Roadside Attractions

Eighteen

ELBOW, SK

I wake with the sunrise the next morning, watching the early light bathe the prairies beyond the B&B window, my eyes bleary. The thunderstorm had held off until midnight, arriving with a rumble that shook the house and flashes of lightning that lit up the bedroom—which did little to make the decor any less unsettling.

It’s a wonder I got any sleep at all.

The bed beside mine is empty, as if Wyatt and I traded off who would be sleepless. A glance at the bathroom shows me that it’s open and dark. I feel a tug of something unidentifiable at his lack of presence. My mind flashes back to yesterday, to the strange conversation I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.

I don’t know if I want to be your friend, Stella.

I can’t help but wonder where we’ll be at the end of all of this, once we’ve accomplished our goals and returned home. We’ll have no reason to see each other again, besides the odd time we’ll potentially run into each other around the city. When we started this trip, I was sure we’d have killed each other by this point. But now, I’m finding it hard to think about life after.

Blowing out a quiet breath, I consider the remainder of this journey. Yesterday, we decided on our next stop. Well, Wyatt decided, and when I saw his excitement, I couldn’t bring myself to say no. Today, we’ll be heading seven hours to Harvie Heights, a hamlet just outside of Canmore, Alberta. It’s tiny, nestled in the Rockies, and conveniently along the way to Roman. When Wyatt discovered they had a cowboy-themed lodge, he insisted that was where we needed to go next.

After that, there will only be one more stop before we reach Tofino. I have no idea how long we’ll be there, how long it’ll take to find Roman and ambush him. And then there’s the whole matter of getting back home. At this point, I’ll likely have to fly in order to make it back to work on time.

What will it feel like to return home to an empty apartment?

To be alone again?

My throat tightens, and my eyes prickle. I’ll be okay on my own—I always have been. But that doesn’t mean I won’t feel lonely.

I’m pulled out of my thoughts by the sound of voices floating up toward my window. I unpeel myself from the covers, creeping toward it. Below me, Wyatt walks the length of the house slowly, head ducked in a smile. Hannah walks next to him. She looks effortless with her auburn hair pulled into a loose bun, makeup-free, donning a fleece sweater. It feels like a punch to my gut as she nudges his arm, head thrown back in laughter. She doesn’t seem to mind cozying up to a man she believes to be engaged, but then again, he might’ve told her the truth.

The action jostles a laugh out of Wyatt too, and he looks comfortable with her, his eyes bright. I watch them for a few moments, entranced. They look good together, like they fit. It’s a silly thing to think. They’re strangers. They met for the first time two nights ago. But still.

Maybe this is what life will look like when we get home: I’ll be alone, while Wyatt completely forgets I exist and finds someone else to spend all his time with.

I turn away from the window, feeling sick to my stomach. I throw on a sweater and a pair of leggings as quietly as I can manage, then creep downstairs. The stairs creak beneath my weight, and I wince, hoping I won’t disturb the remainder of the household on my quest to go outside. It’s seven a.m., and I don’t know when Edith and George typically wake up.

Finally, I make it to the porch and exhale a sigh of relief. It was a foolish move, in hindsight. Wyatt and Hannah are still out here, and I’d rather not bump into them. But they’re at the back of the house, and I need to breathe in something other than the stale smell of old dolls and my unwarranted feelings of jealousy.

Jealousy . Over Wyatt Song.

I let out a soft snort, a film of saltwater developing over my eyes. What’s happening to me?

The air is brisk this morning. I tuck my hands into my armpits to warm them up. Distantly, a lawn mower buzzes, and the smell of freshly cut grass floats on the breeze.

I think about calling Noor. She should be up by now, since Toronto is two hours ahead of Elbow. I haven’t even had a chance to tell her about this place—as an avid horror fan, she’ll probably be obsessed with the dolls. And there are the little things I haven’t shared with her yet either, like Wyatt watching me dance at the drag show, the way he’d comforted me after finding out about Roman’s new girl, the way he’d passively called me pretty. But she’d only feed into my budding attraction to Wyatt and go overboard.

There’s no doubt that, yet again, she’d tell me to fuck him with zero regard for the consequences.

I brush aside the thought with a wash of embarrassment when I hear the door open behind me. To my surprise, it’s Hannah. She must have come in through the back door. Wyatt is notably absent. Hannah exits with a bright smile, two mugs of coffee in hand. She passes one to me, and I accept it gratefully, warming my fingers.

“I saw you head outside and figured you could use some caffeine,” she explains.

“Thanks,” I say, startled by the kind gesture, but still feeling cautious.

“Wyatt told me you two are heading out today?” Hannah asks with innocent eyes. She smells like lavender oil and earthy perfume.

“That’s the plan.”

She hums thoughtfully. “This place will feel a lot emptier without you two. Though I guess I won’t be here much longer.”

“Where to next?” I ask, shifting my weight beneath my feet. I can’t stop thinking about the ease of her and Wyatt together.

“I’m heading north, to Jackfish Lake. My uncle lives up there. He’s got a boat, and he’s very into water sports and fishing, so I don’t imagine I’ll be spending a lot of time inside.” She pauses, fixing me with a teasing smile. “You look disturbed. That probably sounds like hell to a city slicker like you.”

I laugh shortly. “Some city slickers would like it. Wyatt might have told you I’m not much of an outdoorsy person. I’m like a housecat.”

Hannah smiles. “He might’ve mentioned that.” She pauses again, glancing at me slyly over her mug. “You know, I’d kill to have a partner as obsessed with me as that man is with you.”

The words catch me off guard, sending the ever-familiar flare of heat to my face. I could roll with Wyatt’s lie, keep up the ruse. But Hannah seems nice. And we’re leaving shortly. My shoulders tense. I’m hit with a stab of possessiveness, something I’ve never really felt before. If they genuinely did connect over the past couple of days, maybe she would want to keep in touch with him if she knew he was single.

Maybe she’d be the one to finally feel right .

The thought gets lodged in my heart, leaving me breathless. But I’d feel guilty if I didn’t tell her the truth. So I swallow around my discomfort, forcing a smile. “Oh, we’re not actually together,” I tell her, trying to sound less wooden. “Wyatt was kidding.”

Hannah’s expression doesn’t change, surprising me once more. “I know,” she says simply, sipping her coffee. I stare at her, uncomprehending. “But there’s no faking the way you two look at each other.”

Something hums in my chest. I grip my mug tighter, mind whirring. “Do we. . . look at each other a certain way?”

“ Obviously ,” she says, watching as a neighbour strolls by with their dog. “Even if I were blindfolded, I’d be able to sense all the little glances, the pining, the repressed feelings. It fills up the room.”

My face burns with the heat of a thousand suns. She’s wrong, I know she is. But her assessment still makes me feel like I’ve been skinned, all my secrets laid bare. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I sputter.

She laughs her melodic laugh. “You should just lean into it, Stella. I’m sure it would be a good time.”

Hannah dares to wink at me, and I can only gape at her in response. She’s sounding a lot like my best friend. Noor is probably somewhere cackling maniacally right now.

“What would be a good time?”

I flinch at the sound of Wyatt’s voice. He materializes on the front porch, his hair still mussed, wearing a crewneck and sweatpants. My heart jolts at the sight of him, at the lingering sleepiness on his face and the dusting of stubble on his jaw. He tilts his head in my direction, taking in my flustered state.

Saving face, I stand up straighter. “None of your business.”

Hannah rolls her eyes playfully. “You can always count on a man to butt into a conversation.”

I snort, hiding my grin with my mug.

Wyatt laughs good-naturedly. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to intrude. I was just looking for Stella.” Then his eyes flicker to the mug pressed against my mouth. “Mind sharing?”

I give him a deadpan look before sighing, extending it in his direction. “Fine.”

But instead of taking the mug from me, he places his hand over mine, his fingers warm on my skin as he guides my hand toward him. His gaze is locked on my face as he takes a slow sip, maintaining his hold on me, and my heart pounds at the intimate gesture.

Finally, he releases me, and a tingling feeling spreads from my fingers and skates all the way up my arm. “Thanks,” he murmurs.

My cheeks heat as I remember that Hannah is standing next to us, and when I meet her eyes, she gives me a knowing look. I swear she sends me a telepathic message .

Lean into it.

?

Hours later, George, Edith, and Hannah wave to us from the porch as we head down the gravel road in Wyatt’s Toyota. Once they’re out of sight, I face forward in my seat again. A laugh bubbles up in my throat, pouring out of me.

Wyatt glances in my direction. “What’s so funny?”

“That was ridiculous,” I say.

He still seems confused, though he joins in my laughter anyway. “What was ridiculous?”

“ That ,” I insist, feeling hysterical as I gesture behind me with my thumb. “All of that. The dolls. The portraits. Edith. It feels like a fever dream.”

“I’m considering it more of a shared delusion,” he says. “A collective hallucination?”

I throw my head back in laughter and Wyatt beams. “Whatever it was, it was certainly memorable,” I remark. “It will make a fun story.”

He snorts, lowering his hands on the wheel and relaxing into his seat. “Maybe it should just be our little secret.”

“No way!” I protest. “I’m going to buy a billboard.”

“If I knew this was all it took to make you laugh so much, I would’ve made sure all of our accommodations gave us the chance to be murdered in our sleep by glassy-eyed Victorian dolls.”

“I’m putting that on the billboard,” I say, choosing not to dwell on the first part of his statement—about making me laugh—or the feeling it gives me. “Five stars.”

Wyatt appraises my expression. “This is a new side of you, Moore. I’m a fan.”

“And yet you don’t want to be my friend,” I blurt. Fuck. Why did I say that? The humour instantly leaves his face. I scramble for something to follow it up. “Your loss.”

He recovers with a small smile. “Guess I might have to reconsider.”

Pushing through the awkwardness, I reach for the AUX cord, plug in my phone, and throw on a playlist.

Despite Wyatt’s opinion on the matter, we are becoming friends. I can feel it. That being said, it feels like the kind of friendship that’s circumstantial, where you only spend time together because you’re in close proximity to each other, and when that changes, so does the friendship.

I’m confident that things will go back to normal when we get back to Toronto, but for now, I think I might enjoy being friends with Wyatt Song.

?

As the day stretches on, I catch up on sleep before we listen to another book by the author of It Lives in the Attic , sharing jokes about the scenes that are far too over the top. Eventually, the landscape changes from vaguely hilly to completely flat, and then, before I know it, we’re in the mountains. My lips part in awe as I stare up at the imposing, snow-capped fixtures of land, soaked in the evening light, unable to tear my eyes away.

I’ve never been to the Rockies before, so I’m not sure what I was expecting, but the sights take my breath away. It’s a stark contrast from the prairies, and my brain has a hard time reconciling how just hours ago, the only scenery was endless flatlands.

“Stella Jane,” Wyatt says in a sing-song voice. I probably wouldn’t have registered his voice if the nickname hadn’t broken through my reverie. I turn to him in surprise, blinking. He’s wearing his typical self-satisfied smile, enjoying how visibly awestruck I am.

“Huh?” I say. I think he’d already said my name several times.

“I was thinking about it, and we should probably book our rooms in advance. I want to make sure we’ll be able to stay at Ramble Ridge. Can you take a look?”

Those words are enough to snap me out of my trance completely. “God, I can’t believe you’re going to make me stay in a place called Ramble Ridge ,” I mutter, sliding my phone out of my pocket. “Just so you can live out your childhood cowboy fantasies.”

“Hey, I’ve told you nothing about my childhood fantasies,” he protests. “But there may or may not have been a cowboy phase.”

“Called it.” I let out a snort as I Google the lodge. “Do we need to stop and buy you a pair of chaps?”

“Only if they’re assless.”

“I’m pretty sure they’re all assless.”

Wyatt raises his eyebrows, putting on what must be his best attempt at a Southern accent. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“I hope you don’t intend to talk like that the whole time we’re in Harvie Heights,” I say flatly. “Because if you are, I will walk the rest of the way to Tofino.”

Wyatt laughs. “You’ll just have to wait and see.” He pauses, glancing at me. “Come on, you’re telling me you’re not even a little bit excited about going to a cowboy lodge? Doesn’t every girl have a horse phase at some point?”

“Not this one. Being at the mercy of a large animal that could buck me off at any second? No thanks.”

“Well, humour me, then.”

With a sigh, I scroll through the lodge’s website, trying to see what they have available. Then my finger stills, my lips pressing together firmly. Wyatt notices the atmosphere shift, sending me a curious look. “Jesus. All the rooms they have left are crazy expensive,” I say. “No way are we each getting one.”

“Oh.” He deflates. “Fuck.”

“Maybe there’s somewhere else we can stay?” I suggest. “Sorry to crush your cowboy spirit.”

He hums thoughtfully. “I didn’t see much else in the area when I searched yesterday. Banff and Canmore looked pretty booked up. You know, tourist season and all that.”

“Okay, well, maybe I can call around and see if there’s been a last-minute cancellation?” I ask, eyeing the sun as it dips toward the horizon.

“You could try,” he says half-heartedly.

I register the disappointment on his face. It’s silly, but he was clearly excited about Ramble Ridge being our next stop. Nerves flutter in my stomach. “Or,” I begin slowly, “we could share a room.”

His eyes flicker to mine, surprised. “Really? ”

“I mean. . . we just survived sharing a room, didn’t we?” I say, trying to sound nonchalant, like none of this is a big deal to me. I glance at my phone screen again. “And this one has two beds. It wouldn’t be the end of the world.”

He watches me carefully, gaze darting between me and the road. “Are you sure?”

I take a deep breath, shoving aside my feelings of doubt. “I’m sure. One more night can’t hurt, right?”