The cabin she’d rented was so completely surrounded by forest that Emma felt as though she was the one backcountry camping.
In reality, she was only a few minutes’ walk from the end of Main Street, a handy thing since she hadn’t yet figured out how transportation worked on the island.
If she were honest with herself, she would admit that a very small part of her, a fraction that had always smarted from not having a father around, had been filled with hope for this trip. Hope that there would be an open, running-into-each-other’s-arms kind of first meeting. Hope that Michael would be so eager to get to know his adult daughter that he would invite her to stay with him. She wouldn’t need to rent a car, because she’d be at her father’s side all the time, soaking up twenty-six years’ worth of affection.
“Not so much,” she muttered to herself as she flopped back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. The mattress was so soft that she didn’t even bounce, instead sinking into the hand-pieced quilt bit by bit as she focused on the cheap foil tree garland that management had draped on every available surface of the tiny cabin.
Yeah. Instead of a warm, loving father figure, she’d found an irritable, inappropriate welder. Okay, a hot inappropriate welder, but still. The shattering of her private reunion dream and the inexplicable chemistry between her and said hot, half-naked welder had left her at loose ends.
On some level, she approved of how protective the welder—Nick—had been of Michael. That kind of friend was hard to find. She should know, because she didn’t have one. The closest she’d ever come was Matthew.
Just thinking of his name ruffled her feathers. A few days and a bit of distance had made her grateful that her hand had been forced—she and Matthew had come together because it had been expected, the next logical step to their lifelong friendship. The longevity of their friendship was why his betrayal had really stung.
Yes, he and her mother had always been close. Still, she’d never imagined that he would take her mother’s side over her own. And she believed, wholeheartedly, that a husband and wife should be a team, should present a united front.
Just thinking of it all had her anger simmering just below the surface of her skin. This feeling of betrayal—that must have been why she’d been so attracted to Nick. Her pride had taken a hard blow, and a bit of a flirt with a sexy man had been like holding a box of cookies in front of someone four weeks into a Paleo diet.
Cookies. Why hadn’t she packed that tin of Christmas cookies from Agnes? She could use a rum ball or three right about now.
“Ugh!” This wouldn’t do. The pleasant warmth from meeting Nick, the anger at Matthew and her mother—she was ready to claw at the walls. She was fixing to get out and do something.
The corner of the cabin featured a small, boxy desk stacked high with takeout menus and brochures for local activities. She flipped through the latter slowly, scowling at all of the athletic adventures advertised within.
If it was to be believed, when the residents of Salt Spring Island weren’t creating world-renowned art, they were surfing, swimming, jogging, hiking, and reveling in all their sporty awesomeness.
Casting a look down at the yoga pants she’d changed into after she’d hauled her suitcase into the cabin, Emma snorted at herself. Wearing the stretchy things was the closest she came to working out, thankyouverymuch. Her gangly limbs had never been anything but clumsy whenever she tried to play sports or exercise.
But what else was there to do? When she’d packed, she never imagined she’d have several days with nothing to do but wait.
Above her head, one of the strands of silver tinsel pulled loose, reaching down to tickle at her face. She batted at it with a growl.
The Christmas decorations everywhere were driving her buggy, too. They were just a reminder of every traumatic thing that had happened in the past week, and even worse—that Christmas was right around the corner, and, for the first time in her life, she didn’t know where she would be celebrating it, or with whom.
As if to taunt her, the loose strand of garland detached from the ceiling completely, tangling in her hair as it shed tiny icicles of foil all over the floor. Emma shouted, startled, before knocking the thing to the floor and stomping on it.
That decided it. Digging through her suitcase, she tossed aside tailored slacks, cashmere sweaters, even a silk cocktail dress—what had she been thinking?—until she unearthed the only other warm item she’d packed, a long-sleeved thermal she’d purchased just for the trip. Yanking off the tags, she dropped them into the trash bin before stripping off her T-shirt and replacing it with the thermal. Over this she layered the chunky knit sweater she’d been wearing earlier and, after a moment of hesitation, Nick’s jacket. After another moment, she gave in to the urge and buried her nose in the fabric, taking a good sniff.
The predominant smell was, she assumed, some kind of fuel, or whatever powered that torch. Mixed with it, though, was something smoky and, she was positive, a musky note that she thought might be pure Nick.
And what the hell was she doing, sniffing a stranger’s jacket?
“Idiot,” she muttered to herself as she slipped her feet into her boots. Throwing open the door to the cabin, she looked down at her pretty leather ankle booties with their adorable little kitten heels.
Probably not the best choice of footwear for the snow that spread out before her like a scene from Rudolph—the stop-motion animated classic that she still watched every holiday season. But it was either this, high-heeled pumps, or fuzzy slippers, so these were probably the best choice after all.
She was going on a hike.