Dad’s pottering with his pans and oiling all the cast iron, waving us away as we leave him to it.
The door’s stuck with a few inches of ice and snow, but Carter pulls it open and then uses a stiff broom from the porch to clear it as he studies the environment around the cabins.
I want him to pull me closer, even try to close the door behind us, but his deep and commanding voice reminds me we have a ways to go yet.
“Soon, Serena. I’ll make you mine yet. But we need to be mindful of your dad’s feelings, for now,” he says with authority and some regret.
Checking the door’s closed and Dad isn’t looking, Carter pulls me closer but only for a moment.
“I tell you, Serena, you’re mine. Understand?” he says with firm authority.
I nod without hesitation, weak in the knees under his touch and floating on air as he helps me down the icy wooden steps before we walk over to the lodge.
“Looks a little clearer today,” he adds ominously like he knows something I don’t as he chances another close pull of me towards him and squeezes my waist making me smile.
The same old woman from the dining hall is at reception, wearing her name tag this time. A garish thing that looks homemade that screams ‘Hi! My name is Gladys’.
Carter peers at it a moment, ignoring her sour look, and smiles as he wishes her good morning.
“Is it?” she scowls. “You missed breakfast, again… and apparently you’ve used your hot water limits. Twice,” she continues with a deepening frown.
“Hot water limits?” I hear myself asking warily.
“We have a lot of guests and not a lot of hot water. Guests who abuse the privilege are cut off,” she almost shrieks, making Carter stifle a laugh.
“Okay, okay lady. How much do we owe you for hot water now? You charge extra for lunch, dinner and God knows what else… how much for some hot water to our cabins?” he asks her, leaning right over and putting his face right in front of hers.
Looking like he’d arm wrestle her if she challenged him.
“How dare you!” she scolds him, clanging the bell at her side, summoning what I guess is her husband, or is it her son?
“Problem?” the guy murmurs, wiping his hands and sucking his teeth from behind a thick beard.
He eyes me up and down, and starts grinning to himself.
I hear Carter start to growl.
“How much?” he says with strained control.
“How much for what?” the guy asks. The short, squat guy who looks like the woman but with a little more beard.
“The hot water,” The old woman snaps impatiently.
“I meant, how much for your lodge?” Carter repeats, grinding his teeth as he cracks his knuckles on the countertop.
Both of them look dumbfounded, the older woman hisses under her breath. The guy looks like he’s just sucked a lemon.
“Not for sale,” The old woman spits, and slamming her registry book closed, she storms off out back, leaving us with-
“Dak Porter,” he whispers, looking over his shoulder and holding out a greasy hand to Carter, which he ignores.
“My mom… she’s… sentimental,” he says with a guffaw, reiterating his last word with an emphasis on the ‘mental’ part once he repeats it with a mad grin.
“We’ve had some hot water trouble,” Carter continues, ignoring him and flitting several hundred dollar bills in front of the guy.
“We’d rather it didn’t happen again,” he adds with a firm tone.
Dak snaps up the money quicker than they settle, and glances over his shoulder again.
“You looking to buy the old place?” he asks, flushing hard and sweating suddenly. “It ain’t worth much once it’s left to me… back taxes,” he explains in a low voice, smearing his length of sparse hair over a greasy crown.
“Good to know,” Carter says, a matter of fact.
“Oh! You got a message too,” Dak adds, suddenly remembering his service role, fishing in the trash next to him, passing Carter a crumpled yellow fax.
“This is addressed to Mr. Blaxhall,” he scolds the man, looming up over him without even reading it.
“Must’ve been a mistake… my mom,” Dak explains, showing his mad grin again as Carter takes my hand, pulling me away from the reception area and back to our cabins.
“What about the weather?” I ask, feeling stupid. Having no idea what’s going on, what any of that just meant.
“Weather be damned,” Carter snarls before stopping in the middle of the lot between the lodge and our cabins, taking both my hands in his.
“Sorry, Serena. I just have six things at once going on up here,” he smiles, tapping his forehead.
“Let’s go see your dad and then we can check our own weather online?” he suggests calmly, which I readily agree too.
Weather. Whether or not he’ll get in my pants…?
I laugh out loud at the thought as I trail behind him, my hand in his which seems to make him relax a little.