“Beverly,” he said tentatively as an idea formed. “The library keeps archived copies of thePoppy Creek Press, right?”
“Yes….” She squinted, as though trying to follow his train of thought.
“Could you look up the obituaries from the year he died?”
“What a good idea.” Her eyes brightened at the suggestion.
Cassie glanced between them. “Why don’t we just ask Penny?”
“I tried to… once,” Colt admitted. “She didn’t want to talk about it. It’s probably still a tough subject.”
Cassie’s face softened with sympathy. “Of course, I completely understand.”
It took a while for the festive mood to recuperate as everyone returned to their meal, still perplexed over the strange turn of events.
But even as other topics of conversation came and went, Colt couldn’t keep his mind from wandering to Penny.
Somewhere along the way, she’d captivated his attention, like a picturesque trail with a bend in the road, teasing his sense of curiosity and adventure.
And he wasn’t entirely sure what to do about it.
* * *
Theclick-clackof the antique Underwood typewriter reverberated off the walls of her father’s office as Penny worked on the write-up for the first two adventures.
Every few paragraphs, she took a sip of lavender tea to calm her overactive heartbeat. Reliving each activity, even by merely putting words on the page, brought back a flood of conflicting emotions.
Horseback riding had been a misleading start to the assignment, filling her with hope that had quickly been dashed by zip-lining less than twenty-four hours later.
For a brief moment, lying on the sandy bank of Chickadee Lake, she’d believed boldness resided somewhere deep inside her, untapped but waiting to burst to the surface.
For a moment, she’d finally felt free.
But today’s adventure brought her crashing back to reality.
She wasn’t bold. Or brave. Or adventurous.
In fact, she was quite the opposite—a boring, timid stick-in-the-mud who had no business pretending otherwise.
And until recently, she’d liked who she was—sort of.
Foolishly, she’d let Colt get inside her head, tempting her beyond her limitations.
She definitely wouldn’t make that mistake again.
But somehow, she needed to find a way to survive the next activities. A task that seemed beyond impossible.
After draining the last drop of tea, Penny plucked the teacup from the matching saucer and shuffled to the kitchen for a refill. Settling herself on the barstool while she waited for the water in the kettle to boil, she gazed morosely at Chip, who basked in the glow of his heat lamp.
“What am I going to do, Chip? There are three activities left. I’ll never make it.”
He blinked lazily, then shuffled around so his pointed tail faced her direction.
“Okay, okay. I get it. You don’t want me disturbing you in your happy place.” With a huff, she placed both elbows on the kitchen counter, propping her chin in her hands. Resting her gaze on the photograph of the two young girls building a sandcastle on the beach, a smile curled her lips. Her own happy place never failed to melt the tension from her shoulders.
The first time she’d learned the concept of ahappy place, she’d woken her dad after a particularly terrifying nightmare. She’d recited her mantra, reassuring herself the scary dream wasn’t real, but she couldn’t shake the dark cloud that had settled around her.
As her father put on a pot of chamomile tea, he told her to think of a happy place—somewhere the fear wouldn’t be allowed to follow. And for eight-year-old Penny, the choice was easy—the ocean.
