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Finn

A chilled wind blows through the trees with an unfamiliar whistle. I shiver and pull my coat tighter around my neck, trying to stave off the late fall air. I’ve spent most of my life in Maine, where trees have tons of leaves and a canopy of wide branches, but here in Alaska, things are different.

Towering spruce trees seem to rocket skyward, their evergreen foliage not starting sometimes until a hundred feet above the earth.

Since arriving at my father’s home, The Wildwood Bed and Breakfast, just an hour after he passed away, I’ve been acclimating to the new surroundings as best as I can.

I’ve learned a lot in just over a month, but there’s so much more to figure out—including whether I even want to stay.

I hoist the rifle over my shoulder by the strap.

The firearm still scares the crap out of me; I’m not used to touching one, let alone being near one.

Growing up, my mother hated weapons of any kind.

She’d always say, if she wanted to fear for her life, she would have stayed with my father.

While I never saw a violent side to him, he was never overtly affectionate or kind to me.

My mother rarely spoke of him, and I only visited a couple of times during the summers over the past fifteen years.

Unfortunately, carrying a rifle is one of the necessary things I have to get used to here.

We’re fifty miles from the nearest town, Angel Falls, and there are wild animals living their best lives in the surrounding forest—bears, wolves, mountain lions, bobcats, you name it.

If it has teeth and eats meat, it’s native to our backyard.

Nothing prevents them from seeing me as a meal or a threat to their offspring except this gun. I honestly hope I never have to use it.

I’ve been told the bears are already hibernating this time of year, but if one got a late start, it’d be mighty pissed off and hungry—or so I’ve been told. Either way, I need this gun if one charges me.

Looking back toward the large bed and breakfast, the glow from the soft interior lights makes it look picturesque.

The structure is an immense log-cabin-style home with ten bedrooms, each with its own bathroom.

There’s a large living area with multiple wood-burning fireplaces, a dining room, and even staff quarters.

The flicker from the fireplaces through the huge picture windows makes me wish I were inside enjoying a hot chocolate by the fire, rather than out here looking for the wallet our guests accidentally dropped on their hike around the property.

The wind whistles again, and I shiver. The temperatures are dropping fast without the sunlight, now very low on the horizon.

I look up through the trees and watch the tops sway back and forth, the sound of limbs creaking intensifying with each new gust. Something crashes in the distance.

Unfamiliar with all the sounds the forest makes around me, I tell myself it’s just a tree branch breaking off from above and smashing to the earth below.

Nothing to worry about. Right? Surely, it’s not a bear, or a freaking bigfoot.

I can’t help but laugh at the thought of it.

Even in Maine, there were sightings of the huge, furry, man-like creature, but up here in Alaska, I’ve heard so many stories, legends, and folkloric tales that I can’t help but wonder if there’s a tiny bit of truth to them.

I shake my head. I’d better get to finding this wallet, or I’ll be stuck out here past dark.

The guest, Max, said he and his husband, Ben, had been out here looking for the perfect spot to take their last photo of the trip.

They’re leaving today and heading back to their home in Los Angeles.

They’re the cutest couple—affectionate but not obnoxious, fun but not carried away.

The perfect guests for my first group here at The Wildwood.

Watching these two men openly show affection to one another, not a care in the world, makes me smile. One day, I’ll find love.

Despite wanting to call it quits on this pointless endeavor, I know I can’t.

Max will need his driver’s license to get on the plane, and they have to go to the airport soon.

I look at my watch. Dammit, they’re leaving in under two hours.

I use my walking stick to turn over a few branches on the ground, but there’s no sign of the wallet.

That’s when I look up and see a downed tree.

It overlooks a steep ravine that opens into a valley behind the property.

Truly gorgeous and the perfect place for a photograph.

I rush over and root through the underbrush, kicking at some tufts of dried grass and twigs.

There it is. Max’s Louis Vuitton wallet, brown with tan lettering, exactly as he described it. I snatch it up from the ground and rush for the house. I take the four stairs in two steps and reach for the front door. It swings open before I can do it myself.

“Please tell me you found the damned thing,” Miranda Dale, the Chief of Housekeeping staff, says.

She’s in her mid-fifties, hair pulled up into a gray bun.

Her eyes are wide with a look of panic; no doubt she’s been tearing the entire place apart looking for the errant wallet.

Her uniform reminds me of an old television sitcom about waitresses in Phoenix, Arizona.

My mom would watch reruns of the show and laugh and laugh.

Truth be told, during the offseason, Miranda is the only staff member in housekeeping.

She cleans the rooms and the entire home, leaving it spotless every single night before she goes to bed in the staff quarters.

She’s been working for my father since the 1980s and is an important member of The Wildwood family.

I hold up the wallet with a big smile on my face.

She beams back at me. “Should I take it to him, or would you like to do the honors?” she says with a sigh of relief.

“I’ll do it,” I say. “I can use the opportunity to ask them how they enjoyed their stay.”

“Okay,” she says. “I’ll finish up here and get myself ready to say goodbye to our guests.”

Unlike most bed and breakfasts I’m familiar with, my father ran his a little differently.

As a former captain of a ship, he felt that when guests arrived and when they left, the head of each department would line up to offer greetings and farewells.

It apparently became a tradition that guests loved and put our establishment in the official travel guides.

However, our weather up here in Alaska isn’t conducive to many guests during the late fall and winter season, and we slow down significantly.

Or so I’ve been told since I arrived, confused as to why there were no guests at the lodge.

Wallet in hand, I walk down the south wing to the end and knock on the door.

A rustling sound comes from the room, but no one answers right away.

I wait another minute and knock again. This time, the door swings open quickly, and Ben stands in the entrance.

He’s shirtless and tall, a genuinely good-looking man with dark brown hair and a smile that goes on for days.

“Please tell me you found the wallet,” he whispers to me. “My husband is so worried he won’t be able to go home, and he’s already spiraled down a rabbit hole of scenarios.”

“Who’s at the door, babe?” Max calls from inside the room.

I hold up the wallet and smile. Ben mouths, thank you and then says, “It’s Finn. They found your wallet.”

Max pulls the door the rest of the way open and grabs it. “Oh, thank you.” He kisses the Louis Vuitton and puts it into his front pocket. “You have no idea how worried I was about this.”

I have a pretty good idea based on Ben’s statement, but I don’t bring it up. Nodding, I say, “Glad to be of service. Now, is there anything I can do to help you prepare for departure?”

Ben and Max turn to each other and shake their heads. “Not that we can think of,” Max says.

“How did you enjoy your stay?” I ask.

Their expressions brighten even more. It’s clear they’ve had the time of their lives.

Ben says, “I couldn’t have asked for a better honeymoon.

The lodging was top-notch, the food was so good, and I don’t know how you all did it, but we felt like we were among family.

It’s amazing to me that such a well-known place with so many famous guests over the years made us feel like the most important people on the planet. Thank you.”

“I’m glad to hear it. We strive to make family out of all who come here. My father had a vision for this place, and I see that it extended to you both.”

Ben shakes my hand, and Max gives me a great big hug. It’s nice to feel their appreciation.

“So, Max,” I say. “Any big exhibits coming up at the museum?”

He puts his hand to his mouth, covering a smile. “None that I can talk about right now, but if you come to Los Angeles you can see for yourself. Trust me, it’ll be worth the trip.”

From what I understand, he’s an the lead curator at the huge Los Angeles County National History Museum.

Millions of dollars goes into the planning for their huge yearly exhibits.

I let out a sigh and look at his handsome husband, a surgeon.

Gosh what it must be like to save lives for a living?

But more importantly, they seem like the type of guys I would love to be friends with, but it’s not likely to happen since they live so far away.

“Well, congratulations,” I say. “Don’t forget about us up here when you plan another vacation.”

They both shake their heads. “No way,” Ben says. “We hope to make this a yearly excursion for our anniversary.”

“Splendid idea, if I do say so myself.” I smile. I check the time on my watch. “Looks like you’ll be heading out of here in the next thirty minutes. I’ll be driving you both to the airport, so when you’re ready, bring your belongings to the lobby where we will all say farewell.”

“Sounds great,” Ben says. “We’ll be down in like ten minutes or so.”

“Perfect,” I say and turn away. I hear the door click closed behind me as I walk down the long hallway to the lobby.

Once I get there, I notice a few magazines on the coffee table are strewn about, so I start straightening the place up a bit.

As I do, I radio for all staff to meet in the lobby for a farewell in five minutes.

Soon, everyone’s gathered, wearing their uniforms. Miranda stands next to me as we watch Max and Ben wheel their bags down the hall toward us.

“I wanted to thank you all for such a wonderful stay. Max and I couldn’t imagine going anywhere else to celebrate our wedding; you made us feel like family. The food and accommodations were top-notch.”

Ben and Max make their way through the receiving line, hugging each of us and sharing a few words of praise for each staff member.

It’s such a nice way to send people off, back to their normal lives, and I can see why this feeling would become addictive.

Once they finish, they walk out the front door, bags in tow.

“Thank you, everyone. Another successful stay. I just know my father would be so proud of each and every one of you,” I say. “I’ll be bringing back another set of guests with me from the airport, so please have everything ready for their arrival.”

“Absolutely,” everyone says and hurries off to their respective places to start the preparations.

I hurry outside to help the guests into the large, black four-wheel drive, Chevy Suburban SUV.

As soon as I step out into the cold, I hear voices.

By the vehicle, Max and Ben are talking to the Head of Environmental Operations, Wyatt James.

His title is a fancy way of saying, Wyatt keeps the place running, from grounds maintenance to plumbing.

From what I’ve seen of him since I’ve been here, there’s nothing he can’t do—and do well.

Wyatt is rugged in every sense of the word.

His hands are big, his dark brown beard is thick, and he towers over the rest of the staff at six-foot-four inches tall.

He’s quiet by nature but always kind. I’ve met him a few times when I visited my dad over the last fifteen years.

Wyatt is the son of my father’s good friend Brock, who held the same position as Wyatt while I was growing up.

Unfortunately, Wyatt’s dad also passed away recently—not all that long before my father.

“Hello, fellas,” I say as I walk up to the three men. “Thank you, Wyatt, for getting their bags into the vehicle.”

“Sure thing,” he says, tipping his head toward me. We haven’t had much time to talk or get to know each other since I arrived, but I really want to spend some time with him. He’s so kind, steadfast, and easy on the eyes. “Well, I wish you all the best and a safe flight back to Los Angeles.”

“Thank you, Wyatt,” Ben says, shaking his hand.

“I appreciate the guided tour through the mountains you gave us,” Max says before giving him a hug. “I don’t think I would have felt safe if you hadn’t been there with us the entire time.”

“It was my pleasure. I hope we will be seeing you again one of these days?”

“You can count on it,” Ben assures us.

“Take care.” Wyatt smiles and walks away, leaving us there to finalize our plans for departure.

“If you both would like to get into the back, I’ll drive you to the airport now.”

They pile into the backseats and kiss before I close the door behind them. I check the time once again. Right on schedule. This is all running so smoothly for my first time.