“You think about what happened with Mark,” she finishes for me. “About what he did to both of us.”
I nod, tears threatening to spill over. “I trusted him, Kori. I let him convince me that I was overreacting, that he was just being friendly. And then...” I can’t finish the sentence. The memory of his hands on me, his weight pinning me down, his voice whispering that no one would believe me because I’d been flirting back—it’s still too vivid. And then when he beat me to within an inch of my life, it was all too much.
“What Mark did was on him, not you,” Kori says firmly. “And Caleb is not Mark.”
“I know that,” I say quickly. “But what if I’m wrong about him, too? What if I can’t trust my own judgment?”
Kori takes my wineglass and sets it aside, then grasps both my hands in hers. “Do you want to know how I know you can trust Caleb?”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
“Because Scout trusts him,” she says. “That dog has better instincts than both of us combined. If Scout thinks Caleb is a good person, then he is.”
I laugh despite myself, a watery sound that’s half sob. “That’s your criteria? The dog approves?”
“Animals know,” she says, echoing what I told Caleb earlier about Margret. “And so do you, if you’d stop running long enough to listen to your gut.”
She’s right, and we both know it. I’ve spent so long keeping people at arm’s length that I’ve forgotten how to let anyone close. But with Caleb, it’s different. From the moment I met him, something about him felt... safe. Not safe like boring or predictable, but safe like someone who would stand between me and danger without hesitation.
“I’m scared, like really scared,” I admit finally.
“Good,” Kori says with unexpected firmness. “That means you care. That means it matters.”
“What if it doesn’t work out?”
“What if it does?” she counters. “What if this is your chance to stop running and start living again?”
I stare at my pink hair reflected in the dark window across from us. Bold. Unexpected. Different. Maybe it’s a sign that it’s time for me to be different too.
“Also,” Kori adds with a mischievous smile, “I saw the way he looked at you when we arrived. Like you were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. I bet the pink hair will drive him wild.”
I groan and throw a cushion at her, but I’m laughing too. “You’re the worst.”
“I’m the best, and you know it.” She dodges the pillow easily. “Now, let’s go find you something to wear tomorrow for your hot date.”
Chapter 16
Caleb
I wake early the next morning, unable to sleep past dawn. Jake decided to stay at Ella’s last night, giving me some much-needed space to think. My leg feels better after a night’s rest, though the spot where Danny struck me is still tender. I make coffee and sit on the porch, watching the sun rise over the snow-covered fields, my thoughts inevitably drifting to Lana.
The sound of vehicles approaching pulls me from my thoughts. I check my watch—barely nine o’clock. Seems our meeting about the treasure is happening earlier than expected. I stand, leaning against the porch railing as a small caravan pulls up: Jake’s truck in the lead, followed by an SUV I recognize from the lodge.
Jake steps out first, looking rested despite yesterday’s travel. Ella emerges from the passenger side, waving cheerfully while the back door flings open, and Nora jumps down. The SUV doors open, and I watch as Kane, Kori, Connor, and Mia climb out, stretching after the drive.
Then the driver’s door opens, and my heart nearly stops.
Lana steps out, and for a moment, I think I’m hallucinating. Her hair—previously blonde—is now a vibrant pink, catching the morning sunlight like some exotic tropical flower. The colorshould be ridiculous, but somehow, on her, it’s stunning. Bold. Unexpected. Perfectly her.
My mouth goes dry as she walks toward the house, dressed in tight jeans and a green sweater that makes her eyes seem even more vivid against her new hair color. She catches me staring and smiles, a hint of nervousness in the gesture that only makes it more endearing.
“Morning,” she calls, and I realize I’ve been frozen in place like an idiot.
“Morning,” I manage, my voice embarrassingly rough. I clear my throat. “Nice... hair.”
Her hand rises self-consciously to touch the pink strands. “Dye mishap. Don’t you hate it?”
“No,” I say, too quickly. “It suits you.”
