Chapter 27
L auren balanced the bundle of framed photos against her hip, tucked the mailer envelopes under one arm, and climbed the stairs to her apartment. The air smelled faintly of someone's dinner, maybe garlic bread and spaghetti.
She was halfway to her door when she heard her name and turned to see her parents approaching. Her mom waved, and her dad carried a small bag of groceries like it was a peace offering.
Dr. Holt and Dr. Holt appeared as if they'd walked off the golf course.
Though she knew they never played. The members-only club was more their scene.
Mom would join the women and talk about their social calendars while Dad would stand at the bar with the men, complaining about airlines and vacation spots.
"Surprise," her mom said brightly.
"I didn't know you got back from vacation?" Lauren smiled, unlocking the door. "Come in and tell me what's going on."
They followed her inside, her dad already scanning the room like he was checking for signs of a secret life he had no knowledge of. Her mom zeroed in on the stack of frames and envelopes Lauren set down on the counter.
"Oh, are these pictures of your camping trip?" She leaned forward, trying to get a better look. "I didn't see any of them on Facebook. You're still showing pictures from when you went to Vegas."
Lauren faced her mom. "I haven't posted them yet."
Her mom raised an eyebrow. "That's not like you. Usually, you give little sneak-peeks at what is coming soon for all your followers."
At least her mom kept tabs on her through social media. Unfortunately, whatever it looked like she was doing was already in the past.
Her dad dropped the grocery bag on the table. "I still don't get why you'd want to run around all year. You could attend college and pursue a meaningful career. You need to think about your future. It's irresponsible to rely on other people's charity."
"It isn't charity, Dad." She sighed. "I've explained how I get paid for views and interactions by the different social media channels."
"I've heard about this." Her dad straightened his Polo collar. "Go Fund Me—"
"No." She'd had this conversation before. "I've explained how it works, Dad. I'm a content creator. I travel. I tell stories. I provide entertainment. The people following me don't pay me. Soc—"
"Kids nowadays don't understand hard work." He frowned. "It seems like a waste of time."
She bit her inner cheek. There was a generational gap that her parents weren't willing to bridge. He was going to have to trust her. Or not. Either way, she wasn't going to defend herself again.
Her mom stepped closer, voice softer. "Right now, people are interested in you because you're young, beautiful, and entertaining. And you've got fabulous footage of the places you go."
Lauren nodded slowly.
"But what happens in ten years?" her mom continued. "When you're older? A little heavier. When a new app takes over that doesn't care about what you do?"
That landed harder than she expected. She would never be a doctor. She would never be slim like her mom. She didn't have all the answers. She never claimed to know what the future would bring her.
She lived in the present. That was the job. That was the rhythm. But her mom's words stuck like a pebble in her shoe that she couldn't remove.
Lauren turned away, unwrapping the frames and setting them on the counter. Her mom leaned in, studying one of the photos.
"Who's this?" she asked. "The man and the boy?"
Lauren hesitated. "Just the owner of the campground I stayed at. And his son."
Her mom looked closer. "He's very rugged, isn't he?"
"Mm." She pressed her lips together.
Her mom had no idea. Mac would bruise her mom's sensitivities. He was blunt. Strong. Manly. Sexy. Caring. And,—
"The boy looks sweet, but rather dirty, doesn't he?"
That boy had saved her life, but she wouldn't tell her parents that. Once they heard about the bear, they'd press her more about changing jobs.
"You're sending these to him?" Her dad peered over her shoulder at the photos.
Lauren nodded. "As a thank-you. He helped me a lot while I was there to get the content I needed."
That was all she was going to give them. They could think what they wanted about her and Mac.
She picked up one of the frames, wrapped it in bubble wrap, and slid it into the padded envelope. Later, she'd put them in a box. Hopefully, her precautions would keep the glass in the frames from breaking.
Unsure how Mac would feel about the gift, she hoped that seeing his son in the pictures would soften him toward the way she'd left the mountain. Even if he still wanted to stay angry with her, he'd have pictures of Jetter. She'd noticed while at his cabin that he had no pictures on the walls.
Glancing at the pile, she stopped. Two of the pictures she planned to keep. But she didn't want her parents to ask her any more questions about her summer at Bitterroot Mountain Range Campground.
Luckily, her parents cut their visit short and headed off for another social obligation at the hospital. After quick hugs, she was left alone, exhausted from the stress of dealing with her parents.
Silence filled the apartment. She inhaled deeply, feeling much calmer.
She sat at her desk and turned on her computer. Her fingers cupped the mouse, and she clicked open the folder labeled Bitterroot.
Rows of thumbnails appeared of sun-drenched trails, the shimmer of the lake at dusk, Jetter's crooked grin, Mac's steady gaze. She scrolled slowly, each image tugging at something deep inside her.
This was supposed to be her job. Her purpose. She'd spent the summer gathering footage, capturing moments, wildflowers, ridge views, and selfies, and crafting stories. But she hadn't posted a single one.
She was good at this. She knew how to frame a shot, how to write a caption that made people feel like they were there. Hashtags and algorithms were a game to her. She loved to see how viral her posts would go.
But Bitterroot Mountain Range Campground wasn't just another summer vacation destination. It was something else. Something sacred. And sharing it with strangers felt a lot like giving away a secret that wasn't hers to tell.
Especially when it comes to Mac.
She paused on a photo of him standing beside Jetter, both of them serious in expression, having a deep conversation. The mountains rising behind them like quiet sentinels, knowing they were in Mac's world. Her chest tightened.
She'd told herself it would be easier to walk away. That leaving was the right choice. But now, sitting here with the evidence of her life, she wasn't so sure.
Her mom's words echoed in her mind. What would happen in ten years?
What if the followers she had now stopped caring? What if the algorithm changed? What if the world moved on past scrolling for entertainment? What if she became unappealing in size and age?
Mac had accepted her extra pounds. It was hard to let herself believe someone could find her sexually appealing when she was self-conscious about her weight. But he had her believing there was nothing wrong with her. He'd accepted her, regardless of her flaws.
Of course, she wouldn't be a content creator forever. Something new would come around. More creative people would become popular. She inhaled deeply past the tightness in her chest.
She'd always imagined herself as a wife, a mother. Someone who built a life with roots, not just stories. And Mac—he'd made her feel like that was possible. Like she could be more than the girl in front of and behind the camera.
He'd shown her a different world, and she enjoyed learning. Stepping out of her comfort zone had been surprisingly fun.
Rubbing her face, she tried to shake the loneliness that had plagued her since returning home. She ached for him. Ached for the freedom she found on the mountain.
She had none of these problems at the campground. Mac made her feel accepted, like her life had purpose and meaning. Like she didn't have to perform to be seen.
It was easy to see that so many things she wanted were tangled up in Mac. She wanted stability, love, and a future. The fact that she could see that with him scared her. If she let herself want it too much, she might never be able to let go.
She clicked on a photo of the dock at sunrise. The mist curled over the water, waiting for the sun to dry the air. The quiet promise of a new day.
She didn't post it.
She just stared.
And wondered what it would take to go back.