drew ferns, bears, frogs, and swans with the foam. She was working on a dragon, which looked more like a seahorse most days. She drew a mean mandala with the syrup along with spider webs complete with a black widow. When she had time, and the right order, she did a sailboat against a sunset with sprinkles on the water.
Did anyone care? No. They slapped a lid on it, nodded thanks, and walked away. She did it anyway because playing with the steamed milk was probably the only thing she’d ever liked about her brief career as a barista.
It was definitely the only thing that made it bearable these days. How had she wound up doing something she hated again? Cleaning up after people who treated the dining room like a pig trough?
The rush died off as everyone left to get to work. She sent the busboy into the kitchen to wash dishes, and cleared and wiped the tables herself, distantly aware of the cook’s music. On the far side of the bar, in what would eventually be the licensed lounge, Devon was drilling and hammering.
It was one of those moments when she was surrounded, yet alone. She paused with dirty dishes in her hand and stared out at the mountainside in shades of gray, wondering what the purpose of life was. This? Feeling colorless and obligated? She had one person in this world whom she loved. Her father. Beyond that, she had nothing. It was past time for her to get serious about her own future—she knew that—but she felt so stuck.
She heard footsteps behind her and a soft clunk.
Rolf. She knew even before she turned and saw him placing his punch card beside his insulated mug with a small snap. He always came back midmorning, after his rounds at the base, to get a fresh double-shot latte on his way to his desk. He bent his head over his phone, saying nothing.
Was he so isolated and terse because of his own family history, she wondered?
Empathy toward him took root. Maybe it was part and parcel of this attraction she felt, though. A sensual slither went through her abdomen as she walked toward him. Her pulse did a hiccup and pushed heat up through her chest and out to the tips of her limbs as she brushed by him, into the space behind the counter. Her cheeks warmed as she felt his glance flick onto her cheeks and away.
She didn’t know why she reacted to him like this, but today of all days, when she was peeling herself down to her core, trying to find herself, she felt miserably self-conscious about her attraction. She smiled as she left the dishes in a bus pan and washed her hands.
“I need a new punch card.”
No please or thank you. He was looking at his phone.
It stung. She felt even more awkward then, like she was all elbows and jerky reflexes, emotions flashing out of her bruised heart like a neon sign.
She was way too sensitive for this bull moose right now. She tried to hurry him along, making his order on autopilot and setting it in front of him while she moved to assign him a new punch card.
“Am I taking custody of Murphy?” she asked as she handed it over, offering another smile that silently begged him for a kind word. Just one. Please.
*
Rolf looked into the top of his mug. The foam heart made his own shrink and harden.
These flirty touches of hers, accompanied by hopeful smiles and eagerness to please, were piling up and setting off alarm bells. He was the full package. He knew that. She was hardly the first woman to eye up his looks, standing, and fortune, then make a play for a piece of it. He had an ex-wife who had taken a piece.
Maybe he owned a little responsibility for the way she was leaning in. He had cast one or two glances that she might have construed as interest. That was his dick doing his thinking and he needed to yank a halt on that as much as her. It was time to make clear that coffee art, and pillow chocolates, and inspiring quotes on the bottom of emails, didn’t affect him.
Drawing a breath, he went straight to the heart—pun intended—of the matter.
“I don’t know what you think might happen between us, but it won’t.”
She jolted like she’d caught a spark of static electricity. Her hand paused where she was writing something on a clipboard and she lifted her strawberry-blonde lashes, taken aback.
“I beg your pardon?” Her voice was so thin he barely heard it.
He bit back a sigh and licked his lips. “You seem to be making an effort to catch my attention.” He nodded at the foam heart. “I just want to be up front, so there aren’t any misunderstandings. I’m not interested.”
Maybe that was harsh, but he wasn’t someone who danced around, avoiding the hard jobs.
Her eyes widened even more, growing wounded and embarrassed. Pink bled into
her face so deep, her freckles disappeared. Her bottom lip started to quiver before she bit down on it. Her brow pleated and her eyes began to gloss.
He set his back teeth, not having planned to make explanations, but maybe he needed to dial this back a notch. “We work together—”
“No, we don’t! You treat me like I work for you.”
He cocked a brow at that. Well, yeah. He was paying for a room and all.
“I’m trying to be nice.” Temper was gathering around her like storm clouds, making her voice grow loud and strident. “Not that you would know what that looks like. You think I’m coming on to you? You can’t even change your own toilet roll! You don’t get Valentines for that, you asshat. Making hearts with foam is so basic, it means I’m not even trying. But if you don’t like the way I’ve made your coffee, fine.”
She grabbed his mug and threw it into the bar sink where it bounced out and clattered to the floor, sending coffee exploding all over the walls, counter, and floor.
Adrenaline shot through him in reaction to the violence, sending a jolt of aggression into him that pushed him onto his toes, determined to grab control of a situation that was in full tailspin.
“Get a grip. This is a work environment.”
“This—” her hand flung above her head to indicate the lodge “—is a prison sentence. In Siberia. One where Herr Rolf rules. Do you know I’m supposed to be in Paris with my mom? Instead, I’m stuck here with a prick who goes out of his way to make me feel shitty about myself. Not interested? Fuck you, Rolf. Fuck you and your brother’s dog, too.”
She spat the words. Her whole body shook and her eyes showed white around fiery blue-green centers.
“Are you done?” he bit out, dousing her tantrum with the unmoved ice in his veins.
“So done.”
“Great. Can I get coffee?”
“Help yourself.” Except she didn’t say ‘help.’ It sounded a lot more like ‘Gofuckyourself.’
She walked out, and he heard Devon say, “You tell him, girl.”
“Oh, now you want to act like we’re friends? Screw you, Devon.”
“Hey!” Devon said, but Glory’s footsteps clomped away.
Rolf became aware of the fact that music had been turned down in the kitchen. Everyone in the vicinity had gone quiet to listen.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
He walked around the bar, dropped a towel on the spill, rinsed his cup, and helped himself to a regular coffee from the brew of the day. He walked back to his office through the kitchen, telling the kid in the dish pit to clean up behind the bar. Safety first.
Then he closed the door to his office with a firm hand and sat down to work, telling himself he had accomplished what he meant to. Maybe it hadn’t been elegant, but it was done. All was right with his world.
The coffee gave him gut rot.
*
Glory held back tears while she packed a small bag, gathered her laptop and purse, and stormed down the back stairs to the parking lot. Her car was blanketed in three inches of snow. She yanked opened the door and threw her things across to the passenger side, then sat down long enough to start it.
She had developed a routine since moving here. Start the car, set the defrost, then sweep and scrape while it warmed.
Today would be the last time. She was heading back to Seattle and would call her father when she got there. Fuck this shit. She was so done with this place and everyone in it.
Nothing happened.
She turned the key again. Click. A third time. Shit. She checked the headlights and discovered she had left them on the last time she had driven into Haven. The battery was dead.
She dropped her head back and screamed “Fuuuuck!” at the rooftop.
She threw open her door, intending to ask someone to give her a boost, but as she cracked the car door, the black and white beast from the fifth dimension of hell scrambled his way onto her lap, all wet paws and tail slaps and rasping tongue across her face.
“No, you idiot!” She tried to shove him back out, but he was pure muscle beneath that half-grown exuberance.
Who had let him out? Typical Rolf just assuming she was on dog duty. Jerk.
She tried pushing Murphy this way and that, but he didn’t want to be left behind. The passenger seat was full of her stuff so he stayed mostly on her lap, claws scratching through her jeans into her thighs. He managed to turn, but he was definitely in the car and not getting out.
The sheer magnitude of pulling him out and back into the lodge was more than she could face. The emotional storm that had been gathering force inside her welled to levels of frustration she could no longer bear.
“You big, dumb fuck.” Her voice cracked along with her composure.
She slammed the door so they were trapped inside the snow-covered car.
Sweeping her arm to the passenger seat, she shoved everything onto the floor, then shoved Murphy off her lap. He moved onto the seat and sat on his haunches, facing her with that dopey grin of his, expectant and joyful at being in her presence. Love me. I’ll love you back.
Big, stupid fuck.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, buried her face his furry neck, and let the tears come.
Chapter Eight
The cook knocked and stuck her head into Rolf’s office.
“Oh.” She gave a disgruntled look around his otherwise empty office. “I thought Glory—Have you seen her? The lunch rush is starting.”
“No,” he replied and started to call out that she should close the door, but she was already gone.
The din in the dining room rose for the next hour or so. When his stomach couldn’t wait any longer, he went to dish up. The sandwiches were gone and he got the dregs of the soup.
The dining room was still full, though, even though the crews should be heading back to work by now. People were lined up, waiting for coffee that Marvin was struggling to serve. He was capable enough with a single coffee, if slow. He also liked to greet people by name, ask after their family or the progress on whatever task they happened to be working on, holding up the process even further.
Devon made a tsking noise and moved behind the counter. “You take the orders and punch the cards,” she told him, and efficiently cleared the backlog in minutes.
Rolf stood there spooning up his soup, letting his presence hurry the dawdlers along. He was a prick. He owned it. But he also got what he wanted.
“Rolf,” Marvin greeted as things settled down. “What’s your poison?”
Before he could say, Devon threw down a bar cloth and walked away without looking at him.
Marvin looked after her, bemused. “I’m not sure—Thank you, Devon,” he called, then smiled at Rolf. “We seem to have misplaced Glory.”
Pity, he bit back, still salty over their altercation. He told Marvin what he wanted.
“I’ll hunt her down and we’ll get our trailer emptied this afternoon,” Marvin said as he began grinding the beans. “You’ll be able to use it tonight.”
It was the sort of eagerness to accommodate he had come to expect from Marvin. He liked it, but it was snowing pretty hard. He didn’t need the trailer until it could be towed over to the base, which was going to be a few days.
“No hurry.”
“Happy to,” Marvin assured him, setting a cup of coffee in front of him with a lopsided heart of foam on top. “Your new bed is in your room. Glory will make it up.”
Too weak to change your own toilet roll.
It was her job. Despite appearances, this was a hotel. The whole point of this arrangement was that he had a place to stay with minimal upkeep so he could focus on bringing the ski hill back to operation.
But after her blowup, he didn’t trust her not to put snow in his sheets. “I’ll do it.”
He had just finished making his bed and was about to leave his room when he heard Marvin in the hall, knocking and calling her name.
Rolf hesitated, then gave himself a shake and opened his door. Who c
ared if she was still sulking and sent him the stink eye from across the hall?
“You sleeping?” Marvin called, knocking again before setting a box on the floor beside her door and walking in. “Glory!”
Rolf hovered, listening to gauge her tone while glancing at the box stuffed with novels about virgins and brides, all wearing her mother’s name on the spine. There were also some shiny hardcover reference books on character development and plotting.
“Her mother’s,” Marvin said, coming out to carry the box into her room. “She wouldn’t part with them. Did she say anything to you about going into Haven?”
“No.” Rolf went back into his own room and glanced down to the parking lot. “Her car’s still here,” he told Marvin when he rejoined him in the hall. “Maybe she’s working out.”
“Glory? No.” Marvin chuckled. “Walking the dog, maybe.”
Rolf wasn’t sure why it was funny to suggest she worked out. He’d seen her doing yoga in the fitness room. As it turned out, she might not be as ripped as the female athletes he’d spent most of his life bumping elbows—and other things—with, but she had a graceful figure that was damned appealing in its own way. It was one of the reasons he found her so distracting and had stomped the brakes so hard.
“It’s her mother’s birthday today.” Marvin grimaced. “She wanted the day off and I guess she’s taking it.” He scratched a bushy eyebrow. “Don’t worry about the trailer. I’ll recruit someone to help.”
Marvin went downstairs.
Rolf stood there with his hands on his hips, the words, It’s not a big deal, still on his lips. He was a single-minded jerk, sure, but he wasn’t a sociopath. Her mother’s birthday? And she’d been planning a trip to Paris with her? That’s what she had said.
That sucked. He knew firsthand the regret of not having had enough time with your mom, not that he could do anything about it for either of them. At least it explained why she’d gone off like she was possessed.
He started back to his office, but swung by the fitness room, not intending to say anything, just wanting to check on her. It was empty, though. He checked the laundry room where Devon’s guys were putting the finishing touches on installing a couple pairs of washers and dryers. She wasn’t there either.