“But one artist or one writer...perfect. I’d market direct to artist colonies and MFA programs. People who paint en plein air and people who dreamed of writing a book and never got around to starting one. You put a big wooden desk over here. Manual typewriter here. Some inspirational artwork on the walls. A bookcase here with dictionaries and stuff like that.”
“People can get dictionaries online.”
“No.” She shook her head. “Not online. This cabin shouldn’t have internet access. None.”
“None?”
“None. No distractions. No intern
et. No Wi-Fi. No television. Only one phone, the kind with cords and dial tones. And maybe a radio but an old radio. Art deco style. Can you get any cell service out here?”
Chris pulled out his phone again and checked the bars.
“None.”
“See? Perfect writer retreat. I can see it now.”
“So...fewer amenities? This is your advice?”
“People go on vacation to get away from it all. Now because of the internet and cell phones, all that ‘all’ they’re trying to get away from comes with them. Go after the people who really want to get away. The people who just want nothing more than to be on a mountain in the woods by a lake, surrounded by all the beauty—”
“You’re talking about me, right? I know. You don’t have to say it.”
“Surrounded by natural beauty—which you are...yes, it’s helped. It’s helped more than I can say. You can’t run away from your problems but you can leave them for a while. I think that’s what this place should be. This little Lost Lake Village cabin here? Make it a real sanctuary. Going a few days without the internet and CNN never killed anyone, but it probably could save someone’s sanity. Or marriage. Or inspire someone to finally write that first page of their novel.”
“Even my dad says he wants to write a book someday about his tour in the army. And sometimes I leave my phone in the truck overnight just to be left alone. I can see it working.”
“Everybody thinks they want to write a book. Or paint. Or write nature poetry. Or just get away from the world for a while. Away from Twitter and Facebook and all the noise. A tiny cabin in the woods with no internet access, no TV... People would pay a premium for that. There are already hotels popping up that cater to those people. Why not a cabin at Lost Lake? Get lost to find yourself.”
“Get lost to find yourself. There’s our slogan. That’s fucking genius, Jo.”
“Thank you.” She playfully brushed her hair off her forehead. “This is why they pay me those big marketing bucks.”
“And you wonder why Dillon wants to hire you.”
“I know why he wants to hire me—because he’s a genius. But I’ve already got a job. I can help while I’m here, though. So...today and tomorrow?”
“Great. I can give you the company credit card to go buy all the stuff we need. The desk, the typewriter, dictionaries, anything you think would work.” Maybe if Joey got to play at doing the job for one day she’d realize it was what she should be doing. Maybe. Hopefully. Worth a shot, right?
“You’d let me buy whatever I want for this cabin?”
“I remember your Wonder Wall. You have a good eye,” Chris said. And a good everything else.
“I know something good when I see it,” she said, walking over to him.
“Do you?”
“Obviously I do.” She put her hands on his shoulders and kissed the side of his neck. Chris closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.
Chris ran his hands down her back. She felt warm through her sweater, warm and right. She belonged here. Not here in Oregon. Not here in Lost Lake. Not here in this cabin. But here, in his hands. Her body. His hands. That’s where Joey belonged.
“I should withhold sex until you agree to come back and visit me. Like, ASAP.”
“That would probably work right about now,” she said. “I might agree to anything if you told me you wouldn’t sleep with me again until I agreed to it.”
“I wish I were that tough.”
“You’re not?”