Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 103918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Harvey hadn’t brought in tons of tourists to Fisher Cove, but it gave the town of three hundred residents something to talk about all year round. It was an endless source of amusement for the townspeople to watch city folk adapt to the handful of shops and businesses that kept the town afloat. It was like a reverse zoo or aquarium. The exhibits came to us and we would inevitably find ourselves eagerly awaiting the next family or couple to come and entertain us with their city-ish-ness.
Except me. I dreaded the newcomers because it meant I had to put my hi-I’m-your-neighborly-caretaker-here-to-serve-you mask on.
I hated that fucking mask.
So I should have been relieved that the newest tenant of The Cabins at the Cove hadn’t held any punches when he’d shown his true colors right out of the gate the day before. I should have been looking forward to what essentially would have been a vacation of sorts, especially since the mysterious renter of Birch Cabin had also rented out the other two cabins.
One guy.
Three cabins, each capable of housing six guests.
It made no sense.
But I wasn’t paid to make sense of things. I was paid to keep the clients happy and comfortable.
Unless they were rude shitheads… those fuckers were on their own.
As I made my way to my truck, whistling for Brewer as I went, my mind went back to the rude shithead who’d kept me tossing and turning all night. I hadn’t been able to make much out about him other than he’d been wearing an expensive overcoat that most certainly wouldn’t keep him warm if he dared to step outside the cabin for any length of time. The only physical trait I’d been able to see had been his dark hair, which had been neatly trimmed on the sides and a bit longer on top.
I stopped mid-stride when my body reacted much the way it had the day before as I remembered one very unwelcome detail about the man’s hair.
I’d wanted to touch it.
It’d been the strangest thing. The asshole had been berating me with his crap about not wanting to be bothered, but all I’d been thinking about was how silky his hair looked and wanting to know if that was what it would feel like as it slid between my fingers.
The urge had been equally disturbing and exciting. Even if the guy hadn’t kicked me out, I likely would have gotten the hell out of there anyway because I hadn’t known what to make of the weird sensation.
By the time I’d gone to bed the night before, I’d come to the realization that I’d only been looking at the man as if he’d been on the other side of my camera. There’d been a time when my entire life had been all about capturing things like texture and color through the lens of a camera and making people want to do exactly what I had… reach out and touch it. While my days behind the camera were long over, clearly there was a little bit of residual desire when it came to my previous career.
I’d been proud of myself for the show of logic and reasoning when it’d come to the new tenant, but there’d only been one little problem…
Not once had I ever reacted to anything on the other side of the camera the way I’d reacted to the man sitting forlornly at the kitchen table. Sure, I’d had that weird nervous energy before, like when I’d been shooting in an active war zone or I’d been photographing native tribes in places like Congo and West Papua, but it hadn’t been accompanied by the strange need for something… more.
Dismissing the unexplained and very unwelcome thoughts of the man in Birch Cabin, I pulled the truck away from the small house that had been home for the last couple of years. As always, pain leached into my heart as I took in the battered little structure.
"Not today," I murmured to myself. It was a promise I made myself every day. A promise to let go of the past and focus on the present.
I still hadn't managed to keep that promise. Not once in the two years since I'd moved back to Fisher Cove.
As I reversed the truck and then got it turned in the correct direction, I lowered my window and blew out a whistle. I couldn't help but smile when Brewer bolted out of the trees and ran at a breakneck speed toward the truck. Sunlight bounced off his glossy silver coat as he launched himself over the side of the truck into the bed. I got the truck moving and explored my surroundings as I made my way the few miles that separated the rental cabins from my house. With the new accumulation, there was a good three feet of snow on the ground in some places. Spring always came late to Fisher Cove and the new accumulation meant an even longer wait before the snow disappeared and new growth began to peek up from beneath the damp earth.