3. Tess
Last night I saw a man that startled me to my core. Not for the usual reasons that men freak women out—not because he was being threatening, or eyeing me up while his wife or girlfriend was right there. But because I looked at him, and he looked at me, and everything felt… right.
Like the universe was slotting into place. Like I was exactly where I was supposed to be for once.
Crazy.
Jana thought I’d gone loopy when I scurried back behind the bar and hissed to her that there was a guy outside. She reached for the pepper spray we keep under the bar just in case we need to scare someone off, but I shook my head so fast my neck twinged.
“No! Ow. No, not like that. Not a troublemaker. I mean like—a guy.”
Jana stared at me for a beat, then rolled her eyes so hard she must’ve seen the back of her skull.
“Don’t tell me you’re finally hitting puberty in the middle of our Friday night shift. We’ve got hikers to get drunk.”
“I know, I know,” I said, fanning myself distractedly. “But I’ve never… is this how people feel? All the time?”
Jana snorted, reaching past me to yank the refrigerator door open. The waft of frosty air felt like pure heaven against my flushed legs. “Only horn dogs. Keep it together, okay? Go slip him your number, then you can tell me all about him at closing time.”
“But—”
“Do it,” she ordered, spinning me around by the shoulders, then pushing me back toward the crowd. “Or you’ll regret missing your chance.”
She was right. By the time I got back outside, my mystery man was gone. I stood there in that sea of sunburned hikers, arms hanging uselessly by my side, staring at the patch of grass where he’d just stood.
If I squinted, I told myself I could see the exact spots his boots had flattened the grass into the dirt. Pictured myself going over there and measuring my own sneaker against his boot print, like a complete loon.
He’d been so big. I’m a tall girl, but would the top of my head have even cleared his shoulder? Did seeing me startle him too? I’d probably never know.
And that’s why hormonal awakenings during busy Friday night shifts are the worst. Another life lesson learned.
This morning, as I stumble out of town toward the Starlight Ridge lake, the mystery man is still on my mind. He haunts me.
What’s he doing in town? He’s not a local, that’s for sure—this is a small mountain town, and I know every resident here nearly as well as my own reflection. Didn’t look like the standard tourist we get either, since he wasn’t dressed in outdoor gear and had no fancy camera hanging from a strap around his neck.
If anything, the man’s strong posture and reserved expression reminded me of my brother. So military, maybe.
Dewy grass scrunches beneath my sneakers as I stride out to the lakeside, the moisture soaking into the canvas and dampening my socks. My shoulders and back are sore from last night’s shift, but it feels good to get moving.
Mountain peaks loom all around, blushing prettily in the morning light, and it’s a hot day already though the sun’s barely up. The surface of the lake shines like liquid gold.
My back is sticky with sweat as I peel my t-shirt off, dropping it in a pile by the water’s edge with my socks and sneakers. My shorts go next, then I’m tugging my ponytail straight before wading into the cool water in only a bikini.
Insects whine on the edge of hearing. The lake water sloshes over slippery pebbles, lapping against my legs, and my nipples bead against the emerald green fabric. Goosebumps ripple across my bare skin, and as I wade deeper I’m thinking of him, him, him.
The mystery man.
Mymystery man.
Sure, I only saw him for a few seconds, but already I’m possessive as hell. Don’t want anyone else getting too close to the broad shoulders stretching his faded blue t-shirt. Don’t want anyone else sitting in that strong, sturdy lap.
Who is he? Is he still in town? Has he been thinking about me too?
Will I ever see him again?
Air punches out of me when the cold water reaches my most sensitive parts. My movements are jittery as I set off swimming, chin held above the water, breast-stroking my way toward the center of the lake. This is normally my favorite way to start the day—my ultimate summer treat—but this morning, I can’t seem to get present.
Can’t focus on the cool, refreshing water, or how silky it feels against my skin. Can’t appreciate the stretch and warmth of my muscles getting going, loosening up from last night’s ache, nor the strength and power in my own body. Can barely even see the majestic landscape I’m swimming in right now, with the mountains and the forests and the curl of smoke drifting over the distant treetops, marking a nearby cabin, all of it bathed in pink and gold light.
I’m too busy trying to recall my brief glimpse of that man, repainting him in my memory. Was he carrying a backpack or a duffel bag? Did he scowl at me, or did he smile?
Lord knows it was a hot, hectic shift last night, and I’m not sure I trust my own memory. Maybe he was never there. Maybe I hallucinated that man, conjuring him up like my own personal oasis in the desert. He sure looked made-to-order for me.
Something plops not far away, disturbing the glassy surface of the lake. A small fish lunging for a bug, maybe. A warm breeze tickles my cheeks, and I close my eyes for three strokes, drawing in a deep breath and centering myself.
Doesn’t matter if the man was imaginary or real. Doesn’t matter if he’s still in town or gone forever.
I’m here now in this lake, swimming beneath these mountains, and I need to focus or get my ass back on dry land. Sighing, I swim forward.
* * *
For the last year or so, Saturday mornings have come with a new tradition. My big brother Rowan and his new wife settled in a cabin low on the mountainside, about thirty minutes’ walk from town—and soon after Rowan quit his tenure as the local cryptid, his wife Evie nudged him to invite me around for breakfast on their deck.
I know it was her doing—but I also know that Rowan was thrilled when I said yes. Left to his own devices, he probably would have kept an awkward, guilty distance for months.
So: Saturday mornings. Breakfast on Rowan and Evie’s deck. In the wintertime, we bundle up under blankets and cook sausages over the fire pit, but in the summer, I squelch up the mountain path with my bikini still wet under my clothes. My skin is streaked with sunscreen, and I swat at any bugs that fly too close to my head.
I’m kind of a hot mess, but who cares? Rowan and Evie are family—the only family I’ve got. They don’t care if I’ve got frizzy hair and damp patches on my t-shirt at breakfast.
Their cabin is tucked between the trees, with a wraparound deck and carved chairs set out for warm evenings. Inside, it’s spacious yet cozy, with bookshelves and squashy sofas and a log burner for cold winter nights. The crib Rowan’s been carving for their new baby stands in one corner. From the outside, it looks like something from a fairy tale—like it should be made of gingerbread.
Branches rustle overhead as I approach the deck, and birds call out to each other, alerting that another human is near. I’m used to the chirps and whistles, and the wind chimes humming where they hang from the cabin rail, but I’m not used to the booming laughter that echoes from the open cabin door.
Rowan doesn’t laugh like that. He’s never laughed like that. He’s more of a wry chuckle kinda guy.
The deck steps creak under my weight, and I pluck at my damp t-shirt, suddenly self-conscious. Who’d visit Rowan and Evie this early on a Saturday?
Another boom of laughter, followed by the rumble of voices. The smart, normal thing to do would be to knock on the door and go inside, but for some reason I hold back, nerves squirming in my belly.
I’m normally fine with strangers. I tend bar, for god’s sake.
So why have my palms gone all clammy?
Maybe I should slip away before anyone notices I’m here, scurry back down the path and get dressed in proper clothes before I come back. Drag a brush through my hair, rub away the worst sunscreen streaks—that kind of thing. I could take a minute to breathe past these sudden nerves, then come back up here before anyone misses me. Yeah.
I turn on my heel.
“Tess!” Evie calls, bursting through the open doorway with a wide smile. “You’re here!”
My sister in law squeezes me close, her baby bump pressing against my own jittery stomach. I hug her back, my heart dropping in defeat.
“Hey,” I say, trying and failing to keep my damp patches away from Evie’s pretty white sundress. She doesn’t seem to care at all that I show up here every week looking like roadkill, but that doesn’t stop me from flushing with embarrassment right now. “Is someone here?”
“Rowan’s friend Ash,” Evie supplies, stepping back to beam at me, then ushers me toward the carved bench seat. There’s a strange light in her eye, like she’s in on a private joke. “They were in the military together, and he’s staying with us for a few days. He’ll be out in a sec. Nice guy.”
Military, a tiny voice hisses in my brain, but I squash it down. No need to jump to conclusions. The chances of this Ash being my mystery man from last night are slim as hell. It’s more likely that I hallucinated him from sunstroke.
“How was your shift last night?” Evie’s question is innocent enough as she settles by my side, but there’s a weird eagerness in the way she watches me. “Did anything eventful happen?”
I shrug, leaning forward to the jug of ice tea set out ready with glasses on a low table. Condensation beads the sides of the jug, and ice cubes clink as I pour two glasses. “Not really. The usual stuff, you know? Hikers and bikers and drunks, oh my.”
Evie takes a glass and settles back, one hand on her bump. She looks oddly disappointed. “Never mind.”
The breeze ruffles the nearby branches, and we both fall silent as we take sweet, cold sips. Evie’s feet swing below the bench—a short person experience that is lost to me.
“Though I saw this guy,” I hear myself blurt, flushing bright red as soon as the words are out. And I don’t know why I’m telling her this, why I think anyone else would be remotely interested, but Evie brightens up visibly so I keep going. “Outside Flint’s last night.”
“What kind of guy?” she asks quickly, eyes darting to the open doorway. The voices inside the cabin are still engaged in low, rumbling conversation.
“A… a big guy. Tall and muscly and, you know. Really handsome,” I finish lamely, already regretting this opener. “Well. In a rough, rugged kind of way. I’ve never… um. Never liked someone like that. You know, crushing at first sight.”
Evie’s heels kick faster beneath the bench, and the ice rattles in her glass. She looks nearly as agitated as I feel. “And did you talk to him?”
My shoulders droop. “No. I was serving drinks, then I had to go inside. By the time I came back out, he was gone. Part of me wonders if I even saw him at all, or whether I just… imagined him.”
“You definitely didn’t imagine him,” Evie says, and she sounds so sure that I find myself perking up too. Hey, maybe I don’t sound insane after all! “In fact—”
“Is she here yet?” Rowan asks, stepping through the doorway, then grins wide when he catches sight of me. My chest warms with relief, like it’s done every time over the last year when I’ve seen my brother looking healthy and happy. “Hey, squirt. Did I ever tell you about my buddy Ash?”
“Yeah, of course…” I start to say, then the words stick in my throat as a towering man squeezes through the doorway behind Rowan.
The man straightens up and looks at me, a polite smile already locked and loaded. It freezes on his face, and something like panic flares in his chestnut eyes.
My heart jolts. My cheeks burn.
Mystery man.
Evie kicks my ankle beneath the bench seat.
“Breakfast’s on,” Rowan says, settling into the rocking chair. “Let’s all get acquainted.”
Oh, brother.