Meet Me at the Lake


 
 
 
 Titles by Carley Fortune
 
 Every Summer After
 Meet Me at the Lake
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 BERKLEY ROMANCE
 Published by Berkley
 An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
 penguinrandomhouse.com
 
 Copyright © 2023 by Carley Fortune
 Readers Guide copyright © 2023 by Carley Fortune
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 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
 Names: Fortune, Carley, author.
 Title: Meet me at the lake / Carley Fortune.
 Description: First Edition. | New York: Berkley Romance, 2023.
 Identifiers: LCCN 2022041943 (print) | LCCN 2022041944 (ebook) | ISBN 9780593438558 (trade paperback) | ISBN 9780593438565 (ebook)
 Subjects: LCGFT: Novels.
 Classification: LCC PR9199.4.F678 M44 2023 (print) | LCC PR9199.4.F678 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23/eng/20220902
 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022041943
 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022041944
 First Edition: May 2023
 Cover art by Elizabeth Lennie
 Cover design by Vi-An Nguyen
 Book design by Ashley Tucker, adapted for ebook by Molly Jeszke
 This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
 pid_prh_6.0_143319814_c0_r0
 
 
 
 To Marco
 For that first mix CD and all the ones that followed,
 but especially for turning the volume down
 
 
 1
 
 
 
 Now
 I make it as far as the front desk without anyone noticing me. It’s a striking piece, carved from a large tree trunk— rustic but not shabby, the epitome of Mom’s aesthetic—and there’s no one behind it. I hurry past, to the office, then shut myself inside and lock the door.
 The room is more fishing hut than work space. Pine walls, two ancient desks, a small window trimmed with a flimsy plaid curtain. I doubt it’s changed much since the lodge was built in the 1800s. There’s nothing to suggest how much time Mom spent here, except for a photo of me as a baby pinned to the timber and a faint whiff of Clinique perfume.
 Dropping into one of the worn leather chairs, I switch on the plastic tabletop fan. I’m already sticky, but it’s stifling in here, one of the few spots in the building without air-conditioning. I raise my elbows like a scarecrow and swing my hands back and forth. Pit stains are the last thing I need.
 While I wait to cool off before changing into heels, I stare at a stack of our brochures. Brookbanks Resort—Your Muskoka Getaway Awaits, declares a chipper font above a photo of the beach at sunset, the lodge looming in the background like a country cottage castle. It almost makes me laugh—it’s Brookbanks Resort I’ve failed to get away from.
 Maybe Jamie will forget I agreed to do this tonight, and I can sneak back to the house, slither into stretchy pants, and douse myself with a bucket of cold white wine.
 The door handle rattles.
 No such luck.
 “Fernie?” Jamie calls. “What’s with the lock? You decent in there?”
 “I need five minutes,” I reply, voice pinched.
 “You’re not gonna bail, right? You swore you’d do this,” he says. But the reminder is unnecessary. I’ve been dreading it all day. All my life maybe.
 “I know, I know. I’m finishing up some paperwork.” I clamp my eyes shut at the mistake. “I’m almost done.”
 “What paperwork? Is it the linen order? We have a system for that.”
 My mom had a system for everything, and Jamie doesn’t want me messing with any of them.
 He’s worried. It’s peak season, but many of the guest rooms are vacant. I’ve been back for six weeks, and Jamie thinks it’s only a matter of time before I shake things up. I’m not sure if he’s right. I’m not even sure if I’m staying.
 “You can’t shut me out of my own office. I have a key.”
 I curse under my breath. Of course he does.
 It’s going to be embarrassing if he has to drag me out of here, and I’m pretty sure he’ll do it. I haven’t made a scene at the resort since my senior year of high school, and I’m not about to start. Being here sometimes makes me feel like I’ve regressed, but I’m not a reckless seventeen-year-old anymore.
 Taking a deep breath, I stand and smooth my palms over the front of the dress. It’s too tight, but the ripped jeans I’ve been living in aren’t appropriate for the dining room. I could almost hear Mom when I changed earlier.
 I know you’d rather wear pj’s all day, but we have to set the tone, sweet pea.
 I open the door.
 Jamie’s flaxen curls are cropped short and styled into obedience, but he has the same baby face from when we were young and he thought deodorant was optional.
 “Is it the linen order?” he asks.
 “Absolutely not,” I say. “You have a system.”
 Jamie blinks, not sure if I’m teasing. He’s been the resort’s general manager for three years, and I can’t get my head around it. In pressed pants and a tie, he looks like he’s playing dress-up. In my mind, he’s still a lake rat in swim trunks and a bandanna.
 He doesn’t know what to make of me anymore, either—he’s torn between trying to please me, his new boss, and trying to prevent me from wreaking havoc. There should be a cosmic law against exes working together.
 “You used to be fun,” I tell him, and he