Holiday Hideout (Polar Bear, Alaska)

“There’s a chance I can fuel your passion. Bring it to life in a new way.”

We’re so fucking close.

“Maybe you can.”

I lean in, ready to capture her lips when the timer dings for the broccoli. Fucking broccoli.

I get to work on the rest of dinner while Rachel asks if she can help. I put her to work making a salad, so I don’t do something stupid like dare her to kiss me, even though it’s all I can think about while I cook.

Once dinner is on the table, we sit down to eat.

“Taking pictures,” she says.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m passionate about photography.”

I lean back in my seat, seeing her with fresh eyes. “What do you like taking pictures of most?”

“Alaska is so beautiful. I just want everyone to appreciate it.”

“So, scenery and landscapes?”

“And sometimes people.”

Over dinner we talk non-stop. She laughs at a few of my jokes, and tells me she lives at home, helping raise her younger sister. She tells me stories about her childhood. About what it was like growing up here in Alaska. How she worries her father will never find a woman to replace the mother she lost so long ago. I tell her insider details about filming SharkQuake, and she stares at me like she can’t get enough. It’s never been this easy to talk about nothing and everything with someone, and I wonder if she can feel this thing between us. This growing entity I won’t be able to ignore for very much longer.

I need to make sure Rachel never stays for dinner again.

Six

Rachel

* * *

“So, is he as gorgeous in person as he is in my dreams?” Joanie asks while I prepare dinner the following week.

“He’s better.”

I remove the roast beef from the oven and think back to Fender in nothing but a white towel hanging low on his hips. I’m so proud I didn’t do something rash like yank it off and run with it. Believe me, I wanted to tear that towel off and see what he had hidden beneath the plush material.

Part of me felt these intense moments when we were alone together at his house having dinner. Am I wrong?

I must be.

He’s leaving soon.

“I have to meet him.” Joanie stands right in front of me, so I can’t ignore her. “Take me to work with you.”

I stop piddling around the kitchen. “Absolutely not.”

“I’ll just go in your place. He won’t even notice,” she says.

Joanie and I look practically identical, except she has hazel eyes and I have blue. Her hair is a smidge lighter than mine, but other than that, we’re nearly the same. Except she’s boisterous, and I’m… I wouldn’t say I’m boring, but I’m not as social as my sister.

I also have tact, something my sister lacks. It’s the main reason I won’t let her anywhere near Fender.

“No,” I snap back.

“Why can’t I meet him? Are you afraid I’ll tell him how you used to write the name Rachel Fallon on all your notebooks in college?”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Let me meet him.”

I park a hand on my hip. “I can’t take you to work with me. How would that look? Hello, Mr. Fallon, I brought my kid sister along to ogle you all day.”

“I will not ogle.”

I give her a stern stare.

“Ok, only a bit of ogling, and light stalking.”

“No way.” I swipe the bowl of green beans we’re having for dinner from the counter and walk out of the kitchen to set them on the table.

It’s been one week since I had dinner with Fender. A part of me wishes he would cook for me again. Ok, all parts of me wish I were back at his place. Ogling.

“Meet who?” my father asks.

“No one,” I say as quickly as possible.

“Fender Fallon,” Joanie says louder and quicker.

“The guy you girls like from that awful shark movie?”

I drop my mouth, same as my sister, and together we say, “It is not awful.”

My father laughs, the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes deepening. “Is that who’s shacked away up in Richter’s cabin?”

I nod.

“Yes,” Joanie whines. “And Rachel won’t let me meet him.”

“It’s not my place. April told me to be very hush-hush about who was staying there. I shouldn’t have even told you.”

My father carves the sirloin roast and slides several pieces on Joanie’s plate. “Rachel’s right. You can’t just invade someone’s privacy.”

Joanie huffs, piling roasted potatoes on her plate. “Need any help at work?” she asks, trying another approach.

I laugh. “I promise if Fender is up for meeting people, you’ll be the first to know.”

Joanie pouts, slumping in her chair. “What’s he like? Is he a no-good son-of-a-bitch like Trinity says he is?”

“Language.” Dad motions with his knife for my plate, and I hold it up for a few pieces of roast while I defend Fender to Joanie. “Actually, he’s nothing like that at all. He’s very down-to-earth.” He’s also sexy, amazing, and gorgeous. But I won’t tell her any of that. Sometimes with sisters, you don’t need to say anything.