"Plenty of wilderness around here if that's what you're after," Sawyer offers. "Without the trust falls and kumbaya sessions."
I laugh. "That's kind of what I was thinking. Maybe stay a few more days, see what Grizzly Ridge has to offer."
I don't look at Caleb as I say this, but I feel him go still beside me.
"Town's small, but there's decent hiking once that ankle's better," Luke says. "Caleb knows all the best trails, don't you, cuz?"
Caleb grunts noncommittally, but doesn't contradict him.
As night falls, someone starts a fire in a pit at the center of the yard. The conversation flows easily, stories of McKenna childhood adventures, local gossip, gentle ribbing. I laugh more than I have in months, tucked beside Caleb on a log bench, his warmth a constant presence at my side.
Lily eventually falls asleep against her father's chest, and people begin to drift homeward. Caleb stands, extending a hand to help me up.
"Should get you back," he says softly. "Been a long day."
I take his hand, noticing how he doesn't immediately let go once I'm standing. "It's been a wonderful day. Thank you for bringing me."
We say our goodbyes, each McKenna giving me a genuine invitation to return. Sawyer pulls Caleb aside for a brief, low conversation while I chat with Luke about good physical therapy exercises for my ankle.
In the truck,driving back to the motel, a comfortable silence falls between us. The town is quiet now, storefronts dark, only the occasional porch light illuminating the street.
"Your family is great," I say finally. "I see why you avoid them."
He glances at me, surprised, then actually chuckles—a low, rusty sound like he's out of practice. "They're a lot."
"They love you."
"They're nosy as hell."
"That too." I smile, looking out at the darkened town. "But nice. Welcoming."
He pulls up in front of the motel, idling the engine. Neither of us moves to get out.
"Thanks for coming," he says after a moment. "They liked you."
"I liked them too." I turn to face him. "What happens now, Caleb?"
He stares straight ahead, hands tight on the wheel. "What do you want to happen?"
It's the same question he asked this morning, but weighted differently now. What do I want? I've been letting other people—my ex, my mother, societal expectations—dictate that for too long.
"I meant what I said at dinner," I tell him. "I'm thinking of staying a few more days."
He nods slowly. "Motel's comfortable enough."
"It is." I pause, gathering courage. "But I was wondering if maybe... your offer of the cabin is still open."
His head turns sharply, eyes finding mine in the dim light. "My cabin?"
"If that's too much, I understand. I just..." I take a deep breath. "I wasn't ready to leave this morning. I'm still not sure I am."
The thick silence stretches between us.
"It's just a cabin in the woods," he says finally, voice rough. "Nothing special."
"I think we both know that's not true."
His eyes hold mine, searching for something. Sincerity, maybe. Or the catch he's expecting to find.
