Seven
Savannah
I barely escape my meeting with enough time to hightail it over to Brooklyn’s in time to get ready for my date. Juno is already antsy that I’m going to bail, and I don’t need her calling Brook and finding out I’m late.
I park in front of what I think of as the Whitmore Estate, because this giant-ass farmhouse in the middle of Alaska is an out-of-place monstrosity. But that’s what you get from a millionaire trust fund baby, I guess.
I walk up the gravel walkway—they haven’t gotten a chance to pave it yet—and two men unloading something large and white from a box truck draw my attention. At the door, I ring the doorbell.
“Sav?” Wyatt comes out from around back of the house. He’s all sweaty in his track pants and T-shirt.
“Do you still run the resort?” I ask.
He smiles a
