CHAPTER THREE
SKYLAR
WHEN ROSALIE SAID “NOT FANCY,” SHE WASN’T KIDDING. AND BY bunkhouse, she literally meant bunk beds.
It’s stark white and super small. The narrow deck, which overlooks the lake, has a weatherworn rocking chair propped in the corner.
Earlier, I watched Rosalie casually dust the cobwebs from it with her bare hands. She didn’t seem concerned, but as we stand side by side in the musty bunkhouse, I can’t stop wondering if she’s going to wash them.
“So, when I stayed in here, I slept on the bottom bunk and used the top bunk as my closet, basically.”
I nod along, like this seems normal to me. It’s not. I might sing about country living, but I am a spoiled city girl through and through. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like this before.
But I refuse to act like that’s the case. This is me being the cool, new,
low-maintenance version of myself.
Not-fancy Skylar.
“Over on this counter is a hot plate, toaster oven, and kettle. That’s the fridge”—she points to a short white box in the corner—“but there’s no freezer. My brother will definitely share his with you. His kids are obsessed with freezies, so hopefully there’s room somewhere around their piles of sugary frozen goods. The bathroom is through that door at the back. There’s only a shower.”
I try not to wince. Baths are my favorite.
She stops her tour and nibbles nervously at her lip. “I should also tell you that my pet mouse, Scotty, lives here. He’s harmless. Sweet, really. If you could drop him some crumbs once a day, it will keep me from having to
come do it myself.”
“Your pet…mouse?”
“Pfft.” She waves off my question. “You won’t even notice him. But I am rather attached, so please don’t tell my brother. He’ll set a trap and I’ll never forgive him.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I go for being relatable. “Oh yeah, I’ve got a pet bird. So that’s cool.” I nod as I speak while mentally convincing myself that I really won’t even notice her pet mouse.
She chuckles good-naturedly and tucks strands of dirty blond hair behind her ears as she peeks at me. “Cute. Will this be okay? I’ll get fresh bedding from the house for you. Oh, and a Wild Rose Records sweatsuit. It’s pink.
You’ll love it.”
“Yeah.” I nod and force myself to look certain. Based on the way Rosalie’s nose wrinkles, I must not nail the look. “That’s perfect. I love it.”
Fake it till you make it, as they say.
Her eyes search mine. I don’t think she’s buying what I’m selling. At all.
“Once you’re settled in, we could…I don’t know…grab a drink or do something fun? I promised my friend Tabby a night out, but I’ve been so busy with the studio that I’ve let it slide. I need to touch base with her. You
could join us.”
I blink.
“Like, when you aren’t feeling peopled out. No pressure. Ball is in your court.”
No pressure. Those two words make me blink harder. They hit me in the heart. I feel like I could crumble under the weight of the pressure in my life.
The expectations.
What would it be like to go for a drink with someone for fun? Not because it would be beneficial to be seen with them or because of the status that comes with being associated with them.
All I can do is nod and choke out, “Thanks, I’d like that.”
A wide, genuine smile spreads across her face. “Great! Now let’s find the man of the house and let him know there’s a guest staying at his hotel.”
With that, she strides out of the bunkhouse and into the sun like none of this is out of the ordinary.
Me? I feel like I’ve crash-landed on another planet. And we all know the appropriate response when you crash-land on an alien planet is to act like a local.
My phone dings and I pull it from my purse. Another Google alert. A brand-new mention of my freshly minted ex out at Nobu with some hot model. The headline reads “Skylar Scorned” and my stomach sinks and my
throat goes tight.
I don’t want to care.
So I shove my phone back in my bag, tip my nose up, and follow Rosalie out into the warm summer day—checking on Cherry, who is comfortably dozing in the air-conditioned car—and up a dirt path that leads to a slightly older-looking farmhouse. The sight instantly soothes my nerves.
It exudes the lived-in cozy that I’ve only seen in movies.
My steps slow as I take in the white-painted wood and the exposed redbrick chimney that has mortar squishing out from between each block.
Charming rust-colored shingles cover the roof.
This place looks like a proper childhood home, or at least what I always imagined one to be like. The wraparound deck has patio furniture dispersed on every side and children’s toys tossed in for good measure—a bike, a skateboard, a bottle of bubbles, there’s even a plastic tea set sitting on top of a small table. Beside the house, there’s a gigantic elm tree, its branches holding a rope swing swaying gently in the summer heat.
I itch to sit on it.
“Follow this way.” Rosie waves me ahead, and with a quick smile, I spring into motion and hustle through the yard to her side. There’s no paved road or perfectly spaced stepping stones. We go straight across the yard and past the house.
The air smells like freshly cut grass and wet rocks from the lake, but the farther we press into the property, the more it smells…worse.
I wrinkle my nose. “What is that smell?”
Rosalie snorts right as a barn and other outbuildings come into view.
“Horses. My brother is a professional trainer. Runs his business out of the barn here. You get used to the smell. I actually like it. You’ll get there eventually.”
My eyes bug out at her, and she laughs. I like her. This girl who touches cobwebs with her bare hands, feeds a wild mouse, and likes the smell of horse manure.
“Ah! There he is,” she says. “The man of the hour.”
And yup.
There. He. Is.
“West!”
Weston Belmont stands shirtless, his back to us, next to a horse that is tied to a fence. He’s hosing it off, making its bright reddish coat turn dark and slick.
And I instantly know why his skin looked so tan through that tiny hole in his shirt.
“Rosie Posie, now’s not a good time.” He barely reacts. Stays turned away, all his muscles rippling and bunching as he reaches up to carefully wet the horse’s mane.
Beyond him is a white and red barn that matches the house. Then there are pastures and paddocks and more buildings that I have no clue about.
“Need to get this girl all cooled down and still somehow make it to two different summer camps if I plan to pick the hooligans up on time.”
“I can always go get them.”
He shoots his sister a surprised look from over his shoulder, blue eyes flashing in the sun. And suddenly I can see the resemblance clear as day.
How did I not take one glance at this woman and wonder if they were related?
His eyes slice to mine and then back to his sister again. “You’re gonna let Emmy in your car?”
Rosalie shrugs. “Nah, she’s feral. I’m gonna strap her to the roof.”
He laughs, and the deep, warm sound reminds me of lying beneath his body on that hot asphalt roadway.
“But first, I need to introduce you to someone. She’s going to stay in your bunkhouse until Ford and I can get one of the guesthouses up and running.”
I wince inwardly. She’s not asking him. She’s telling him.
He crouches to wet the horse’s stomach, and from his side profile, I can see he’s grinning as the water sprays him back and glistens on his golden skin.
Even as the spray of water leaves wet spots on his jeans.
“Bird girl. Didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”
Rosalie’s head whips in my direction, her brows knitting together as confusion paints her pretty features. “Bird girl?”
Lord help me. “I’m not bird girl.”
He stands and turns to face us, hitting me with the full impact of his physique. It’s absurd. My facial muscles get an extra workout as they struggle to keep my jaw from dropping open.
With a teasing grin, he lifts one arm and wipes it across his forehead, which does nothing but make his abs look more defined.
“Bear girl?” he tries again, with a cocky lift to one eyebrow. “You like that one better?”
His sister is very interested now. She nudges me and says, “Bear girl?”
All I do is glare at Weston, and all he does is smirk back.
“So…” Rosie’s head flips between us. “The two of you have met? That’s what I’m taking away from this? West, this is Skylar. Skylar Stone, you know —”
“Oh yeah. I know.” The Adonis in front of us turns to crank the water tap.
It squeaks as he does, and the horse’s head flips in his direction. Without a second thought, his hand reaches out to stroke her neck with a soothing “Easy, girl.”
I’m not proud of the way that simple sentence makes my body clench.
All that goes away when he recounts our bear story. “Skylar here was trying to make friends with Winnie the Pooh on the side of the highway earlier today. I had to stop and help her, so she didn’t get turned into a snack.” He wipes his hands on his jeans as he chuckles. “Was actually a pretty close call.”
“I didn’t know that it would notice me!”
Rosalie seems alarmed. “What kind of bear?”
“Grizzly,” Weston provides dryly, entirely ignoring my explanation.
Her expression is full-on horrified now. “Oh my god, Skylar. Honey, no.”
I gaze at her, hoping to prove I’m not a total idiot. I didn’t mean to be stupid. The photo opportunity was just too good to pass up. I wanted to post something real on my social media. Connect with my fans after the mess I’ve been lately. Prove I can still form full sentences. “He’s forgetting there were babies.”
“That doesn’t make it better.” Rosalie’s eyes go bigger, and Weston laughs behind her.
“It’s not funny,” I snap at him. Recently, too many people have had too many things to say about my intelligence, and even though this could be a charming moment, the mockery smarts.
He must hear the frustration in my voice because he stops instantly.
Though I’m not sure the way he’s looking at me now is any better. His gaze is too heavy, and his jaw altogether too square when he swallows deeply.
“Right.” Rosalie claps her hands again, startling me out of my stupor.
“Well, leave it to West to jump headfirst into a situation with a grizzly.” She points at him. Then winks. “I’ll leave that out the next time I talk to Mom and Dad, but only if you say yes to Skylar staying at the bunkhouse.”
He grunts at that, but he’s still staring at me like I’m a puzzle he’s trying
to figure out.
“I don’t want to impose on Weston —”
“Please, no one calls him Weston. And while we’re at it, call me Rosie.”
“Okay, well, I don’t want you to blackmail someone into helping me, and I don’t want to impose on West —”
“Take the bunkhouse. It’s no imposition. No one is getting blackmailed here. It’s more that Rosie shit-talks just as well as your bird. I’m not worried about her threat.”
“See?” Rosie says brightly. “Told you it would be fine.”
I force a smile. Fine. Yeah, it’ll be fine. That’s what I keep telling myself.
“Just make sure you give her some privacy, yeah?” Rosie tells her brother.
She gets an eye roll in return. “Please, you know I barely have time to keep up with my kids.”
“Okay, great. I was going to grab bedding for Skylar, but can you do that
for me? I’ll get Emmy and Oliver.”
West nods at his sister. “Thanks.”
“It’s great to have you here, Skylar. I promise this will just be a placeholder until we can get you set up somewhere else.”
“No, it’s perfect, really,” I lie as I smile and shake her hand once more.
I’m so good at this. Too good at this.
I should be, considering my entire life has been built on lying to people.
When I turn back to West and meet his eyes, it feels an awful lot like he
sees right through the charade.
And I can’t have that.