comes into view, Camille steps away from Isla and frowns.
“This is it?” she asks, visibly disappointed. “When you said cabin, I pictured something bigger.”
“Like what?” Isla asks mockingly. “A resort?”
She shrugs and starts walking toward the steps, more than steady on her feet all of a sudden. It’s a miracle!
Isla and I look toward each other at the exact same moment—thinking the exact same thing—and we both lose it in a fit of laughter.
Still, I force myself to sober up. This is no good. I don’t want to like Isla. It’s an inconvenience to click so well with Ethan’s sister. If anything, my life would be much simpler if she turned sullen and grouchy like her brother. Now there’s a personality I’m accustomed to dealing with.
Isla nods her head toward the cabin and we finish walking up the steps. She pushes open the door and takes off her backpack, dropping it in the corner, out of the way.
“My things are back in the car. I thought one of the guys was going to grab it for me.” Camille frowns, hovering in the doorway, inspecting the space from ceiling to floor as if she’s never seen a piece of architecture like this ever before.
And what’s this charming thing called?
Ah, a log.
“All right, well, we’ll be here when you get back,” Isla says cheerfully, kicking off her sandals and walking over to test out the bottom bunk. The mattress bounces underneath her and she grins.
Camille puffs air out of her nose like a disgruntled bull—a dainty disgruntled bull—and then she’s gone.
Finally.
“Finally!” Isla says, throwing herself back on the mattress.
I suppress a smile. “I take it you and Camille aren’t the best of friends?”
“What gave it away? My snarl or my glare? Truth be told, I wish we’d left her back in Austin, but Liv insisted she come. She’s new to the city and doesn’t have many friends which means we have to try to like her, but between you and me, she’s proving very hard to like. Did you see those shoes?! We’re in the middle of the woods for God’s sake!”
I mash my lips together in an effort to keep my opinions to myself. I don’t feel like it’s my place to gossip about Ethan’s friends. I know he wouldn’t like it.
“So are they dating?” I ask, scratching my wrist then propping my hands on my hips, looking intently at the desk as if hunting for a speck of dirt.
“Who? Jace and Alice?”
“No, uh…Ethan and Camille.”
She jerks back up to a sitting position like someone who’s just been zapped in the chest with defibrillator paddles. Her forehead nearly collides with the bottom of the bunk. “WHAT?! Are you kidding?”
Thank God.
I can’t hide my smile, so I turn away.
“Why would you ever think that?”
“Oh…” I shrug, sounding casual. “Just the way she was holding on to him, and…well, she is beautiful. And delicate, like a china doll.”
“Beautifully annoying. A delicate pain in my ass.”
My smile has turned into a full-fledged grin.
“Besides, she’s not Ethan’s type.”
I whirl around. “What is his type?” My eyes go wide with the realization that I all but shouted the question and I shake my head quickly, stepping back. “No, never mind. Don’t answer that. It’s none of my business.”
She’s the Cheshire Cat with that grin of hers.
“Oh, I’d say spunky brunettes in work boots are more his speed these days.”
My cheeks flame. “We aren’t dating. Not even close.”
“I know.”
“He doesn’t even like me.”
“Really?”
“Yes! And it’s getting absolutely ridiculous. There has to be some kind of explanation for it. I mean, you could say we did get off to a…rocky start, but he should have gotten over that by now! He really knows how to hold a grudge. What was his childhood like? Terrible? Haunting?”
Her face turns solemn then and she casts her eyes toward the ground. I immediately feel like an ass for prying, but not so much that I’m prepared to backtrack. I want to know what makes Ethan tick. I want to know all his secrets.
“This is usually where people say, ‘It isn’t my story to tell.’”
My heart plummets, but I understand. She’s obviously going to be more loyal to her brother than to a perfect stranger.
But then her gaze sweeps up and crashes with mine as she continues, “So if I tell you, you cannot say a word to him under penalty of death.”
“Death?”
“Yes. Are you prepared for the consequences?”
She’s being perfectly serious. Her face is a mask of earnest sincerity. Then, suddenly, it’s