Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 16767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 84(@200wpm)___ 67(@250wpm)___ 56(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 16767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 84(@200wpm)___ 67(@250wpm)___ 56(@300wpm)
He’d had to wake up crazy early this morning to run some guests down to Anchorage in time for their departure flight to the lower forty-eight, but he’d left me tucked up warm and safe in his bed, just like I’d been for the last few nights, and his goodbye kiss had made my toes tingle. When I’d heard the buzz of the plane approaching the dock half an hour ago, I’d let out a breath of relief.
It was unsettling how much I didn’t want to think of him far away from me. And if I felt this way now after only a few days with him, how the hell was I supposed to handle leaving tomorrow?
In addition to feeling unsettled about Pete, I was also unusually behind on my article. Nothing I wrote seemed to hit the tone I knew the company leadership wanted. They wanted a big wow to help kick off this promotion, and if I gave them a clichéd article about the first time I went bungee jumping, it would be the same kind of content they could get anywhere.
Maybe I needed to look at the bigger picture. Never had I ever been pushed so far out of my comfort zone. From standing in the middle of a river watching a bald eagle swoop low to skim the water in search of a quick meal to hiking around the bend of a giant rock and coming face-to-face with an actual fox, my week had been full of firsts. I’d seen glaciers and towering peaks, I’d tasted locally made high bush cranberry jam after identifying the flowering shrubs on a nature walk with a town elder, and I’d learned how Ryan made his custom twitching jigs and Alaskan blacknose dace flies.
Hell, I’d even changed a beer keg behind the bar when Boston had smashed his finger and Maggie had put me to work in his place. Running around as a bartender’s helper was something I’d definitely never done before, but I’d enjoyed it.
Until Pete had shown up and lectured his friends on press-ganging “outsiders.”
“He’s no outsider,” Boston had grumbled, holding a bag of ice against his injured finger. “The kid’s spent more time at your cabin than I have.”
Pete had leveled an intense stare at him. “Only because you never come out there. And he’s not a kid.”
Boston had mumbled something that had sounded suspiciously like “He’s dangerous,” but I must have misunderstood. I was about as dangerous as a ham sandwich.
I’d quickly forgotten about the interaction the same way I’d forgotten to ask Pete about Sutton Lavoy, by allowing myself to be distracted with kisses and heavy make-out sessions.
But my plan today was to finally ask Pete about Sutton. I’d run into the guy again yesterday when buying ice cream down the street at a place Maggie had recommended. He’d been polite but flirty, holding the door open and then following me inside to order a coffee.
After I’d bought a cone and he’d gotten his coffee, we’d sat outside at one of the wooden picnic tables. If we hadn’t been interrupted every five minutes by other locals stopping by to say hello, maybe I would have had a chance to ask him why Pete had been so short with him the other day.
But Sutton had been called away, and I’d been due back at the hotel for my fly-tying lesson with Ryan.
I made my way out to the dock where I got a nice view of Pete’s ass in blue jeans as he leaned into the plane. “I was hoping you’d be the one to run me up there after all,” I teased. “You couldn’t stay away, could you? I’m starting to think you’re stalking me.”
When he pulled his head out of the plane and turned around, I realized it wasn’t Pete at all. The man looked a lot like him, but the hair sticking out from his ball cap was darker.
“Sorry,” I stammered. “Shit. I thought you were Pete. I didn’t mean to—” I stopped and stared at him. He really did look a lot like Pete. “You must be…?”
He grinned, but my stomach didn’t do the same swooping thing it did when Pete was the one smiling at me. “Name’s Jolly. You must be the reporter everyone’s been talking about.”
“Oh, I’m not really a reporter, exactly. I write online content for a website. Kind of like blog posts and stuff. More like marketing.”
He pulled a bandana out of his back pocket and wiped his hands off. “Gotcha. Well, sorry your stalker isn’t here. You’ll have to settle for me.”
I let out a nervous laugh, trying hard not to show my disappointment. “He’s not really a stalker. I was just kidding. He’s… he’s… a good guy. Pete. He’s actually nice… knowledgeable, you know? And he saved me from falling off a bridge. Well, except for the one he pushed me off. He also made sure I remembered my bottle of sunscreen, which was good because I keep forgetting the damned thing. And he suggested the DEET for our fishing day, which probably saved my ass from getting even more chewed up than I would have without it.”