A tall woman stood there—long blonde hair streaked with silver, wrapped in a thick cream sweater, forearms exposed where the sleeves had been pushed up. She looked at Ivy with a soft, slightly startled expression.
“Oh… hi,” she said.
Ivy froze. “Uh… you are…?”
“July Ward,” the woman replied with an apologetic smile. “And I think you’re… at my cabin.”
“Your cabin?” Ivy snapped, pulling out her phone. “No, no—this is my booking. Airbnb can’t be wrong.”
They both pulled out their phones simultaneously, comparing confirmation codes, dates, details.
Double booking. Perfect.
“This is punishment for my holiday ambition,” Ivy groaned.
“Well…” July sighed, “I was supposed to be here with someone too. But…”
She paused, offering a faint, bittersweet smile.
“It didn’t work out.”
“Mine vanished like an old ornament,” Ivy muttered.
“Mine said the ‘spark’ was gone.”
“Mine found a spark with her trainer.”
July blinked. “Oh. Well. That’s… significantly worse.”
“Thanks,” Ivy said flatly.