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With the memory still fresh, I push the car door open and step out into the crisp air. My boots hit the ground with purpose, gravel crunching underfoot. I straighten my jacket, taking in a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts. All this effort—the calls, the planning, hell, even the arguing—it's all been for her.
Appreciation might be a long shot given our history, but I'm betting on surprise being my ally. She's got this way of getting under my skin, making me want to push harder, do better. If this retreat cracks that perfect exterior even a little, it'll be a win in my book.
I stride up to Fiona's front door, my hand poised to knock. The door swings open before my knuckles can land, and there she stands. Fiona. Not in her power suits, not with that no-nonsense bun she favors for board meetings.
No, today it's all soft curves wrapped in a loose cotton shirt that hints more than it reveals, paired with faded jeans hugging her like they're grateful.
"Wow," slips out before I can rein it in. I'm staring; I know I am. She arches an eyebrow, that familiar challenge flaring in her eyes, but there's something else—a flicker of vulnerability.
"Let's just get this over with," Fiona says, stepping aside to grab her bags, which sit lined up near the hallway like soldiers ready for inspection.
"Sure." My voice is gruffer than intended. I step inside, maneuvering past her without making contact. A feat, considering every nerve ending is on high alert. I gather her luggage, one by one, muscles flexing under the load. She's packed enough for a month, not a week. Typical Fiona—always prepared for every scenario.
The drive to Fit Mountain Resort has us enclosed in my truck, a space too intimate for two people who've spent years building walls between them.
"Seatbelt," I grunt, nodding toward her still unbuckled strap. It's not concern, I tell myself. It's... liability.
Fiona clicks the belt into place without a word, her gaze fixed outside the window.
The engine purrs to life, and we pull away from the curb. Trees blur past, green smears against a blue canvas. I steal aglance, catch the softening of her profile, the way the sunlight plays in her hair.
"Nice day for a drive," I say, because silence is not how I'll win this game. But as the miles roll under us, it's all I seem capable of managing.
The road unfurls before us, a ribbon of possibilities, and I can't shake the chill of Fiona's silence next to me. Her arms are folded tight, her gaze locked on the terrain rushing by, lips pressed into a line that screams annoyance. She's here in body, sure, but in spirit? She might as well be back at that pristine bungalow of hers, miles from this forced proximity.
"Thought you'd be all over this," I say, throwing a casual glance her way. "Nature, fresh air, chance to show up everyone with your survival skills."
Her eyes flicker to me, quick as a spark. "I didn't realize my personal plans were open for discussion, Wes."
"Everything is business with you, isn't it?" I can't help the edge in my voice.
She turns away, a dismissal if I've ever seen one. My grip tightens on the steering wheel.
"Hey," I start, an idea forming—a risk, but what have I got to lose? "Remember that summer when the carnival came to town, and you dared me to win you a prize at that impossible ring toss game?"
Surprise softens the sharp angles of her face, and she actually turns to look at me properly. "You remember that?"
"Hard to forget." I let out a chuckle, the memory bright as day in my mind. "You said you'd eat dirt if I managed it."
"And you did," she says, a reluctant smile breaking through. "You won that ugly stuffed bear after spending..." Her smile falters, "What was it, twenty bucks?"
"Thirty," I correct, and we share a laugh, brief but real. "But who's counting?"
"Apparently you are," she teases, and just like that, the ice between us starts to crack. I catch that smile of hers, full and genuine, and something in me eases.
"Still got that bear?" I ask, half-joking.
"Maybe," she replies, and there's a twinkle in her eye that wasn't there before.
"Damn, Parker. You're full of surprises."
And so is she, I realize. Maybe this retreat will unearth a few more.
The tires crunch over gravel,and the Fit Mountain Resort sign looms ahead, but we don't stop at the main building. Instead, I guide the car down a winding path, flanked by towering pines that open onto a secluded campground. No marble foyers or crystal chandeliers here—just the rugged beauty of nature and the scent of pine and earth.
The campground is an oasis in the wilderness, a cluster of "tiny home" style cabins arranged like chess pieces on a grand board. The centerpiece is a main cabin built from logs, its windows winking in the sunlight. Smaller cabins dot the landscape, their cozy interiors inviting and warm. Each one is unique, reflecting the natural elements around it, from the stone fireplace in one to the pinecone chandelier in another.
"Didn't figure you for the camping type," Fiona says, her voice tinged with reluctant curiosity as she peers out the window at the surroundings.
