"I’m on vacation."
"From where?"
"Denver."
My co-workers scoffed when I told them where I was going for vacation. Crescent Ridge is only a few hours away and they all tried to argue that I should pick a different destination. They use their personal time for cruises and trips to tropical paradises.
"Yeah. That'll do it."
For some reason, the simple understanding in his voice makes my chest squeeze.
Everyone asked why I'd drive halfway across the state to spend a long weekend in the mountains. Why I'd choose a tiny town with spotty cell service over a beach resort or a luxury hotel.
The answer is simple.
I came to Crescent Ridge because I needed a break. A real one. Not the kind where you sit in a hotel room scrolling through emails. I wanted fresh air.
I needed to escape the endless traffic. The blaring sirens. Construction crews that started work before sunrise. Apartment walls so thin I could hear my neighbors arguing over whose turn it was to buy toilet paper. Everywhere I went there were crowds, noise, and people demanding my attention.
Here, the loudest thing around is the river lapping at the bank on either side of us.
By miracle or magic I make it to the first rest spot an hour later without injuring anyone else.
A stretch of sandy shoreline spreads out beneath a canopy of towering trees, the branches twisting overhead to block out the worst of the afternoon sun. The air smells cleaner here. Like wet stone, pine trees, and the scent of fresh water rushing over rocks.
After an hour in the kayak, the muscles in my arms are officially protesting. My shoulders ache, my palms are sore, and my legs are stiff from sitting in the same position.
But somehow, I’m smiling.
A few days ago, I was surrounded by honking cars and people squeezing past me on crowded sidewalks. Today, I’m sitting on a river in the middle of the mountains, and I can’t remember the last time I felt this relaxed.
The kayaks bump softly against the shore as everyone climbs out. Parents pull out coolers and bags of snacks. Kids immediately dive into the water, ignoring every warning about staying where their parents can see them.
I stay near my kayak, stretching my arms above my head until my shoulders pop.
"How are you holding up, Paddles?"
I turn to find Dean standing beside me. He’s dripping wet from swimming with the kids and somehow, after spending the last hour baking under the summer sun, he still looks unfairly good.
His dark hair is damp with loose strands falling over his forehead. His orangeJohnson River Adventuresshirt is slightly darker from the water, and it clings to his shoulders. A few drops slide from his jawline to his neck, and I immediately decide looking anywhere else would probably be the safer choice.
For everyone involved.
The fabric clings to his chest, outlining muscles that have no business being that distracting while I'm standing next to a bunch of children eating granola bars.
Water drips from his hair to slide down his neck.
I should look away, but instead I follow that drop.
"Enjoying the show?"
My eyes snap back to his face.
Damn it.
He caught me.
"I was just—"
