I smile slowly, stepping closer until I can tilt her chin up with one finger. My thumb brushes the faint mark at her neck, the one she didn’t bother to hide. “I can see that. And I can smell him on you.”
Her breath stutters. “You don’t mind?”
“Nope.” I shake my head, my thumb tracing over her skin again. “If anything, I’m more surprised it hadn’t happened sooner. You’re fucking irresistible, Wren.”
Her lips curve, relief flashing across her face.
I don’t get to say more because a sharp voice cuts across the clearing. “Careful where you’re headed.”
We both turn to see Elias Burke making his way down the trail, a canvas bag slung over one shoulder. He’s in his late fifties, beard streaked with gray, eyes sharp under the brim of his cap.
He’s been caretaker of these trails for as long as I can remember, the kind of man who knows every tree and every rumor in town.
“Morning, Elias,” I call, adjusting the blanket under my arm.
“Morning,” he grunts, giving Wren a nod before his eyes slide back to me. “Watch yourselves near the bridge. Boards are slick after the rain.”
“Will do.”
He keeps walking, boots crunching over gravel until he disappears into the trees. The air feels heavier for a moment, as if his presence has stirred the tension sitting between us.
I reach for her hand, curling my fingers around hers. Her skin is warm, soft, and grounding. “Come on. Let me show you the spot before anyone else tries to scare us off.”
She squeezes my hand lightly, and we step together onto the trail, the basket swinging at her side.
And I can’t stop thinking—no matter how this ends, no matter who she chooses, right now she’s here with me. And I’ll take that, for as long as it lasts.
The trail narrows as we cut through the trees, her hand tucked in mine, the basket bumping lightly against her hip. The sound of the falls grows louder the deeper we go, water rushing over rock, steady and strong.
I’ve walked this path more times than I can count, usually alone, always needing a place to clear my head after long shifts. Bringing her here feels like handing over a secret, and I’m not sure what that says about me.
We step into the clearing, and she gasps.
The waterfall spills from a jagged cliff into a wide basin below, sunlight catching the mist in shifting rainbows. The rocks around the pool are smooth from years of water and weather, moss climbing up their sides.
I drop the blanket and shake it open, spreading it across the grass with practiced hands.
“You weren’t kidding,” she says, setting the basket down. “This is gorgeous. How have I never seen this part of it?”
“Because most folks don’t bother taking the side trail. It doesn’t show up on the usual maps, and Elias doesn’t go out of his way to point people toward it.” I glance at her, smiling a little. “Guess you could say it’s my private place.”
Her green eyes shine as she kneels beside me, smoothing the edges of the blanket. “Well, thank you for sharing your secret with me.”
I clear my throat, trying to focus on unpacking the basket instead of how close she is. I set out the cider, a couple of sandwiches I had thrown together that morning, and the blueberry muffins Cora insisted on sending. Wren laughs when she sees them, shaking her head.
“She’s never going to give up until she gets that recipe from me.”
“Probably not,” I admit, passing her one of the drinks. I sit back, letting the sounds of the falls and the faint hum of cicadas fill the silence between us. But my thoughts are too loud. I watch her bite into a sandwich, watch the way her shoulders relax, and the words bubble up before I can stop them.
“Wren… about the café. Have you thought more about the repairs?”
She stiffens slightly, lowering the sandwich. “Why?”
I shrug, pretending to fuss with the cap on my cider. “Because I’ve been thinking—if you need help covering some of the costs, I’ve got savings. Not a ton, but enough. I could help you bridge the gap until you’re back on your feet.”
Her head tilts, those sharp eyes pinning me. “You’d just… give me money?”
“Not give, I’d loan you the money. Or whatever makes you more comfortable. I want to help. You don’t have to do this alone.”
