Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
I’m also aware that early evening has given way to dusk, and the sun is starting to fade behind the tall trees, casting the path in front of me into shallow darkness. I’m kicking myself for not forcing Jeremy to leave Oak Dale earlier. I sure hope he enjoyed that dinner with Khloe because I’m going to get lost in the woods as a result of it. I just know it. In fact, I take a mental note of what’s in my duffle just in case I need to survive on the contents alone. I have the clothes Jeremy lent me, toiletries, and the granola bar McKenna stuffed in my bag on my way out the door.
“In case you get hungry on the drive!” she said.
I’m more grateful than ever that I forgot about that granola bar until just now. It will likely be my only sustenance for the next week as I play out a real-life version of Naked and Afraid—except I’ll be fully clothed, so I guess just Afraid.
An owl hoots in a tree nearby and oh my god is that my shadow or a mountain lion? I remind myself I’m not in the mountains and then proceed forward, having successfully talked myself down from panicking. Then I remember that just because I’m not in the mountains doesn’t mean there aren’t other forest creatures roaming near me, licking their chops. I pick up the pace and am nearly hysterical with joy when I spot a log cabin up ahead. Finally!
I run toward it like it’s my salvation and don’t realize until I’m right upon it that it has a wooden sign dangling from the porch roof that says Daisy. Or rather, D-A-I…half-falling-off-S-Y. Not only that, it’s in quite a state of disrepair. One windowpane is shattered. The other is completely gone. It’s missing a nice chunk of its metal roof, and the front door is only attached by one hinge, leaving it to sway ominously in the wind, creaking at just the right interval to send a tingle of terror down my spine.
HELLO, LOCATION OF MY NIGHTMARES.
My heart is a speeding bullet as I run back to the path and force myself to continue in the direction Hudson’s scrawled map is leading me. I walk/run/skip (anything to get me away from Nightmare Cabin) down the path for what feels like 45,000 yards and still have not come across another structure, and then I reach a curve in the path and decide if I don’t see a cabin once I turn the corner, I’m bolting. I’ll find Jeremy, steal his keys, and sleep in his truck. That actually sounds lovely, right up until I make it around the bend and there she is: Rose Cabin.
Chapter 8
Taylor
My expectations after seeing the first cabin are at an all-time low, but this one is the exact opposite of its predecessor. It’s actually…adorable.
Small and square with a metal roof and two symmetrical windows framing the front door, the log cabin sits surrounded by wildflowers on all sides. Sure, some might call the unruly things weeds, but I’m not cultured enough to tell the difference. To me, they’re lovely, and I think that’s the first time I’ve used that word in my adult life without a single note of sarcasm.
The setting sun leaves just enough light to illuminate my path to the front porch. I know this is the right cabin because of the sign that proclaims it to be and also because the door is painted a dusky pink hue. Rose. Sure, there’s dust caked around the doorframe now, but I can tell that at one point, this cabin was well-loved. It’s the stuff of fairytales. In fact, I half expect Snow White to poke her head out one of the windows and invite me in for tea. “Yoo-hoo, scruffy young lad! Do come inside!”
I hold on to the wooden railing as I walk up the stairs that lead to the porch, just in case one of the steps decides it’s had enough and wants to disintegrate beneath my feet. The wooden boards do groan under my weight as if they’re waking from a long slumber, but they hold steady.
I’m about to reach out to open the front door when I stop short and decide to knock first. I won’t be living here alone. I’ll have at least one or two roommates, and I’d rather not barge in on one of them in a compromising position. I don’t know. I’ve never lived with a guy, but I feel like 9 times out of 10 when left alone, they’re up to no good.
“Knock knock,” I say, while knocking. I roll my eyes at myself and am actually grateful when no one answers. Maybe my roommate hasn’t arrived yet—or better yet, maybe he doesn’t exist.
I push the door open and step inside tentatively, and once again, I’m impressed by what I find.