Elliott's voice carries across the clearing. “We should get moving if we want to reach the basin by nightfall!”
Time's running out. I reach into my pocket, pulling out the small brass compass I've carried since my mother died. The case is worn smooth from years of handling. The face is yellowed but still accurate.
“Take this,” I say, pressing the heirloom into her hand. “It was my mother's. Hasn't failed me yet.”
She looks at the compass, then back at me. “I can't take this. It's too important.”
“Which is why I want you to have it.” I close her fingers around it. Handing it over feels like letting go of a part of myself, a part of Mom. But looking at her, at the steady resolve in her eyes, it feels right. Like it's found its next keeper. “It'll guide you to the basin where I'll meet you in two days.”
She tucks the small instrument into her pocket, understanding its significance without the need for explanation. “I'll return it personally,” she promises.
Elliott is watching us with poorly concealed excitement, anticipating usable footage. Time to give him what he wants—but on our terms. I pull Lena close, not caring who is watching. Our kiss is brief, shorter than last night, but intensely felt—a promise of something more, not a goodbye.
When we separate, her eyes remain closed for a moment. Then she straightens, squares her shoulders, and nods. “Two days,” she says. “We'll be at the basin.”
“I'll be there,” I promise.
The goodbyes are quick after that. Dave's condition makes delays unwise, and Elliott's eager to continue filming. I watch them depart, following the ridge line as I instructed. Lena walks with new confidence, occasionally checking the brass compass in her palm. She doesn't turn back.
“Just us now,” I tell Dave once the others are out of sight. “Let's get you down to where a helicopter can land.”
The journey back is slower than I'd like. Dave's condition worsens throughout the morning, his chest heaving with each labored breath as we descend. By midday, I'm taking most of his weight, his arm draped over my shoulders as we navigate the rugged terrain.
“Sorry about this,” he pants during a brief rest. “Feel like I'm ruining the whole production.”
“Your health matters more than TV,” I tell him. “Besides, they'll get to the basin just fine. Lena's got a good head on her shoulders.”
“She's changed,” Dave observes between careful breaths. “Since we started. It’s like she's becoming a different person out here.”
Or perhaps becoming herself, I think but don't say.
We make slow progress through the afternoon, stopping often for Dave to rest. I keep him talking, monitoring for any worsening symptoms. The clearing I'm aiming for is hours away, and I'm concerned about reaching it before nightfall. As we walk, my mind drifts to Lena—her confidence as she stepped up to guide the others, the warmth in her eyes when she accepted my mother’s compass, the feel of her lips against mine. Not supposed to happen. Makes everything messy. But watching her take charge, remembering the way she felt in my arms … I find myself planning. For her. For us. Would upgrading that ancient kitchen at the lodge actually kill me? Lena might actually enjoy cooking in a space that wasn't built before the last ice age. Installing a proper internet connection? Definitely. Getting one of those fancy coffee machines that steams milk for the lattes she probably misses? Small price to pay. Small changes that might bridge our different worlds without sacrificing what matters about Crystal Creek.
I catch myself mid-thought. One kiss and I'm thinking about renovations. But the idea doesn't feel forced. It makes sense, wanting to build something new without erasing what matters. Perhaps Crystal Creek's overdue for a little change—same as the guy who runs it.
As darkness settles around us, I find myself looking in the direction of Painted Peaks. They're out there somewhere, making camp at a higher elevation. Following Lena's lead. I'llget Dave to May in Port Promise tomorrow—hopefully she can treat the infection and get his breathing back to normal.
I touch my pocket where the compass usually rests and find it empty. The absence is strange after years of carrying it close. But I know it's where it needs to be—guiding her while I can't. I've given her my most treasured possession, not as a tool but as a promise. A connection between us, spanning the mountain range that temporarily divides us. The real revelation of this wilderness journey isn't the TV show or the stunning landscapes. It's finding someone worth changing for. Worth fighting for. Worth waiting for.
Chapter Sixteen
LENA
The weightof Finn’s compass presses against my hip as we climb another ridge. I touch it through my pocket, something connecting me to him. Six hours since we separated, and the absence of Finn’s steady presence is a physical ache, sharpened by Elliott’s increasingly questionable navigation. Honestly, a squirrel with a head injury could probably find north faster than this guy.
He took charge after Finn left, declaring himself our leader with confidence. “I’ve organized expeditions in the Amazon and the Sahara,” he’d boasted, dismissing my attempts to remind everyone that Finn had suggested I guide them. Now, after hours of hiking in what feels like circles, Elliott calls for yet another break, mopping sweat from his brow.
“Let me check the map again,” he mutters, unfolding it with trembling fingers. He peers around, confusion plain on his face. “We should have spotted that thumb rock by now.”
I pull out Finn’s compass, checking our bearing. As I suspected, we’ve been traveling too far east. The thumb rock would be visible if we crested the ridge to our left. Okay, time to channel some of that Hollister directness. Waiting forElliott to figure this out could take us to Canada. “Elliott,” I say, my voice firmer than I feel. “I think we need to adjust course. We’re trending east.”
“And how would you know that?” He doesn’t hide his irritation. “An expert in wilderness navigation now, are we?”
I hold up the compass. “Because north is that way. The basin Finn marked is northwest from our starting point.”
“Oh, I understand,” Elliott’s voice drips with sarcasm. “You’ve got a pretty little compass, so you know better than someone who’s organized expeditions across four continents.”
“This isn’t about who knows better.” I keep my voice level. “It’s about finding the right path.”
