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“Yes! Can you open the door? We’ve been cross-country skiing for hours, and I think Tyler might have altitude sickness.”
Tyler? One of theGroomsman to Groomcamera people?
I unlock the door with trembling fingers and pull it open to find Hayes Burke standing on my doorstep, looking like an REI catalog model in ski boots and performance gear, his cheeks flushed from exertion, his hair tousled by mountain wind. Behind him, Tyler the cameraman slumps against the rail, his face an alarming shade of gray-green.
“Oh my God,” is all I can manage.
“I know this is a shock,” Hayes says, his eyes—those eyes that haunted me for weeks—locked on mine with an intensity that makes my knees wobble. “But can we get Tyler inside first? He’s not doing well.”
I step back automatically, allowing them to enter. Tyler staggers to my couch and collapses, the camera still clutched in his hands like he’s been instructed not to release it under any circumstances.
“Oxygen,” Hayes says, glancing around. “Lloyd mentioned you have an emergency canister?”
“Lloyd? You talked to Lloyd?” My brain is short-circuiting, unable to process the surreal image of Hayes Burke in my sanctuary, talking about my curmudgeonly quasi-landlord like they’re old friends.
“Yes, at the base of the mountain. He gave us directions but refused to take us up—said something about you needing to ‘marinate in your words’ without interruption.” Hayes almost smiles. “But he was worried about the weather turning, so he told us where to find you. The oxygen?”
Right. Oxygen. Altitude sickness. Tyler, who looks ready to evacuate his stomach contents onto the old, very real bearskin rug.
“Under the sink,” I say to myself, finally moving into action. I head there, finding it beside the medical kit.
I retrieve it while I get Tyler a glass of water. The cameraman accepts it gratefully, though his hands shake so badly I have to help him hold it.
“Thanks,” he gasps. “First time... mountains... didn’t know... would be this bad.”
“Deep breaths,” I say, helping Hayes set up the small oxygen canister with its mask attachment. “This will help. Just relax.”
Tyler nods weakly, accepting the mask. His breathing gradually slows, some color returning to his face. I’m aware of Hayes watching me, his gaze heavy on my skin like physical contact. I don’t meet his eyes, not yet. Can’t. If I do, I’ll either punch him or kiss him, and I’m not sure which would be worse.
“I’m sorry for barging in like this,” Hayes says quietly. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Are you?” I finally look at him. “Because showing up unannounced at someone’s remote cabin with a cameraman seems pretty intentional.”
Hayes tilts his head. “Okay, yes. I wasn’t just passing through the neighborhood, if that’s what you mean.”
I manage a laugh as my heart flutters. “Very true. And thank you, Tyler.”
He makes a muffled sound behind the oxygen mask.
Hayes runs a hand through his hair—that gesture I’ve seen a hundred times, the one that always signals he’s frustrated or nervous. “Look, can we talk? Privately? Once Tyler’s stable?”
I nod mutely, still processing. Hayes Burke is in my cabin. Hayes Burke, who eliminated me on national television with tears in his eyes and an “I love you” that made no sense. Hayes Burke, who apparently cross-country skied three miles up a mountain with a cameraman to find me. Hayes Burke, who is supposed to be on an island with three other women right now.
The next twenty minutes pass in a surreal blur. Tyler’s color improves with the oxygen. Hayes helps him to the single armchair, arranges him with a blanket, then makes him drink more water. Their dynamic suggests they’ve been together for a while, and they have—Hayes anticipating Tyler’s needs before he expresses them, Tyler responding to Hayes’s directions with the weary compliance of someone who’s spent too many hours with a relative stranger in stressful conditions.
Finally, Hayes turns to Tyler and says, “Can you give us some time? Off camera.”
Tyler glances between us, then removes the oxygen mask to respond. “Darren said to keep rolling no matter what.”
“And I’m saying stop.” Hayes’s voice is firm but not unkind. “This isn’t part of the show. This is my life.”
Something in his tone must convince Tyler because he sighs and sets down the camera. “Twenty minutes,” he says. “Then I need to get something, or Darren will have my job.”
“Thank you,” Hayes says with genuine gratitude. “Why don’t you rest? We’ll be on the deck.”
Tyler nods, looking relieved at the prospect of not moving for a while. Hayes gestures toward the sliding glass door, a questionin his eyes. I hesitate, then lead the way outside. The sun is lower now, painting the mountains in shades of gold and amber. Under different circumstances, it would be romantic.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I say as soon as the door closes behind us. “You should be filming with the three finalists.”