“Wait ’til June.”

“Less than five hours of darkness on the equinox, right?”

He grins. “Someone’s been doin’ her homework.”

“I like to be prepared.” The day I applied for the job, I ran home and researched Alaska late into the night instead of studying for my exams. The further I dug, the more excited I became, and the harder I prayed that I’d get the job.

“Well, I’m sure one of the ladies will be kind enough to fill you in on what you missed. They seemed like a nice group. Polite youngsters like yourself, for the most part anyway.”

At twenty-one, it feels strange to be referred to as a “youngster,” but I guess next to John, who’s got to be pushing seventy, that’s exactly what I am.

The ferry rounds the crop of small islands and turns toward the cove. John points to the massive building ahead. “And there’s Wolf Cove Hotel.”

My eyes widen. “Whoa. The brochure pictures weren’t fake.” And they don’t do this place justice.

John chuckles again. “No, they certainly weren’t.”

I stare at it quietly, mesmerized. The main lodge towers over the water. Even from this distance, I can see that the lodge is grandiose in its design and massive in size. I can’t make out the details to appreciate it yet, but there’s no doubt it’s something to be admired.

“They just made the finishing touches two weeks ago. Been working on it for almost three years, now.”

“Is it still opening on Sunday?” Belinda, the woman who called to formally hire me, said that these first few days would be focused on training and last-minute preparations.

“I’ll be ferrying in the first guests at noon. I’ve been bringin’ employees in by the boatload over the last two days. There are a lot of you. A high staff-to-guest ratio, I heard someone say.”

“How is the Wolf family going to make any money?”

“I’m guessing the twelve-hundred-dollar-a-night price tag will help.”

My mouth drops open. “Who can afford that?” I barely scraped together the eleven hundred I needed for my plane ticket here.

“What’s that famous line from that movie? Oh, shucks. You may be too young to remember. The one with the baseball and all those cornfields. ‘If you build it...’”

I smile. It’s only my dad’s favorite movie.

He winks.

We fall into a comfortable silence as we approach, and I realize that I’ve been rolling my promise ring around my finger unconsciously this entire time. It’s been three months since Jed and I broke up and I haven’t been able to bring myself to remove it. Now, I slip it off, letting the cheap metal rest in the palm of my hand. A part of me—the hurt, angry part—wants to toss it into the water and be done with it. A symbol of my faith in Jed.

But I can’t bring myself to do it just yet. So, I slip the ring into my pocket and try to focus on the months to come.

Chapter Three

The farther into Wolf Cove Hotel I venture, the more enchanted I become.

Standing at the shoreline, the main lodge serves as a centerpiece, an enormous rustic building constructed of thick timbers and stone, but adorned with balconies and chandeliers, and entire walls made of glass, giving it an opulent feel. Crushed granite paths lit with coach lights lead guests past the boat docks and water sports equipment—more kayaks and canoes and paddle boats than I’ve ever seen. On the left side of the lodge are three cabins modeled after the main building, each one set high up on the rocks, shrouded by trees and adorned with balconies overlooking the water. John said those are the penthouse suites.

On the right are gardens to sit and ponder in, and beyond them are signs leading to Wolf Cove’s own hiking trails. Miles of Alaskan wilderness to explore, according to the pamphlet.

I push through a heavy set of glass doors and revel in the warmth and smell of cedar in the grand lobby, offering a young woman who passes by me a nod and a smile. She returns it, zipping up her jacket before heading outside.

I’ve never been one to have a lot of friends. Just a few, really, mainly through church groups and study groups. The problem is they’ve all been “our” friends and now that Jed and I aren’t together, I’m acutely aware of something missing when I see them.

So I’ve isolated myself from them over the past few months, staying in my dorm room, focusing on my studies. Most of them don’t even know that I’m up here.

I’ll make new friends here, I assure myself. Ones who know nothing about me, about my life back home. It’s kind of refreshing, getting to be whoever I want to be. That’s what I told myself this summer would be about. Answering to no one, including Mama. Not concerning myself with what people will think, or what they’ll say, or weighing all my words and thoughts and decisions based on what would be considered appropriate by Jesus, the Reverend Enderbey, and my mama.

I’ve spent far too much time worrying about those things. Look where it has gotten me? Alone, while the guy I’ve loved for years is having, I’m sure, copious amounts of sex.

It’s past nine in the evening now, and a few people mill around. The e-mail sent out last week says that I’m supposed to report to the main lodge check-in upon arrival, so I head toward the expansive and chic rustic desk, made of timber logs. A woman stands behind it, her eyes glued to the computer screen in front of her.

Not until I’ve approached do I see her name badge. It’s Belinda, the woman I spoke with on the phone.

I smile. “Hi, Belinda.” My mama taught me to always use a person’s name when you can.

She looks up, her sharp gaze peering out from behind stylish red-framed glasses. I wish I had the guts to buy a pair of glasses like those. “Name, please?”

I remind myself that she probably spoke to hundreds of employees. She’s not going to remember me. “Abbi Mitchell.”

“Oh. Yes.” She does a quick once-over of my bulky coat and what I’m sure is wild hair—wind and braids never play nice—before settling on my face. What is that I see flicker across her expression? Annoyance? Dislike? It vanishes too quickly for me to identify it. “You left me a message about missing the orientation session, didn’t you?”

“Yes, that was me. My flight was delayed.”

“Okay. Give me a minute.” I use my shirt sleeve to clean the mist from my glasses as she pulls my file up, her nails tapping against the keyboard. “Okay, here we go. Abigail Mitchell.”

“It’s Abbi.”

She flashes me a tight smile, such a contradiction to her soft, seductive voice. She’s stunningly beautiful—her makeup flawless, her blonde hair cascading over her shoulder in movie-star smooth waves—but she’s dressed inappropriately, in a tight black dress that barely covers her butt, her fingernails blood red and clawlike. My mama would turn her nose up at associating with this woman, and remind me never to dress like this if I want any respect. “Right. Welcome to Wolf Cove, Abbi.”

I grin. “Thank you. It’s beautiful here.”

“Uh huh. So, Abbi, I see here that you were hired for Housekeeping and Guest Services.”

“What?” I blurt. “No. Outdoor,” I correct her.

“Well, it doesn’t say that here. See?” She taps the screen with her nail. All of my information—my home address, social security number, even my picture—is there, as well as a line that, sure enough, reads position applied for “Housekeeping and Guest Services.”

“That’s got to be a mistake. When we spoke on the phone, you confirmed Outdoor.” I can’t spend the summer cleaning toilets. And bed sheets! I’ll go crazy.

She frowns. At least, I think she frowns. Her forehead doesn’t actually wrinkle. “A mistake like that would be a first for us.”

“Well, can you fix it?” I’m mildly panicked now.

“I’ll look into it.” She doesn’t sound at all concerned. “For now, please stand over there so we can take your picture.”