“What kind of costs?” she finally asked.
I opened my mouth.
Then, I closed it.
Because I wanted to tell her everything. The long nights. The missed calls. The way my last relationship collapsed under the weight of prioritizing clients over connection. Success turned out to be lonelier than I ever thought it would be.
But I couldn’t get the words out.
Not here.
Not yet.
I forced a smile instead. “The usual ones.”
She looked at me carefully. “You’re good at dodging.”
“Comes with the job.”
She didn’t laugh.
Not this time.
And I hated the way her smile dimmed, just a little.
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I didn’t mean to put a cloud over the day.”
She shrugged, pulling her fingers from the water and flicking droplets back toward me. “You didn’t. I just… like knowing what makes people tick.”
“Dangerous hobby.”
“My favorite,” she said. “Besides eating sweets.”
I chuckled, relieved to feel the lightness return. “Then I guess I owe you a scone and a little vulnerability.”
“And don’t think I won’t enforce that.”
We drifted for a while in silence after the work talk faded, the kind of quiet that wasn’t awkward or heavy, just… loaded.
The paddle dipped into the water with a soft splash. Her fingers skimmed the surface again, trailing lazy arcs as she stared up at the clouds. The sun made her skin glow, catching on the tiny flecks of glitter still stuck near her collarbone from the festival. And I was trying very hard not to think about kissing that exact spot.
Again.
“Tell me about growing up here,” I said, voice low and a little rough. “In this town. The lodge. All of it.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You want the Hallmark Channel version or the real one?”
“Definitely the real one,” I said. “I’ve seen you wield a rake and a muffin tin. I know better than to expect small-town sweetness.”
That earned me a smile.
“Okay,” she said, tucking one knee up in the canoe and facing me. “Well, imagine being one of three girls and two boys, growing up in a lodge that always smelled like bacon grease andlavender oil, where everyone from school knew your business before you even did.”
“Sounds intense.”
“It was,” she said. “But it was also magic. My dad used to sing in the kitchen while he flipped pancakes. My mom had a thing about decorating every hallway for every season, even the obscure ones. I swear, I saw a Groundhog Day garland once.”
I laughed. “That feels aggressively festive.”
