Page 109 of The Professor's Wife

All of it.

Her.

This.

It was enough for me.

Would it be enough for her?

We camped where the stars felt ancient, where barn owls screeched in the distance like laughter or warning, and the mountains rose high around us.

Sometimes we talked. Sometimes we didn’t. Sometimes I took her by the hand, pressed her against my body, and slow danced with her by firelight to the rhythm of a skipping CD or the gentle hum of my throat.

And sometimes, we sat side by side beneath a sky fading from purple to orange. Neither of us said anything about tomorrow.

We found ourselves not running anymore. Not exactly. We were drifting—two small stories trying to stitch themselves together with chords and campfire smoke, under the watchful eyes of mountains that had seen it all before.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The drive up the mountain trail was steeper than any other time we had taken one up before.

Pines loomed high above us, their shadows stretching long in the late afternoon light. The van’s tires crunched over gravel, the engine humming steadily as Tristan guided us higher into the wilderness.

A soft song was playing.

I had a throbbing headache. We’d stayed up too late in the motel laundromat, washing all our clothes. Towels and rags. We had been surrounded by so many people the past few days, I needed a break. So, when Tristan offered a couple of days in the mountains to unwind, I jumped at the chance.

We’d checked out of the motel and grabbed a quick breakfast. Tristan was tired, too, but stubbornly wanted us in a nice camping spot.

I was in the middle of taking a sip of water when something moved through the fog.

A deer stepped onto the path ahead of us.

Tristan slowed the van.

It stood there, its thin legs stiff and its ears angled toward something farther up the mountain. Then it took a few careful steps forward.

That was when I saw the truck beyond it.

The deer stopped several feet away. Its head lifted as it stared at the driver’s-side window.

Then it backed away.

It didn’t turn. It moved one slow step at a time, never taking its eyes off the truck.

A moment later, it bolted into the trees.

A truck. Parked in the middle of nowhere just ahead of us. No trail. No signs. Upon quick inspection, it looked abandoned. Collecting dust. But who would abandon a truck all the way up here, so far away from civilization?

I felt it before I could name it—a strange, crawling sensation under my skin. Like something was watching.

Like this very something had already decided we didn’t belong.

“Tristan,” I said, my voice low, “do you feel that?”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes locked on the truck up ahead. His knuckles tightened around the wheel. Then he exhaled and slowed the camper. “Yeah. I do.”

We stared at the truck for a moment longer.