The Fashionista and Her Lumberjack (Romance on the Go Book 0)

by Larissa Vine

  A ripple went through April. She reached over the armrest and patted Miranda’s forearm. “Nothing will go wrong,” she said firmly. It felt like she was making a vow.

  Miranda beamed. “Thanks. You’re such a great friend. You’re always there for me.”

  April felt a swell of pride and wished she’d laced the corset more loosely. “So,” she said. “What’s the low down on his friend Rory?”

  Miranda crunched on another chip. “He lives in Vancouver and owns a tree-planting business. Every summer, he goes up north to plant trees. But this year there are forest fires, so he’s hanging around Vancouver until the firefighters have them under control.”

  “So he’s a lumberjack?”

  “Not exactly,” Miranda said. “What’s so funny?”

  “A Canadian lumberjack. It’s kind of a cliché.”

  April could picture this Rory clearly. He’d have rough hands and shitty clothes. He definitely wasn’t her type. Not at all.

  Chapter Five

  April stood at the sink inside the ladies’ restroom at Vancouver International Airport, watching Miranda brush her teeth. They’d survived the nine-hour flight and had been through passport control. All they had to do was to go through the nothing-to-declare section and reach arrivals, where Dan and Rory would meet them.

  April watched Miranda fetch her makeup bag from her carry-on and pull out a lipliner. Her hands shook. April smiled. She’d never seen Miranda so nervous.

  “You really do like him, don’t you?” she said.

  Miranda bit her lip. “Don’t go on about it. You’re only making it worse.”

  “It’ll be fine,” April said. Then she repeated her promise from the start of the flight. “Everything’s going to be perfect.”

  Just for a second, she allowed her mind to flash forward to Miranda’s wedding, where she’d get to be a bridesmaid, of course. She already knew which shoes she’d choose—her Miz Mooz leather peep toes in a nude shade.

  They left the restroom. Miranda hurried ahead of April, pushing the luggage cart. April bet that her heart was beating triple time. They passed through the nothing-to-declare section without any hassle and stepped into the concourse. Crowds of people waited behind a barrier that ran down the left-hand side. Some held up placards. Others clutched balloons or bouquets of flowers.

  April bounced along behind Miranda. She loved arriving at airports. She liked seeing the hugs and the kisses and the outpouring of emotion. Suddenly, Miranda shrieked, then raced down to the end of the barrier and threw herself at a man—Dan?—who picked her up in his strong firefighter’s arms and spun her around and around until they both must have been dizzy. When he put her down, they started kissing.

  April walked up to them and stood a polite distance away until they came up for air.

  Miranda swiveled toward April. Her eyes shone, her lipstick smeared around her face. “Dan,” she said. “This is April. April, Dan.”

  Dan turned to her, his gaze on her corset. For a second, she thought she saw the corners of his mouth flicker upward. Then he reached out and shook her hand. She tried to give him a look that said “don’t mess with my friend,” but he probably thought she just had grit in her eyes.

  She glanced around. Where was his friend, Lumberjack Rory? He’d clearly changed his mind about the vacation. April was glad he’d backed out. They wouldn’t have gotten along, anyway. Sure, it would be awkward with just her, Miranda, and Dan, but she vowed to give them plenty of couple time and leave them alone while she went for walks.

  Dan took the trolley. “Let’s get out of here. This place is a zoo. Rory’s going to meet us at the front.”

  April’s heart sank. Oh, so Rory had come after all.

  They hurried toward the exit, dodging passengers, and stepped through the automatic doors. April shivered. The sky was overcast, and it was a lot colder than she expected. At least she’d brought her zebra-print scarf to wrap around her shoulders. Zebra-print, she’d told her readers in one of her columns, was less trashy than leopard print. Her Stella McCartney trainers glowed white in the gloom.

  A line of taxes waited past the double doors. The ones in the front kept their engines idling. A man in a uniform blew a whistle as he directed travelers over a crossing to a multi-story parking garage on the other side of the road.

  Suddenly, a black Range Rover with tinted windows roared up to the exit. Fishing rods, surfboards, and water containers were strapped to its roof rack, and mud splattered up its sides. It cut ahead of the taxis and skidded to a standstill outside the doors, which sent the cabs into a frenzy of honking. The man in the uniform blew his whistle so hard his face turned purple.

  Dan rushed the cart up to the Range Rover. The door flew open and the driver leaped out onto the pavement. April’s breath quickened. So this was Rory. She’d been right. He was completely not her type. He was very blond, very tanned, and very muscular.

  He threw out a string of swear words to the taxi drivers, then grabbed the suitcases from the trolley and bundled them into the trunk. At the same time, Dan ushered April and Miranda to the SUV.

  “Quick,” Dan said. “This is a no-stopping zone. The cops’ll be onto us in a second.”

  Miranda opened the back door and dove inside. April was about to follow when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around. Rory stood behind her, shaking his head.

  “No, you don’t,” he said. “Let the lovebirds have the back.”

  His gaze moved down to her corset and a look of utter astonishment crossed his face. April rolled her eyes. She wanted to sit in the back with Miranda, not next to this jerk. She stomped around to the front passenger side and hopped into the car.

  Inside, the cream leather seats smelled new. Walnut paneling covered the dashboard. The Range Rover must have cost a bomb, she thought. She’d never expected someone with a tree-planting business to earn so much money.

  Rory jumped into the driver’s side and revved the engine. Then, ignoring the horns that seemed to be blaring at them from every direction, he maneuvered the SUV down the road toward the exit signs.

  He shot April a wicked grin. “Sorry about the dramatic entrance.”

  She glanced at him, giving him a onceover. His clothes were better than she’d imagined and they actually looked okay. His muscular thighs were encased in a pair of faded 501s. His white t-shirt was simple, but the cut was expensive. Below the sleeves, she saw the curve of biceps.

  “So how long’s the journey?” she asked, trying to make polite conversation.

  “Not that long, about eight hours.”

  April gasped. “Are you serious? That’s epic.”

  He smiled, his white teeth flashing. “Not for a Canadian, it isn’t. Hey, I have to ask. What exactly are you wearing?”

  April brightened. She’d been wrong about him. He was into fashion, after all. “It’s a fabric corset,” she explained. “They’ve only just come out. Most people in London would give their right arm to get their hands on one. I only managed because I have contacts in the industry.”

  Rory’s lips twitched. “And you wear it over a t-shirt?”

  “Yes, but not just any t-shirt.”

  His eyes danced. “A corset—that’s kind of French, isn’t it?”

  “Exactly.” Now April was really smiling. “It’s how I like to dress. I always try to look as French as possible, but also slightly slutty.” She flushed. Maybe she shouldn't have told Rory that. “It’s my jumping off point when it comes to clothes.” Rory tipped back his head and let out a roar of laughter. He laughed so hard that he clutched his ribs.

  “I … I think,” he said at last between breaths. “I think that’s the funniest thing that I’ve ever heard.”

  She glared at him. Who was he to judge?

  Chapter Six

  Rory frowned and stared out the window as he tried to focus on the highway ahead. They were leaving the airport and going over the Alex Fraser bridge. He had to concentrate because drivers kept cuttin
g into the lane in front of him, but it was hard with April sitting next to him.

  He’d never expected her to be so hot. She had dark eyes and masses of shining hair, which smelled of expensive shampoo. And that corset. Man, that corset. He imagined tearing at the laces on the back and ripping the damn thing right off her.

  Chapter Seven

  It was mid-afternoon when the tension in the Range Roger exploded again. April reckoned that they’d been traveling for about four hours through Vancouver to somewhere called Horseshoe Bay, where they boarded a ferry across the millpond-smooth ocean to Vancouver Island. All the way, Rory had been winding her up by talking in a French accent or humming bars from Moulin Rouge. Now he started in on the corset again.

  “I bet that thing’s uncomfortable,” he said as he drove.

  “You’re wrong,” she snapped. “It’s actually extremely comfortable, and anyway, it’s not a thing, it’s a corset.”

  Rory grinned. “Still, I’m not sure it’s the best choice for camping.”

  “Yeah, like I’d ever know.”

  “Have you camped before?”

  April narrowed her eyes. She wondered where the conversation was going. Maybe he was trying to steer her into a trap by getting her to say something stupid, so he could tease her about it for hours. Not for the first time, she fantasized about smothering him with the corset.

  “So you haven’t been camping before?” he pressed.

  “Actually, I have,” she said. “At the V Festival.”

  It was the year when Hunter wellies had been huge and she’d written a piece for The Mail on the dos and don’ts of festival fashion. The organizers of V had seen the article and liked it so much, they’d invited her to the festival, where she’d stayed in a fully kitted-out yurt. It had been more glamping than camping, but she wasn’t going to tell Rory that.

  There was a pause. She watched his long fingers curl around the steering wheel.

  “Still, it’s brave of you,” he said.

  “To do what?”

  “To sign up to camp for a whole week.”

  A jolt traveled through April. She spun around toward Miranda, who was sitting in the back seat cuddled up to Dan. She had a love bite on her neck. He was twirling a strand of her hair around and around his finger like he was trying to unravel her.

  “Miranda.” April kept her voice light like because surely this was a joke. “What’s this about camping?”

  Miranda’s eyes grew wide. “You knew we were going camping. I told you at Whispers. You were excited about the idea. You even made a speech about how people needed to be outdoors because it was part of their psychological makeup.”

  “But I was drunk,” April wailed.

  She turned back around, grabbed her phone, and brought up Google. Then she typed “Tofino accommodation” into the search bar. A listing for the Tofino tourist center appeared.

  April pressed the number.

  “Hello?” a man’s voice answered.

  April felt a surge of relief. “Oh, hi. I wondered if you could help. I’m looking for a place that sleeps four.”

  “For next July?”

  “No, for now.”

  The man laughed. “Sorry, we’re fully booked.”

  “What, everywhere? But you can’t be.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. Tofino’s a small fishing town. It gets booked up by January for the summer. Now, you have yourself an awesome day.”

  April ground her teeth together. An awesome day, her ass. The man was clearly deranged, senile. How could a whole village be booked?

  She clicked on another website for Tofino, which showed a cabin on a beach. But when she called the number, it went through to an answering machine. Next, she called a bed and breakfast. The rooms on the website looked amazing. They had high ceilings, views of the harbor, and Aboriginal art on the walls. Again, it was full. April tried another place, then another, then another, without success.

  A scream rose inside her. She felt it beating against her voice box.

  “Turn the car around,” she said to Rory. “You need to drop me back at the airport.”

  Rory drove on for a couple of minutes before pulling onto the shoulder. April raised her eyebrows. She was surprised he’d listened to her for once.

  He stopped the engine, sprang out of the Range Rover, and marched around the front. Then he opened her door, took her by the arm, and frog-marched her away from the Range Rover. A vein pulsed in his temple.

  “What the hell are you playing at?” he snapped.

  “I’m not going camping. I refuse.”

  His eyes sparked. “Listen. Dan really likes your friend. She’s the first girl he’s liked in a while. I won’t let you ruin this trip for him. We’re going camping whether you like it or not. Dan and I have gone to a lot of trouble to accommodate you both. We bought you a tent and some sleeping bags. But you’d have known that already if you hadn’t been so drunk.”

  April turned to march off. Rory gripped the top of her arm.

  “Let go,” she shrieked. “You’re hurting me.”

  His eyes blazed. He was breathing very hard. They were inches away from each other, and she could feel the heat coming off his body.

  “You will not ruin this vacation,” he said slowly and clearly, enunciating every syllable of each word. “I’m not going to let you pout like a spoiled princess. You will stop thinking about yourself. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  “Now, do you need us to stop so you can get extra supplies?”

  April tilted her chin. “I’ll be fine.” Her voice wobbled. It was taking all of her self-control not to cry.

  They got back in the SUV and drove past several strip malls and a few small towns lining the road. Then civilization ended. They passed fields and lakes. April spotted mountains in the distance.

  The road narrowed into a single lane, and soon they became stuck behind a motor home with seemingly no hope of overtaking it. The road twisted left, then right, then left again. April’s stomach churned. She wound down her window and stuck her head outside to take gulps of the chilly air.

  “Are you carsick?” Rory asked.

  She brought her head back inside. “No. I was doing that for fun.”

  He didn’t laugh. Clearly, he had no sense of humor. “I’m afraid it’s going to be like this for another fifty miles,” he said.

  April swallowed. “I’m fine,” she said brightly.

  “Cool,” he whispered. “You’re doing great.”

  “Thanks for the pep talk,” she hissed. She felt a spark of satisfaction when his nostrils flared.

  A torturous hour later, the SUV turned off the main road onto a smaller track. Forest sprang up on either side, but it was forest like April had never seen before. The pine trees were so tall that even when she put her head out the window again and craned her neck upward, she still couldn’t see their tops. They grew thickly together, cutting off most of the light. Lichen dangled from the branches and the ground looked springy with moss.

  She shivered. The trees were so tall she bet they were hundreds of years old. They had to be ancient, prehistoric even. She imagined dinosaurs crashing through the woods or those velociraptors from Jurassic Park. She pictured them skittering along with the frilly wings of their jowls flapping as they went on the attack.

  The Range Rover reached a ticket booth by the side of the road, and Rory stopped the Range Rover. The ranger, a chirpy-looking woman in a khaki uniform, slid down the window. Rory handed her his phone, which April saw had the reservation details for their site.

  “Cash or card?” the ranger asked.

  April got out her purse but Rory shook his head. “Don’t worry,” he said with a chuckle. “It’s my treat.”

  She resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him.

  The ranger handed Rory a receipt and a parking pass for the windshield, then she waved a brochure at him.

  “I’d like everyone in your party to read this,” she said. “Th
ese are the rules for the campsite. We’ve had several sightings of bears in the area recently, so everyone in your group needs to be bear-aware.”

  April gasped. Bears. The second the ranger handed Rory the pamphlet, April snatched it from him and scanned the first page. It had a sketch of the some of the animals that lived in the national park. They were drawn sideways and arranged in height order, starting from the smallest and ending with the biggest.

  First, there was a wolf. A wolf! Next to it, some kind of big cat. Then, prowling along with its claws at the ready, was a massive bear. April whimpered. She felt like she was about to throw up.

  “Are you worried about the bears?” Dan called from the back. “If you are, you don’t have to be.”

  April turned and gave him a smile. At least someone was being nice to her.

  “Oh, no,” Dan continued. “It’s the cougars you’ve got to worry about.”

  “The cougars?” she said faintly.

  “Those.” Dan reached through the gap between the front seats and pointed to the cat on her leaflet. “Cougars are mountain lions. They’re sneaky, unlike bears. They stalk people in the woods for hours, then pick them off one by—”

  “Hey,” Rory cut in. “Maybe April doesn’t need to hear this.”

  He drove down the road and into their campsite, then stopped the Range Rover. April climbed out. Mud oozed around the sides of her running shoes. They were ruined. She knew in her soul, in her heart of hearts, that they were never going to be white again, not even if she put them though the washing machine. And surely, she thought, it was sacrilege to put anything by Stella McCartney into the washing machine.

  She shivered and looked around the campsite, although “campsite” was a kind word for it—it was just a clearing in the forest with two fire pits and two picnic tables, which Rory pushed together. The trees gave off a heady, woody smell so strong that it felt aggressive.

  She watched Rory climb onto the bumper of the Range Rover and undo the straps on the roof rack. Then he and Dan began to unload the camping gear. Rory was whistling like he was enjoying himself. Or maybe he was just doing it to annoy her. Still whistling, he wandered over with a water container.