Handsome and Greta (Seven Ways to Sin 3)

He gritted his teeth. I could tell he was fighting back anger. “It’s impossible.”

I furrowed my brow. “What do you mean?”

“Of all the mountain lodges in North America, how could they decide on Bear Peak? Not even we could be that unlucky.”

I chuckled and nodded. “I’m afraid we are, Hans.”

His hands balled into fists, and he bit down on his lower lip.

I took him by the wrists and pulled him to me. “Come on, Hans.” I gave him a hug. He needed one almost as badly as I did. “We’ll make it work. We’ll be strong, so strong that even Perth, Montana won’t be able to get to us.”

“And when we finish the shoot,” he said, “by that time, the new website will be up and running. It will get tons of traffic, and we’ll be getting so many orders we’ll have to raise our fees, hire more models, and hire a second team of photographers.”

Now, we were both talking delusionally. But I didn’t correct him. I just wrapped my arms around him and squeezed.

The front door opened and the noise of traffic came in and snapped me from the momentary escape. I turned my head and saw Gordon enter, beaming. Sanchez, as always, was right behind him.

“Is this a funeral?” asked Gordon jovially.

When neither I nor Hanson responded, he quickly lost his smile and rushed over to us. “Oh, my. I’m sorry. What happened?”

I pulled away from Hans and went straight to Gordon giving him a hug. “Gordon, I’m so sorry.”

He hugged me back then pushed me away and looked me square in the eyes. “Sorry? What’s going on?”

“Jericho Dreams canceled their contract.”

He looked at me sideways.

“I was going to call you,” I said. “But I just found out like ten minutes ago.”

“So, there’s no shoot?” asked Sanchez.

I shook my head.

“And next week?” said Sanchez. “We’ll do some cover art samples?”

I shook my head. “Next week, we’ll be in Montana.”

Sanchez pointed to Gordon then to himself. “We’re going to Montana?”

I shook my head. “I’m afraid, not. It’s not that kind of shoot.”

Gordon turned his back on me and uttered, “I was counting on this job.”

“So were we, Gordon,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

You only hurt the ones you love. Well, and Dimitri. I could have stomached getting evicted, sleeping in the car, and eating scraps. We’d done enough of that to know how to deal with it. But letting down our friends who believed in us and trusted us, that was something I wasn’t prepared to deal with.

After a long moment of tense silence, Sanchez said, “Why Montana?”

Hans burst out laughing again. “Why Montana? Because, sometimes, when life gives you lemons, it also likes to open an old wound and squeeze in some lemon juice for the fun of it.”

2

Jake

I used to love the scent of lentils filling the cabin on a cold winter evening. It made me feel warm and cozy just to imagine the bowl of hot lentil soup Betty and I would enjoy by the fire.

But now spring was approaching, and the scent served more as a reminder that once again I had failed to pull in enough money for Betty to get any meat for her soups, or any variety of vegetables, for that matter.

“Smells good,” I said, as I entered the kitchen and dropped my rucksack on the floor.

“I put in a healthy amount of spices and a lot of potatoes,” said Betty. Though nighttime had only just started to descend on Perth, she already had her hair tucked in her nightcap and was already wearing her floral nightgown.

She called it her grandmother gown. Even though she didn’t have any children—let alone grandchildren—she said it made her look like a grandmother, which is how she claimed she felt.

She turned and pinched me on the side. “I do what I can to fatten you up. Couldn’t tell by the look of you, though. Doesn’t seem like I’ve had much success.”

I gave her a kiss on the cheek. Even though she’d been presumably standing at the stove for some time, her cheek was still winter cold as always. “Why would you want me to get fat?”

“Got to cover up all that muscle you got on you.” She winked. “Otherwise, some young girl’s gonna see you and sweep you up. Then I’ll be left all on my own,” she said, mimicking a heart-broken soul with theatrical exaggeration.

I chuckled. “Not likely. I don’t think there are any girls in this town. Just ski tourists. And they’ve all about left by now.”

“Ah, you poor thing.”

I plopped myself into a chair at the kitchen table. “No tourists, no girls. Suits me fine. Girls are nothing but trouble,” I said and almost convinced myself that I meant it.

“Trouble,” she said in agreement. “I’d say you’ve got more than your fair share of trouble already.”