“May’s Café in town has the best coffee in Port Promise,” I say. “And her sourdough pancakes are legendary.”
Something shifts in Lena’s expression. “May ... the woman from the wedding? She mentioned her pancakes.”
I nod, recognizing an opportunity to escape this uncomfortable conversation. “We could head into town now. You’ll need proper gear, and the consignment shop has decent outdoor clothing.”
“Consignment,” she says. “As in worn by strangers. And touched by their ... germs. On fabrics of questionable origin. Is this even sanitary? This wouldn’t pass muster on a low-budget set.”
“As in practical and affordable,” I correct. “Unless you brought hiking boots and waterproof clothing?”
A challenge sparks in her eyes. “Actually, I brought boots.”
“Let me guess,” I say, unable to suppress a chuckle. “With heels?”
Her silence is answer enough.
“Thought so.” I grab my keys from the hook by the door. “Let’s go now. May stops serving pancakes at ten.”
“But we haven’t finished breakfast,” Elliott protests.
“You all enjoy the casserole,” I say, nodding toward the production crew, who are still eating. “We’ll be back in a few hours with proper gear for this expedition you’ve planned.”
Lena pushes up from her chair like she’s heading for a firing squad.
“I need to change first,” she says, glancing down at her casual attire.
“Ten minutes,” I call after her as she heads toward the door. “I’ll bring the Polaris around.”
The sound of her frustrated sigh is oddly satisfying. Whatever these next three weeks hold, one thing is certain—Lena Kensington is about to experience a very different Alaska than the one she signed up for. To be honest, a small, petty part of me is anticipating witnessing Hollywood’s princess face the reality of wilderness living. The woman who showed up in a leather dress to Alaska deserves a little humbling.
As I watch her hurry from the lodge, the full weight of the situation settles over me. Her shoulders droop with defeat, her movements heavy with reluctance. Three weeks in the backcountry with a spoiled actress who can’t handle regular coffee, a film crew hungry for drama, and wilderness that refuses to accommodate Hollywood expectations. The pristine silence of my mornings will turn to chaos of complaints about mosquitoes and lack of cell service. My structured routines will unravel as I balance guiding responsibilities with their unrealistic demands.
I turn back toward the kitchen, eyes landing on the contract still open on the table.
The microscopic text blurs together, but the message comes through loud and clear—Elliott manipulated us both. The contract lies there, deceptively harmless, its fine print binding me to a disaster in the making. But the bank notice on my desk carries more weight. I could walk away—tell Elliott to find another guide, spare myself three weeks of drama in the backcountry. But Crystal Creek isn’t simply some business venture. Losing this place? Can’t happen. Too many memories. Dad teaching me the creek sounds. The way the sun hitsmy peaks first thing. This place keeps me grounded when things move too fast.
I fold the contract and tuck it into my pocket. The choice isn’t a choice at all.
Give me a hungry grizzly over a pampered celebrity any day. At least the bear would be honest about wanting to eat me alive.
Chapter Three
LENA
I standin front of the cabin’s cloudy mirror, assessing my reflection. After rifling through three suitcases of designer clothes, I’ve cobbled together what passes for “outdoor attire” in my wardrobe: cream cashmere joggers that I justified buying because they were “investment loungewear” at $900, a silk-blend turtleneck, and designer ankle boots with gold hardware accents and a subtle wedge heel.
“This is casual,” I assure my reflection, running fingers through my hair. God, what I wouldn’t give for my stylist right now. The humidity here is staging a full-on rebellion against my flat iron, leaving my usually sleek strands to erupt in frizz at the ends. “Appropriate for a small Alaskan town.”
My skincare routine has taken twenty minutes—moisturizer, primer, tinted sunscreen, concealer, cream blush, brow gel, and mascara. The bare minimum to seem “natural” while covering up the evidence of last night’s restless sleep, interrupted by what I’m convinced was a wolf lurking outside my window.
A honk sends me scrambling for my handbag. I step outside to find Finn waiting on the Polaris. His expressionshifts from impatience to an amused glint as he takes in the effort I’ve put into looking effortless. “What?” I say, picking my way down the path.
“Nothing,” he says. “Nice boots.”
“They’re designer,” I say defensively, lifting one foot. “Limited edition.”
“And completely useless for what we’re about to do.”
“They’re fine for a photo shoot at a lodge, which is what I was expecting when I came here,” I reply, climbing onto the passenger seat with as much dignity as possible.
