She closed her eyes as the captain started the engine. The gentle rocking didn’t feel soothing, but the crisp air, even with the breeze, did.You can do this. Breathe. You’re fine.She’d never considered herself boat averse, but the day was catching up with her. Or, because she was a city girl, her body was accustomed to less choppy forms of travel than those she’d experienced today. Despite that, she was glad she hadn’t planned a road trip to the northern tip of Michigan, where she was now. Free airline tickets for the win. At least she wasn’t out the cost of the second flight. And once she’d boarded, she couldn’t change her mind like she would have in a car.
When she opened her eyes, her gaze caught on the man across the boat, the one whose voice had steadied her nerves a minute earlier. He had one ankle crossed over the other while he leaned back against the side of the boat like waves didn’t dare affect his stomach.
He wore a lightweight dark gray bomber jacket with dark jeans.Between that and the shades, he made her think of a movie star playing a pilot. A blue duffel bag rested near his sturdy black boots. Cataloguing little details about him allowed her stomach to settle. Her breathing evened out, her pulse settling somewhere near normal. His hair was the color of medium-roast coffee. Not that she drank medium-roast coffee. She preferred tea, wished she had some. His eyes were probably the color of tea. Unlike the other four passengers, a husband and wife and two guys talking about how epic this trip would be, he didn’t have much in the way of luggage. Maybe he was only staying a couple of days. His slightly too long hair was being teased by the wind.
Thinking back to the brochure tucked inside her purse, she remembered the passenger boat was a twenty-foot cruiser. The lodge apparently had two additional boats, but this might be the only one she boarded. The engine hummed as they pulled away from the dock, heading in the direction of what appeared to be nothing but water.
“I’m Grayson. Glad you’re sharing your vacation with us. Let me tell you about the area. It’s believed that hundreds of shipwrecks lie beneath these waters,” the captain, who’d greeted them at the bus, boomed over his microphone as they set off.
Great. Awesome. Please don’t let us be one of them.The woman standing with her husband on whatever the left side of the boat was called pointed to the water, then said something in her husband’s ear. He touched her lower back. Casual affection was Presley’s favorite. She loved the idea that one person reached out for another without thought just because the urge to be closer was always there. Hovering.
“It’s one of the largest freshwater lakes in North America,” the captain continued.
Presley worked to drown out the guy’s voice by finding a focal point, something that would distract her from absolutely everything. The knees of the guy with the duffel bag seemed like a safe bet. When her gaze moved up, she saw he was watching her as well. Maybe he was using her as a way to not throw up, too.
One of the men asked if they could grab a rod and throw out a lineright this minute. Mr. Steady On His Feet lifted his glasses onto his head and rolled his eyes, and it almost made her smile. Of course, any movement at all felt like a threat, so she was careful.
The boat swayed, the water choppy from the wind, as the captain continued to share facts and history about the lake. Despite the strong breeze, the sun shone overhead, trying to warm her. The problem was, she was cold from the inside out.
Presley clutched her bag tighter and tried to breathe through her nose. The hotel had hosted a mindfulness seminar a few months back and she’d picked up numerous supposedly calming tricks. Notice five things you can smell, see, hear, feel. Breathe in for four, hold it, and out for five. It seemed to work for her erratic heart rate but not her nausea.
“The lodge is about forty-five minutes from Mackinaw City, where we picked you all up, but we only come to this terminal once every two weeks or so. When we need supplies or guests want to explore off the island, we take a smaller cruiser to Smile, which is one of the smaller islands to your east. It’s home to about five thousand people, but it’s growing into a little tourist community of its own, with charming shops, delicious food, and interesting folks. It’s only an eight-minute boat ride from Get Lost,” he said, pointing. “It’s got a fun history. My family and I grew up there, and even though it’s not far from the big city, I can tell you firsthand that it seems like a world of its own. Fun fact: the town was meant to be named after its founder, Ernest Simel, but the sign makers misspelled his name. His wife loved it so they let it stand.”
She didn’t like that they were leaving big-city hotels and shopping malls behind them, but if she got desperate and needed a respite from the great outdoors, she could handle a ten-minute torture trip. So much for ever going on a cruise though. Her stomach tilted, and she swore she could feel every wave as if it washed over her.
“Water is a bit choppy today,” the captain said.
Presley wished she had gum.Is that just for planes?The knees she was keeping her gaze on uncrossed and bent before coming her way. Presley looked up as he crossed the deck, a piece of brown paper in hishand. When he stopped right in front of her, she had to remove one hand from her bag to protect her eyes from the sun. He’d lowered the shades, so she couldn’t answer the tea-colored question yet. She felt his perusal, down past her white knuckles clutching her bag and back up.
He held out a brown paper bag. Presley scrunched her brows, waiting for an explanation. His stubbled jaw was tight and she couldn’t read his expression.
“In case you need to throw up,” he said.
In all fairness, his voice lacked any judgment, but it didn’t make her feel better. Was she that obvious? She worked to loosen her fingers, her shoulders.
“I’m fine,” she said, hating that even when she was trying to be strong, she clearly showed weakness. Even to strangers. She couldn’t read her boyfriend of eight months, and this stranger had sized her up in a glance. But she didn’t need to be rude, so she tacked on, “But thank you anyway.”
He stood there and Presley did her best to ignore him. Not ignore-ignore, because she was human, and with the windblown hair, strong jaw, and straight nose, he was really good-looking. He was also, probably, trying to be nice. She appreciated that. But there was no way she’d admit to the possibility of needing that bag. He handed it to her, waited for her to accept it before returning to his previous spot against the railing. She also appreciated the way he resumed his stoic position so she could use his knees again for the rest of the journey. She tucked the hopefully unnecessary item into the pocket of her own bag.
Presley tuned back in to the captain’s voice around the time he said they were coming up on the lodge. Emmett had been so excited about possibly getting this account. She’d read reviews and looked at photos online when he’d talked about visiting there months ago, but then the clients backed out, decided they didn’t need a new marketing team. When Presley was thinking about what to do for his birthday, the lodge bounced back into her mind. The name sounded charming and cute.
“Hopefully you’ve received our emails and notifications that ourlodge is under construction. The ownership has recently changed hands, and while we still have amenities to offer, there are some restrictions to guest services and excursions.”
As the boat slowed near a long dock with one other boat moored, she saw a wooden sign that read:GET LOST. God. If only.
Email.Her email. She’d used her personal email to book everything because she had a habit of leaving her work email open on her laptop for ease of use. Ms. Twain liked to send frequent updates and suggestions. She hadnot,in fact, checked her personal one recently.Doesn’t matter. As long as they have clean beds, hot water, and leave me alone, I’ll be fine.
“The email said you’re working on the cabins,” the woman called out, keeping a hand on her extremely large hat so it didn’t blow away.
“That’s right. They need some repairs and updating,” the captain said, looking over his shoulder with a nod. “We’ll be in close quarters because of that, but the lodge has plenty of space and everyone has rooms there. You guys are in for a great trip. If you love fishing, outdoors, hiking, and campfires, you are in the right place.”
Presley groaned and let her head drop down to her bag even as she considered picking up the paper one, pride be damned. She was so in the wrong place.
Three
Presley hadn’t spent a lot of time outdoors in places other than the city, but she couldn’t deny the beauty of what lay before her as she stepped—nearly stumbled—off the dock. Or maybe she just liked solid ground more than she realized. It was like a painting worthy of a high-end art gallery, with trees of every variety, ones she couldn’t put a name to even for money, creating walkways and paths in all directions. Two guys in ball caps and plaid jackets fished from the edge of the sand. She didn’t know much about the whole process, but she wondered if they could catch anything in the shallows. If so, she definitely wasn’t swimming. Sand in her toes was one thing. Fish kisses were an absolute no. In the distance past the guys were a couple of cabins with decks that looked out onto the water.
She followed the others as the captain led them along the aging cobbled walkway, being careful of the missing and cracked stones. Past a few trees taller than La Chambre Hotel, the grounds opened up to reveal a massive log lodge that no picture in a brochure could accurately depict. Some Paul Bunyan had chopped down actual trees, plunked them together, and built a monstrous structure. A real-life Lincoln Log house.
