Roadside Attractions

Nineteen

HARVIE HEIGHTS, AB

Ramble Ridge isn’t as big as I expected, even after seeing a few photos on their website.

It’s a log building with a slanted roof, and large windows make up a good chunk of the exterior. Mountains stand behind the lodge proudly, creating a stunning backdrop, even in the setting sun. There are signs outside advertising the main-floor pub and the nearby scenic hiking trails, along with a standee of an old-timey cowboy pointing us toward the entrance.

I side-eye the building as we unload our luggage in the dim light, the breeze pushing some of my curls into my face. Brushing them aside, I glance at Wyatt, who looks positively delighted, as expected. He turns back to me for approval.

“It’s very. . . rustic,” I say diplomatically.

“It’s beautiful.”

With a grin, he makes for the entrance to the building. I follow behind him less enthusiastically, my suitcase dragging along the gravel. We step inside, and the interior is dark, wooden, and warm. Cowboy hats hang from hooks on the walls, along with various watercolour landscapes of Alberta scenery. A shelf behind the front desk is dedicated to well-worn pairs of cowboy boots.

Wyatt ambles up to the front desk, and the woman standing behind it greets us with a bright smile, donning a flannel shirt. Music and chatter drift from the pub as we successfully check in, and she hands us our room key—a literal key, not a key card.

I give Wyatt a pointed look, but he only gestures for me to lead the way up the stairs.

“After you, partner,” he teases.

Rolling my eyes, I tug on my luggage and head for the staircase. I almost don’t notice the person crossing my path until we’ve nearly collided, causing me to flinch. I feel a wave of irritation until I look up into the blue eyes of the surprisingly handsome man staring down at me. Normally, shaved heads don’t do it for me, but I have to say, his blond buzzcut is working in his favour.

My eyes flicker to the hint of a bird tattoo just visible above his collar before darting back to his face. His lips pull upward into a smile.

“My bad,” he says, his voice smooth as silk. “I should watch where I’m going.”

“It’s okay,” I blurt, suddenly tongue-tied.

He smiles again before heading toward the pub, though he gives me one last lingering look over his shoulder before disappearing inside. My cheeks go up in flames before I remind myself to move again, trudging toward the stairs, feeling Wyatt’s gaze burning a hole in my back.

“What was that about?” he asks when we’re halfway up the stairs.

“It was nothing,” I mumble. God, that was embarrassing. I probably looked like a dumbfounded schoolgirl. Single Stella is a safety hazard.

“It was definitely something,” Wyatt says, and I can’t figure out his tone. “I think that dude just fell in love with you.”

“He did not fall in love with me. That’s ridiculous.”

When we reach the top, Wyatt falls into step with me, glancing my way with an amused expression. “You’re flustered,” he observes .

“I’m not.”

“Hey, I’d be flustered too. He gave you quite the look.”

The heat spreads to my chest. This is so not something I want to talk about with Wyatt. “Why is this even a conversation?”

“Because I’ve never felt like more of a third wheel,” he remarks. “I should be allowed some commentary in exchange for my suffering.”

“Shut up.” I fumble with the key in the doorknob. Wyatt chuckles as I shove the door open, and then we both immediately fall silent.

There’s only one bed.

We stand in the doorway as if we’ve just stumbled upon a dead body, the moments ticking on as my distress grows. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever seen. The room doesn’t even have a couch.

“Well,” Wyatt says finally. He doesn’t follow it up.

“Not happening,” I remark, turning on my heel. At this point, I can handle sharing a room; that feels like child’s play now. But a bed ? Once again, I can practically hear Noor’s evil cackle from all the way in Toronto. “There must be a mistake.”

Wyatt trails behind me as I march down the stairs toward the front desk. The woman behind it glances up from where she’s sorting out paperwork, a look of confusion on her face at the sight of us.

“Hi,” I say, giving her my best I-really-hate-to-be-a-bother-but-I-have-a-huge-fucking-issue face. “I’m so sorry to bug you, but I think there’s been a mistake with our booking.”

“Oh, no,” she says, blinking in surprise. “What seems to be the issue? I’d love to help you sort it out.”

“On your website, it said our room had two beds,” I begin, pulling up the reservation on my phone. Wyatt leans against the counter next to me, remarkably calm. It only unnerves me more.

Her eyebrows pull together tightly. “That doesn’t sound right. You’re booked into our Corral Suite, which is advertised as having one queen-size bed. Do you mind if I take a look?”

I offer her my phone, and she takes it gingerly, peering at the screen. Holding my breath, I wait for her expression to change, for her to realize the mistake and offer us a solution, apologizing profusely. But instead, her lips purse together, and she looks at me with pity. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” she says. “There must be some confusion. Your booking is correct.”

“It is?” I gape at her, reaching out my hand, and she passes the phone back to me. She’s right. Fuck . Dread settles in my stomach. “I. . . don’t know what I must’ve been looking at before. I’m sorry.”

I glance at Wyatt, and his eyes meet mine. I expect to see him mirroring my horror, but he maintains his composure. Unflappable. Nerves skitter up my spine, and my mouth dries.

“Can we book another room?” I ask, turning back to the woman.

“Unfortunately, we’re all booked up for the night,” she explains, looking as though she’s trying not to wince.

I hold back a laugh. “Of course.”

The woman wrings her hands nervously. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No, that’s all right,” I respond, giving her a placid smile. “My mistake.”

“Well, enjoy your stay,” she says half-heartedly, and I wander away from the desk, my pulse thrumming against my throat. Wyatt follows. I grip the handle of my suitcase tightly, sweat forming on my palms.

“What do you want to do?” I ask him quietly.

Just like at George and Edith’s, his expression is resolute. “I’m okay with it if you are.”

Our gazes hold, and I feel like I’m sticking my face directly into a fire. I’m even less okay with it than I was the last time. But I remind myself that Wyatt and I are kind of friends now. Friends should be able to share a bed without it meaning anything. Even so, we don’t have to share it. I’ll sleep on the goddamn floor if need be.

So once again, I play it cool, shrugging my shoulders. “Fine with me.”

?

After depositing our suitcases in our room, we head downstairs again to check out the pub. I’ve never been more grateful to see one in my life—it gives us an excuse to spend time outside the room and allows me to pretend like none of this is happening.

Even though the lodge isn’t that big, the pub houses a large crowd. I assume they’re all coming from the cabins available for rent nearby, since Harvie Heights is a touch closer than the city if you’re in need of a pint. The commotion is another thing I’m grateful for, because I don’t think I know how to be alone with Wyatt tonight.

As soon as we meander through the entrance, a woman around our age spots us, visibly pointing us out to her friends, and I feel a wave of discomfort. But then she approaches us, and I get a better look at her. She’s got a boho-cowgirl vibe going on, donning a fringe vest and bell-bottom jeans. Curtain bangs frame her face in that artfully messy kind of way, and there’s a gap between her two front teeth when she smiles.

“Hey,” she greets, waving. “Sorry if this is weird, but you two look a little frazzled, so my friends and I were wondering if you’d want to come and drink with us.”

I blink at the unexpected offer, turning to Wyatt. He raises his eyebrows, searching my face for signs of disapproval. I give him a casual shrug. Now we really don’t have to be alone.

“We’d love to,” he says.

“Amazing,” she replies, guiding us toward a table. “We’re just over here. I’m Astrid, by the way. Our gang comes to Ramble Ridge once a year, and we tend to pounce on anyone who looks cool, hence me kidnapping you guys as soon as you walked through the door. Where are you from?”

I’m a little stunned by her straightforwardness. I only became friends with Noor because she approached me first—I can’t imagine brazenly going up to strangers. But Wyatt doesn’t seem fazed.

“We both live in Toronto,” he answers. “We’re heading to Vancouver Island.”

Astrid looks impressed. “Sick. That’s a trek.” We approach the table, and she turns to the people sitting at it, gesturing to us. “Guys, I found fresh blood—they came all the way from Toronto.”

I survey Astrid’s friends, stopping when I land on the guy I bumped into earlier. My cheeks flush. Of course he’s part of this group. He gives me a two-finger wave, lips curling in a knowing smile, and I quickly look away. Wyatt spots him seconds after I do, and his gaze shifts to my face.

“I just realized I didn’t catch your names,” Astrid says.

“I’m Wyatt.”

“Stella.”

“This is Mei-Lien,” Astrid says, pointing at the girl with long, silky black hair, who waves in response, “and Owen.”

The guy from earlier nods at us in greeting before his gaze lands squarely on me. “Hey.”

“Go ahead and have a seat,” Astrid insists. “I’ll get you guys something to drink.”

After we give her our drink orders, Astrid disappears, and Wyatt and I slink into the wooden chairs. I end up in between Wyatt and Mei-Lien, across from Owen. An air of awkwardness settles over the table, but then Wyatt speaks.

“Astrid said you guys come here every year?” he says, resting his elbows on the table. “That’s awesome. This place is fantastic. How did you all meet?”

Mei-Lien smiles, and I notice her septum piercing and the plethora of tattoos on her exposed arms for the first time. “We all went to the same high school in Calgary,” she explains. “Our group used to be a lot bigger, but, you know, friendships change over time.”

Wyatt lets out a bitter grunt, and for a moment, his eyes are far away, no doubt thinking about Roman. “That they do.”

“We’re some of the select few from the group that haven’t gotten married or started having little ones yet,” she says, leaning back in her seat, one hand gripping her beer bottle. “It’s much harder to take an annual trip if you’ve got kids to worry about. I can’t blame them.” She nods in our direction. “What about you two? How’d you meet?”

Wyatt clamps his mouth shut firmly, nodding for me to speak. I don’t doubt that he’d love to tell them we’re a couple on our elopement tour, but he seems to remember our conversation from yesterday and chooses to stay quiet.

“We had a mutual friend,” I say, eyeing Wyatt. “But we had a falling out with him. I guess it. . . brought us closer.”

“Well then, cheers to the dissolution of that friendship,” Mei-Lien says with a grin, lifting her beer before taking a swig.

I feel Owen’s eyes on us, likely trying to assess our dynamic, understand what we are to each other. I can’t deny that it’s flattering, even though we’ve barely said two words to each other. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt someone’s obvious interest in me. But that doesn’t mean I know what to do with it. Plus, for reasons I can’t explain, I feel like I shouldn’t lean into Owen’s attention—like somehow, I’d be betraying Wyatt if I did. Which is ridiculous, because we’re not together. Not even close .

Thankfully, Astrid returns with our drinks right at that moment. I accept the cider she passes me gratefully, taking a sip. Hopefully, all of the awkwardness will wear off soon. I accidentally make eye contact with Owen, and he sends me a secret smile. Despite my reservations, I return it, feeling bashful, then press my drink to my lips to cover it.

And when I feel Wyatt’s gaze flicker in my direction, I pretend not to notice.