Thunder rolls in the distance, and Stacia stares at me with wide eyes. “I didn’t know it was supposed to storm today.”
“Pop up storms aren’t uncommon in the summertime. Their bark is usually worse than their bite, though.”
She shakes her head. “If I hadn’t fallen and hit my head, I would have been caught in a storm. My paddleboarding adventure was doomed from the start.”
I suppress a grin. “I’ve never understood the point of paddleboarding, to be honest. Kayaking is more comfortable, a whole lot easier, and you can fish.”
She laughs. “Can you imagine me with a fishing pole? I’d wind up with a hook in my own face instead of the fish’s.”
“Are you clumsy?” She looks so poised and graceful. It’s hard to imagine her hooking herself in the face. Then again, shedidmanage to fall off her paddleboard on a calm lake.
“Not really. But I’m not in my element in the great outdoors. I’m what you might call an indoor kid.”
The windows are open, and the breeze slips in through the screens—cooler now, carrying the scent of rain and pine needles and the rich earthiness of the forest preparing for a turn in the weather. The sky will split open with rain soon.
I turn my attention back to Stacia. “So, why was an indoor kid by herself in the middle of the lake today?”
She gives a tired little laugh that doesn't reach her eyes. "I run operations for a national outdoor gear company, Trekora Outfitters.”
I nod. “I’ve heard of it. Your stuff is a bit outside my budget.”Understatement.Their gear is high-end, trendy, and made more for Youtubers and Influencers than real-life mountain men.
She nods. “Well, I've optimized the inventory flow in a dozen regional warehouses and increased profit margins by eighteen percent over three years." She gestures toward her bare legs and the borrowed shirt. "But this is the first time I've tried to use any of our products myself. And you saw how it turned out.”
Silence stretches between us, thick but not uncomfortable. The breeze stirs the edge of the curtain, and a gust moves through the room like a whisper, carrying the promise of the storm to come.
Stacia doesn't ask intrusive or judgmental questions about my cabin or my job. She just sips her coffee, eyeing the driftwood sculptures and mounted fish on the walls with curiosity.
"You fish a lot?" she finally asks.
"Just about every day.”
"For fun?"
I consider the question. “Mostly just because I like to be near the water. It’s peaceful.”
She goes still for a beat, coffee mug halfway to her lips. Then says, “I don’t have anything like that.”
Something about the way she says it—likepeaceis a foreign concept she's heard about but never experienced—makes my throat tighten.
I know that tone. That brittle edge under carefully controlled words.
It's the same one I had when I first came up here three years ago. After everything went to hell. When I thought silence might be enough to drown out the memory of the day I finally quit myjob. It was a mass shooter event at an office building. There were so many victims, and there wasn’t much I could do for most of them.
I’m still haunted by their lifeless eyes. By the fact that I couldn’t save them. Living here hasn’t changed that.
But I did save Stacia. Today, I made a difference.
“I’m glad I could be there for you today,” I tell her, my voice cracking with emotion.
Her eyes meet mine, and the look of gratitude is unmistakable. "I know. God, I know. If you hadn't been there..."
"But I was." I move away from the window, drawn by something in her voice that sounds like it's about to break. "And you're okay."
She licks her lips, and my greedy eyes track the movement of her tongue. “I dropped my keys in the lake, and the homeowner said they’d be out of town. I have nowhere to go.”
“Stay here.” My voice comes out fierce and demanding. I try to soften my tone a bit, and add, “I mean, you’re welcome to stay here if you’d like.”
Her eyes widen just a little, but she nods. "You sure? I don't want to impose."
