“That’s Dan,” Karo says from a step or two farther up the path. “He’s our facilities manager. So you’ll see him out and about on the grounds—working.”

She pauses. When Dan glances over, Maeve raises a hand in greeting and he stops and regards her a moment before executing a gallant, good-natured salute. Then he hefts the ax and keeps on. Karo steps in closer to Maeve, a proud, almost motherly smile on her face.

“He came to us from the army, so—”

Off in the bush, Dan sets up the next log to be split. The ax falls. Thunk. Maeve flinches.

Karo gives a satisfied nod. “He takes his job very seriously.” She turns away again, tugging at Maeve’s sleeve. A moment later, she’s pointing merrily into a clearing ahead: a windowless structure, a round house, just beyond the break in the trees. “Look, here we are.”

The key is in a little brown envelope. Karo unlocks the door but allows Maeve to push it open—it’s her studio they’ve come to. They kick off their boots in the doorway. Maeve takes a glide across the floor. It is pristine, immaculate. The cabin itself looks wheel-shaped from the exterior, but inside, she can see it’s more of an octagon. The walls are lined with mirrors; light pours in from pie-shaped skylights cut into the ceiling above.

“That’s why this one was built in the clearing,” Karo says. “You get both worlds: privacy and gorgeous light. No windows at eye level.” She raises an eyebrow. “You can dance naked if you want.”

Maeve laughs. “I might, if I ever get warm enough.”

Karo paces the area efficiently, flipping on lights, opening cupboards hidden in the wall.

“It’s meant to be a full-service space: heat and electricity, obviously; refrigerator, kitchenette, a powder room in the back corner.” She swings a tall pantry door open, revealing neatly packed shelves. “We keep the kitchen stocked with dry goods, so you won’t have to run back and forth. There’s enough food here to sustain you for days—” She pops open the next cupboard door. “And you have everything else you’d need, utensils and plates and bowls. There’s a cast-iron soup pot in here big enough to use as a firepit,” she says, reaching in and rifling through the pots and pans. “Ah, here it is.” She knocks on the pot and it rings like a bell—then she waggles a finger. “I’m joking! No fires indoors, okay?”

Maeve smiles, but she’s only half listening. It’s all so much to take in. She circles the space, a finger trailing the mirrored walls. Her heartbeat starting to come up quicker. She looks so unprepared, somehow. Hair falling loose, jeans cropped at the ankle by hand.

Two weeks out here by herself? She wonders if she still has the stamina.