Chapter Two
Garrett
Watching Callie Bennett march cheerfully out the door of my shop, her arms full of camping gear, unsettles me more than it should. I lean against the counter, staring at the door as it closes behind her, still irritated by how effortlessly she disrupted my usual peace.
I’ve spent the better part of my adult life in Pine Hollow, deliberately building a routine that keeps me comfortably insulated from the world’s chaos.
Tourists and city folk breeze in and out with their demands, rarely making more than a superficial dent in my solitude.
But this woman—Callie, with her relentless optimism, bright coral sneakers, and infuriatingly sunny smile—has somehow managed to wedge herself into my thoughts.
I sigh heavily, running a hand through my hair. It’s stupid to be concerned. She’s just another tourist convinced she can handle the wilderness. Yet, I can’t shake the nagging feeling of unease, picturing her bright-eyed enthusiasm encountering something she isn’t prepared for out there.
“Damn city girl,” I mutter under my breath, shaking myself into motion. The shop won’t run itself, and I have inventory to manage.
But as I work, restocking shelves and organizing gear, my mind keeps drifting back to Callie. Her stubborn determination, the playful way she teased me, and her eyes widened in genuine curiosity when she listened to my advice.
Frustrated with myself, I drop the sleeping bag I’m holding with a bit more force than necessary. Why do I care so much? She isn’t my responsibility. Still, my thoughts circle back to her coral sneakers and sunny confidence, and my irritation deepens.
After the midday rush of three customers at one time subsides, I step outside onto the sidewalk in front of the shop.
The air is crisp, carrying the familiar scent of pine and impending autumn.
From here, I can see the start of the trail she took, disappearing into the forest like an inviting secret.
Before I know it, my feet move, carrying me along the dusty street toward the Hollow Hearth Inn. I find Annie leaning against the reception desk, chatting cheerfully with Dottie, Pine Hollow’s unofficial information hub, and Hazel, the owner of the Hearth Inn.
“Garrett!” Annie waves, her smile widening mischievously. “Heard you had a very cheerful customer this morning.”
I scowl, ignoring the knowing twinkle in her eyes. “You seen that Callie girl today? She check in before she left?”
Hazel exchanges an amused glance with Dottie before turning back to me. “She was here bright and early, said she’d studied maps all week. Seemed well-prepared.”
I grunt noncommittally. “Yeah, seemed is the key word. Those woods aren’t forgiving.”
Annie raises an eyebrow. “Worried about her, Garrett?”
“No,” I snap too quickly. “Just don’t want to be out rescuing any more overly optimistic tourists.”
“Mm-hmm,” Annie hums, clearly unconvinced. “If you say so.”
Dottie chuckles softly, shaking her head. “She’s tougher than she looks. You might want to give her more credit.”
I snort dismissively, already retreating toward the door. “We’ll see about that.”
Outside again, I glance toward the trailhead once more. The sky overhead is clear, promising good weather, but experience has taught me that the mountains have their mind. Storms can roll in fast, turning sunny days dangerous in minutes.
The uneasy feeling grows heavier in my gut, stubbornly refusing to be ignored.
When I finally lock up the shop for the evening, my feet carry me toward the trailhead instead of heading home. “Just a quick look,” I tell myself, irritated by my concern.
As I start the familiar path, the trail is quiet, and the forest quickly closes around me. Sunlight filters through the leaves, dappling the trail in patches of golden warmth. Birds chatter, and somewhere distant, a stream murmurs.
I love these woods—have since I first moved here years ago. After a disastrous marriage and career burnout, Pine Hollow became my sanctuary. With its sturdy trees and silent trails, this place healed parts of me I didn’t know were broken.
But tonight, my sanctuary feels different. Every rustle in the underbrush, every shadow seems ominous, heightening my inexplicable worry for the stubbornly cheerful woman who invaded my shop and, apparently, my thoughts.
“Garrett, you’re losing it,” I grumble aloud, stepping around a fallen log. “She’s fine. Stop being ridiculous.”
Yet, I keep moving, scanning the trail for any sign of her coral sneakers or overly bright camping gear. The deeper I venture, the more my irritation grows, but this time it’s directed at myself. Why am I out here, acting like some concerned do-gooder?
Because you liked her.
The thought catches me off guard, making me halt in the middle of the trail. She’s the first woman in a very long time to intrigue me—to ruffle my carefully maintained solitude. It’s inconvenient and irritating, yet something inside me doesn’t want to shake it.
I press on, pushing aside thoughts that feel too dangerous to acknowledge fully.
As dusk falls, the first wisps of anxiety curl tighter in my gut. Surely I should have run into her by now. She couldn’t have gotten that far after leaving my store.
I’m following the trail she would have had to take when I find footprints that veer slightly off the main path, heading toward the thicker underbrush. Exactly where she shouldn’t go. Unease shifts to genuine worry, my instincts kicking fully into gear.
“Dammit, Callie,” I mutter, irritation mingling with genuine fear now. What is she thinking?
I debate briefly—follow or return to town for backup—but something profound in my chest refuses to leave her alone. I step off the trail, pushing branches aside as I follow the disturbed brush, cursing my foolishness for caring so damn much.
Night is descending rapidly, shadows stretching longer. The air grows cooler, and I pick up my pace, heart pounding with each step. Finally, through the growing darkness, I spot her bright tent pitched carefully in a small clearing.
Relief floods through me, sharp and undeniable.
But before I can call out, her tent flap unzips, and Callie emerges, smiling brightly despite the fading light. “Garrett?” she asks, clearly startled but recovering quickly. “Missed me already?”
Her teasing smile almost manages to distract me from my irritation. Almost.
“You’re off the trail,” I snap, harsher than I intend. “What were you thinking?”
Her eyes widen, genuine surprise clouding her expression before stubborn determination replaces it. “I wanted a better view. I’m fine.”
I glare at her, torn between annoyance and the undeniable rush of relief that she’s unharmed. “You can’t just wander off the trail because it’s prettier, Callie. These woods aren’t a playground.”
She lifts her chin defiantly, eyes bright even in the dimming twilight. “Maybe not. But I’m here, and I’m managing just fine. Thanks for checking, though.”
I open my mouth to argue further, then clamp it shut, realizing I’ve lost control of the situation. This woman doesn’t appreciate my concern. Why should she? We barely know each other.
“Just—be careful,” I grumble, frustration easing slightly. “And stay on the damn trail.”
She smiles again, softer this time, and something shifts inside me, dangerous and unexpected. “Goodnight, Garrett. Thanks for caring.”
I turn away, muttering under my breath, already irritated with myself for how much her words affect me. As I make my way back toward town, her parting words echo in my mind, unsettling me in ways I never anticipated.
I don’t want to care about Callie Bennett, yet as I retreat down the familiar trail, I realize it’s already too late.