Lark Lake Lodge

Chapter One

Unpleasant and Pleasant Surprises

I’m not going to cry. Dammit! I’m not going to cry!

I inhaled deeply in hopes of sidestepping the major meltdown brewing inside me. Before I could slide the key into the deadbolt, I fumbled, dropping it on the rotted floorboards of the porch. My hands shook from frustration, nerves, and the chill of a mid-March cold snap. Michigan was cruelly unpredictable in early spring.

The cold and my sudden inability to open a damn door shattered all my excitement about this fresh start. As gray clouds rolled in, so did my second thoughts. Why had I gone all in on such a harebrained idea? I gave up my job, my family, and most of my possessions to bet it all on some vacant, rustic inn that I’d never seen before. I would say I’d given up my home, but that was already long gone, thanks to my selfish prick of an ex who made me sell it when we divorced .

Maze, you’re the best realtor in town. If anyone can get us a good price, it’s you , he said at the open house, where I experienced the agony of ushering strangers through my home in order to fetch a great offer on the remnants of the last eight years of my life.

Now, as Maisie Carver 2.0, I would rebuild a quaint inn nestled on a private lake just outside of the idyllic tourist town of Saugatuck. But the inn wasn’t exactly as I’d pictured it in my daydreams.

On the one hand, the building was much larger than I expected: two stories of classic log cabin construction that ran the length of a city block from side to side. The tall, serene pine trees that surrounded the building gave off a crisp and intoxicating scent. The sound of the rippling lake behind the lodge was incredibly calming, and the small section of the water I could see through a break in the trees glimmered with a pretty, ghostly light, thanks to the cloud cover and misty gloom.

On the other, very real and utterly shitty hand, it was beat to hell.

I hadn’t been fool enough to expect that a property abandoned for three years would merely need a coat of paint, some throw pillows, and a wood sign with Cricut letters reading cabin life or love our lake or whatever. But I wasn’t expecting to see a post-apocalyptic horror show.

The place had clearly been popular with rock-chucking teen vandals, undeterred by the No Trespassing signs put up by my neighbor. The shattered windows and holey roof allowed plant life to peek out of the structure, reminiscent of the show Life After People where nature reclaimed abandoned buildings following the extermination of the human race.

For a moment, the silence all around me made me question if I really was the last person on earth. And yet I knew this was impossible, considering the sign-posting mystery man next door. I didn’t know much about him. I’d just been told his name was Harlan and he kept to himself.

In an effort to keep hope alive, I tried to channel all those happy horseshit business books my old boss Zack used to force me to read. Every challenge is an opportunity. Unfortunately, the forced motivational sound bites were easily drowned out by the ear-splittingly loud voice in my head relentlessly screaming about what a huge mistake I’d made.

The wooden eaves covering the porch were less than watertight and a cold drip kept hitting the back of my neck on the only inch of exposed skin between my scarf and sweatshirt. I bent over, picked up the keys, and finally calmed my hands enough to slide the key in the lock.

The rusted lock. The rusted lock that would not turn. I put all my strength into twisting that damn key, even letting out a women’s-tennis-style groan, but instead of sliding into place, the stupid thing broke in half.

“Nooo!” I wailed as I stomped my foot and balled my fists. Suddenly the dam broke. All the misery of the last year came crashing down on me.

My eyes erupted with tears. I’d done my best to keep from breaking the seal on crying, but I’d hit my limit. My hands flew to my face and I fell apart. I bawled into my palms for what felt like forever. This wasn’t just a couple-of-tears-by-the-kitchen-sink-after-a-hard-day kind of cry. This was a full on, blubber-and-moan-like-a-tween thing.

I’ll admit, I’ve always been a pretty emotional girl. I envied my brother, Brian, for his studied stoicism. Unlike him, I had no control over my feels. Standing on that rickety porch, I let it all out. Might as well lean into it and have some kind of catharsis before trying to face the disaster in front of me.

I’d fought tooth and nail to win the lodge in the divorce. Even though my ex, Rob, had all but forgotten his Uncle Randy had left him the place, he put up a fight once he knew I wanted it. I jumped off the banal suburban treadmill to run free and be someone new. But now, as soon as I was off, I crashed head first into a wall—the wall of a hulking log cabin that smelled like a mildewed towel left in an abandoned fridge for a year. And only God, or perhaps the devil, knew what menagerie of feral animals had made the place their home.

Even the weather had it in for me. I was chilled to the bone and convinced that I had finally hit rock bottom. Each dismal thought about how I’d failed, fueled a fresh round of tears. I’d hit an unbreakable cycle of misery.

“Hey,” a deep male voice called from next to my truck.

I leapt three feet in the air in startled surprise. My sneakers skidded on the porch slats. The combination of rain and a green mossy film covering the boards made my feet slide out from under me. I landed with a thud on my ass.

Nope. I was wrong. THIS is rock bottom.

“You okay?” the man asked.

My eyes passed over scuffed brown work boots, up denim-clad, powerful long legs, and over a rain-soaked blue and black windbreaker with the hood up.

The dude belonged in the hot dad section of the REI catalog. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead from the rain, and he had the sexiest sprinkle of gray at his temples. His closely trimmed beard highlighted his chiseled jawline, and his gray-blue eyes were jarring in their bright beauty. A flutter of attraction skittered through me—followed by a hard jolt of mortification. I’d been blubbering with my eyes covered, so who knew how long this stealthy dreamboat had seen me falling apart? Not to mention that I’d capped off my Greek tragedy by falling on my ass. It was a real whopper of a first impression.

“I’d be lying if I said I was okay. I’m pretty not okay,“ I answered honestly.

“I figured,” he said, walking a few steps toward the porch. “I heard your truck and started to walk over. Halfway here, I heard a wailing sound. Thought an animal was hurt.” His speech was clipped and facts-only. It might have been the No Trespassing signs, but I got the feeling he wasn’t fond of talking. It seemed like he was forcing himself to speak out of pity for my humiliated state.

Thanks anyway, hot woodsy man. I’m perfectly fine to wallow on my own.

“Nope. That was me wailing,” I said as I grabbed the door knob to pull myself to a standing position. “You must be Harlan.”

“Yup.”

“I’m Maisie Hend—“ I couldn’t believe I almost introduced myself by my married name. It was a hard habit to break, but I hadn’t legally been Maisie Hendrickson for three months. And emotionally, I hadn’t been her for a year. “I’m Maisie Carver. I’m the new owner of this fine establishment.” I shrugged.

“Yeah, I know,” he said. We stood in uncomfortable silence for a moment. Well, I was uncomfortable. Harlan stood stone still, just staring. I don’t know if he was waiting for me to speak, or if he simply had nothing to say. I was just about to fill the conversational void with something certain to be inane when he finally asked, “What’s got you crying?”

I looked down at the lock, stuffed with half a key. I was a complete failure. After having been at the Lark Lake Lodge for all of fifteen minutes I’d already been bested by the lock on the damn front door. Nothing could be worse than looking like a helpless, emotional woman, especially while being stared at by the rugged and virile outdoorsman at the bottom of the porch steps. If I wanted to get inside, I’d have to admit my defeat, but it didn’t sit well.

“The key broke in the lock and I can’t open the door,” I said.

Without a word, Harlan climbed the steps and walked to my side. He was taller than I’d thought. I’m a little shorter than average, so that may have had something to do with the impact of his height, but he was definitely in the range of about six feet four or five inches. I tamped down the butterflies that flitted through me as he drew nearer. Drooling over him wouldn’t help me seem capable or strong. And it was more than likely he had an outdoorsy girlfriend waiting for him back at his place. No guy that good-looking stayed single for long.

He took out a small flashlight, shone it on the lock, and studied the damage. With a grunt, he turned the light off and stowed it in his pocket again, then pushed off his hood. Seeing him without it didn’t really help me fight the effect his good looks had on me. His dark hair was neatly cropped, and even his ears were sexy.

“Well, I can get you in here. If that’s what you want,” he said.

“Yes, please. What are you gonna do? Pry out the key? Or maybe take the lock off—“

He lifted his boot and kicked the door with a jarring blow. A loud crack resounded and wood splinters flew as the door swung wide.

“What the hell? Now anyone can get in!” I turned and barked at him.

He stared at me, unaffected. “There’s nothing to steal.”

He walked inside and I followed, annoyed that he went in first. The place was officially mine, and I had imagined my first steps inside about a million times. And in all my daydreams, I never pictured a hot, taciturn guy breaking down the door and going in ahead of me.

As soon as I set foot inside, I was arrested by a sickening odor of dust, damp, mold, and what I feared was animal excrement. I tried to take a deep breath to calm my nerves and almost hurled. The air was so thick with rot, it brought tears to my eyes. Those tears were joined by a few more fueled by the emotions roiling inside me. I ran the backs of my hands over my eyes quickly before sexy Paul Bunyan could turn around and see me fall apart again .

I looked around, forcing myself to ignore the cobwebs, stacked boxes, beer bottles, branches, leaves, and inches of dust and filth. Instead, I focused on the log cabin walls, the long, handcrafted reception counter, the vaulted ceiling, and the giant fieldstone hearth. Just as I’d expected, the bones of the place were quality. Possibility and potential glimmered beneath the debris.

A tiny ray of hope warmed my chest. My new life wasn’t a bust just yet. I could truly start over here—after an obscene amount of expense and labor, of course. I could prove to my family that taking ownership of the lodge wasn’t the idiocy they’d lectured me about. And I could clear the slate, putting my regrettable marriage behind me.

Harlan leaned his back against the reception counter. “Where you staying?”

“Here,” I said.

He stared again. I could tell that was going to turn into a really annoying quirk. “No you’re not,” he said definitively.

“Excuse me?” I asked, annoyed at his highhandedness.

“You can’t stay here.”

Who the hell was this guy to tell me what I could and couldn’t do? Hadn’t I just freed myself from the confines of being married to a demanding guy? Why on earth would I allow myself to be dictated to by a random stranger?

“I don’t really think it’s any of your business,” I said.

“You’ve got no electricity.”

“I called and had it turned on.” I walked to the switch plate to the right of the door and flipped it. There was an immediate pop as an ancient bulb in the sole functioning light above reception exploded.

“The furnace will need some work before it’s functional.”

“I have blankets in the truck. And it’s March, not December,” I argued .

“Might as well be with the way it dips at night.” I could tell I was getting under his skin with my stubborn stance, and it was a really rewarding feeling. I wanted to annoy him after his alpha-style commandment. He added, “And what about the critters? This place is a veritable Noah’s Ark.” Though his expression was stony, a glimmer of amusement lit his eyes.

A shudder ran through me, thinking about the countless unknown creatures living in the lodge. But even though my heart hammered and stomach wrenched, I wasn’t about to let Harlan see me sweat.

“I’m sure they’re more afraid of me than I am of them.” I crossed my arms.

“If you say so. And what if…you need to use the facilities? Have you seen the facilities?”

“No.”

Harlan hooked a finger at me to follow him and I complied.

At the skittering sound of an unnamed creature, I was ready to turn around and walk right out the door. But I couldn’t buckle so quickly. I was here to transform this place and make something of myself. I couldn’t let some grumpy hick scare me off in the first five minutes.

Harlan pushed the bathroom door open and turned on the light. A thousand startled bugs of all varieties made a break for it and I envied them their escape. I anxiously eyed the sink. A rusty orange and brown stain ringed the cracked bowl, evidence of a recent, major backup. When I turned and looked at the toilet, I nearly fainted. It was full to the rim with raw sewage and I swear something was swimming around in there like a mini Loch Ness Monster. If the sight of it wasn’t bad enough, the odor was worse. This was probably what a zombie horde suffering from undead dysentery might smell like.

I rushed back to the lobby and took a deep breath. It was hard to imagine that the musty lobby odor could seem like fresh air in any way, but compared to the bathroom, it was like a Febreze commercial.

In my years as a realtor, I’d seen a wide array of properties, from pristine to junky, but never had I seen anything like this place. Granted, I was mostly selling single-family homes in the suburbs, but still, I’d thought I was prepared for the state of the lodge. Clearly, I underestimated what could happen to a place left fallow.

Harlan closed the door behind him and walked toward me. His stare screamed I told you so. Even though I was essentially the meme of the dog with fire all around him saying this is fine , I refused to back down.

“I can sleep outside. I’ve been camping plenty of times.”

He sighed. “Miss Carver, it’s clear you don’t know what you’re getting into here. Now, I’ve got a spare room. You can stay there until you sort something out.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a directive. I couldn’t help myself. I burst into laughter. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

He stared at me, his lips pursed and his brows knitted together. “What?”

“Just like that? You’re gonna invite me to crash? You don’t even know me.”

“It’s not that weird. Randy was my best friend. And you’re…his family, right?”

“Not really. Not anymore, anyway.”

“Oh right. You mean because of your divorce.”

Hearing the word out loud from his perfect lips made me slightly nauseous. Within a matter of minutes, I’d gone from humiliating myself with pratfalls and blubbering to openly talking about my disastrous private life with the sexiest complete stranger I’d ever met.

It was time to shut it down .

“Look, I’m sure this is a totally innocent and friendly, country-neighbor kind of offer. But I’m not in the habit of going home with rando guys I meet in the woods. Thanks, anyway.”

“I really don’t think it’s safe,” he protested.

“I’m fine, cowboy,” I said, folding my arms.

He did his staring thing again. “Suit yourself.” He pulled a pack of gum from his pocket, unwrapped a stick, popped it in his mouth, turned on his heel, and left.

Even though I’d gotten what I wanted, I was a bit put off that he just walked out. I thought for sure he’d fight me a little harder. And although I hated how he mansplained and stared, it really did feel safer having him around. Not to mention, he was super easy on the eyes. But as it was, he was honoring my wishes, so I couldn’t exactly ask him to change his mind and stay.

After following him out the door, I watched him disappear along a trail cut into the woods between our properties. I hadn’t noticed it on the way up the drive. Randy and Harlan were besties, so the path must have served as a shortcut for them to visit one another. Why hadn’t it grown over in the three years since Randy’s death? Did Harlan still come by and check on the place?

Shaking my head to dislodge all thoughts of my gorgeous, mysterious neighbor, I shifted my attention to making a plan. If I was going to throw a tantrum and insist on staying in this house of horrors, I needed to survive the night. How was I going to eat dinner, and where could I sleep that didn’t involve midnight visits from spiders and squirrels? Turning around, I faced my own personal Overlook Hotel once more. The door stood open and dread coursed through me as I looked inside. The idea of going in again was utterly terrifying. I stared at the door for a solid minute before deciding to avoid the place altogether. Much to my relief, the misty rain had ceased.

I found a small fire pit on the side of the porch and spied a woodpile stacked against the building. I was no stranger to building fires. On the camping trips with my ex-husband, I was the woodsier one. Rob’s contribution had been merely to drive us wherever we went and to walk around breathing deeply, proclaiming that the fresh air was restorative. I mentally kicked myself for not seeing the signs of his terrible selfishness back then.

So many years…

I huffed a determined breath. I wouldn’t spend my new chapter leafing through the old ones. I marched to the woodpile and loaded up my arms, flakes of bark crumbling onto my sweatshirt. Thankfully, the eaves of the lodge hung over the stack, so the wood was dry. I toted the logs over, dropped them beside the fire pit, and went back to forage for some dry twigs and dead foliage to serve as kindling.

Once I had all my materials, I assembled a log cabin setup. From the front seat of my truck, I pulled the lighter out of the little survival kit I’d packed. It was a tackle box with a random selection of useful things such as scissors, a mini flashlight, glue, bandages, and tampons, just to name a few. I headed back over to my masterpiece and lit it. The kindling burst into a glowing haze of orange, yellow, and white. It wasn’t long before the logs caught and I had a legit crackling fire going.

I was immensely proud of myself. The fire was the one thing I’d pulled off since I drove away from my brother’s house that morning. Hell, it was the first thing I’d pulled off since I officially signed my divorce papers three months prior. The orange glow of that fire made my spine straighten and my shoulders push back. I was ready to see who I really was now that I’d emerged from the shadow of Rob Hendrickson.

I went back to the truck to grab two things. I’d promised myself that when I arrived at the lodge, I’d have a commemorative moment: something I’d be able to remember as the start of my new beginning. Returning to my fire, I sat once more. In one hand, I held Uncle Randy’s flask. In the other, I held his letter to Rob. I’d filled the flask that morning from a bottle of McCallan single malt that Rob had forgotten at our old house. I found it during the final walk-through and snuck it in my purse. It was petty, but the idea of raising a flask of his $250 bottle of scotch while I claimed the one asset I retained in our messy divorce was just what I needed to satisfy my wounded and vengeful soul. I took a long draw. The smooth liquid slid warmly down my throat and I let out a moan. It was good shit. Holding the flask in the air, I toasted for the empty woods and looming lodge to hear.

“Here’s to you, Uncle Randy! I promise to make you proud!”

I took another swig. A boozy calm flowed through me. It was time to finish off my little ceremony. I picked up the letter and began to read aloud.

“Dear Rob, after careful consideration and many sleepless nights, I’ve decided to leave Lark Lake Lodge to you. I know it’s probably not something you would have expected, but I think that you and Maisie will take real good care of my baby.”

The word baby always tripped me up. It was a triggering reminder of all the years I hoped and prayed, of the countless pregnancy tests with only one line, and of Rob cruelly allowing me to think it was my fault. A tear slid down my cheek and fell onto the letter. I took another bracing swig of scotch. Even though I’d probably read the letter upwards of a thousand times, the next lines would be difficult.

“I know it’s been tough for the two of you to have kids, but I know deep down that it’ll happen. And I think the lodge could be a great place to take your children to commune with nature and keep them from having their noses in screens like the kids at SuperValu Foods.” I always laughed at that part. I’d met Rob’s uncle at our wedding and he’d made the trip over for a few Christmases before he got sick. He was a sweet, sunny, small-town man whose voice came through his letter loud and clear. “Robbie, this place is magical. It changed my life and your Aunt Patty’s life too, God rest her. This is my legacy and I’m entrusting it to you and your beautiful wife. Please take care of the old girl. Sincerely, Uncle Randy.”

The way he talked about the place in his letter had been the deciding factor for me. I’d been depressed, walking around in a haze of grief. Uncle Randy’s letter was the only thing that got through to me. I romanticized the place in my mind for months. It was a magical haven surrounded by a tranquil forest overlooking a shimmering lake. It had to be better than living in my brother’s basement and selling colonials in the suburbs.

It just had to.

I looked down at the postscript on the letter. It was much more meaningful now. “If you ever need anything, call my good buddy Harlan.” Harlan’s phone number was included. “He’s a good man.”

I’d tried not to romanticize Harlan as well, but the girl in me who gobbled up romcoms like candy couldn’t help but create a few fantasies about this “good man” living next door.

Even my spiciest imaginings paled next to the real thing. If he wasn’t so stern and pushy, I’d probably be obsessed with him. But I most certainly wasn’t.