Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sloane
I slip out of the kitchen once the band’s devoured breakfast.
The quiet feels like a breath of fresh air. Not that I don’t enjoy their banter, but there’s only so much of it I can take before I need a minute to myself.
I’m already tempted to head back to my room, but then I remember the one thing that’s been keeping me sane around here—the Lookout Trail.
I grab my jacket from the hook by the door and step outside. The morning is crisp, a little chilly, but not unpleasant. The kind of chill that makes your skin feel alive.
I have to admit, I’m getting kinda used to it here. I know Coyote Glen isn’t forever. One day, I’ll have to return to the life I was living before, but it’s a nice reset. I have friends here, I love the work, the town is amazing…
I head down the dirt path toward the trail. Trees line the way like sentinels, and the ground crunches beneath my boots as I walk.
I’m starting to love the quiet here. The solitude. It’s… calming. The quiet where you can almost hear your own thoughts without all the background noise trying to drown them out.
I need to share this with someone.
I pull my phone from my pocket and swipe it open to call Riley. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a view like this to share with her for a change.
“Babe, hi!” Riley sounds flustered as she picks up the video call. “Perfect timing. Look.”
“Is that…” I squint my eyes. “The Eiffel Tower? When did you get to Paris?”
“Last night.” She turns the camera back to face her. “I met a guy in Istanbul and came here with him.”
“Ooh, tell me more.”
“He’s cute and a photographer. We had this spontaneous connection, and, well… now we’re in Paris. It felt right, you know? I’m not exactly planning on moving in with him, but he’s been showing me the city. It’s gorgeous here, Sloane. Like a dream.”
“Sounds amazing,” I say, my own situation pressing back into my chest. “You always know how to make life look like an endless vacation.”
“Well, someone’s gotta do it.” Riley winks, shifting the camera again to show off a café bustling with people. “But seriously, what about you? What’s going on with you and the whole retreat situation?”
I take a deep breath, the smile fading from my face as I walk along the trail.
“It’s… intense.”
“Really?” She narrows her gaze. “Because I have to admit, I’ve never seen you look so… at peace. This is the most chilled out I’ve ever seen you in years.”
I stop mid-step and stare at the trail ahead of me, her words hitting me hard. I knew I was feeling different here, but I didn’t realize just how much until she pointed it out.
“I don’t know…” I trail off, uncertain. “I guess it’s just nice to be away from the noise, you know? No deadlines, no cameras, no pressure. It’s been… calming. I haven’t had that in a long time.”
I hear Riley exhale. “You’ve been working yourself to the bone, Sloane. The old you would’ve never let yourself relax like this. It’s good to see you taking a break, even if it’s just temporary.”
She’s not wrong. I’d spent so many years buried in work, in proving myself, that the idea of simply living, of enjoying something for what it is, without it always needing to be about more, feels foreign. But it’s also strangely wonderful.
“I guess I’ve been trying to convince myself that this is just… a break. That one day I’ll have to go back to the grind, the hustle. I can’t imagine this life as my forever. It’s too… quiet.”
“Are you sure about that?”
I chew on the inside of my lip, walking a little faster as the thoughts churn in my mind. Am I sure?
“I don’t know,” I say slowly. “There’s a part of me that misses the rush of my old life. The constant go… the thrill of the work. But there’s something about Coyote Glen, about this whole town… it’s peaceful. I like the people here. And… I do like the quiet.”
There’s a long pause on the other end of the call, and when Riley speaks again, there’s a slight smile in her voice. “Maybe you’ve found a new kind of thrill. One that doesn’t involve running yourself into the ground.”
“Maybe you’re right, Riley.”
“I usually am.” She glances over her phone screen. “Oh, my new friend is here. Speak to you soon, okay?”
Her playful wink is all I’m left with as she cuts off the call.
As I slip my phone back into my pocket, a sudden ping catches my attention. I fish it back out, my stomach doing a small flip when I see the email’s subject: Where are you? The message is from Amy Hart, one of my old journalist friends.
I swipe it open, my heart skipping a beat when I see a screenshot of one of my private social media posts.
An innocent picture of me on the Lookout Trail a few days ago, smiling into the camera, the mountains framed behind me.
I had posted it thinking it was a harmless moment, only meant for the few people that can see my posts.
But Amy’s words at the bottom of the email make my stomach churn:
Sloane, I have to ask… Are you off-grid now? I just saw this on Instagram. I didn’t know you’d run away to escape the heat.
I stare at the words, feeling them pressing on me. I wasn’t expecting to hear from anyone in the journalism world. Not now. Not when I’m trying to find some peace in a town that feels so far removed from the life I left behind.
I quickly tap out a response, trying to keep my cool.
Sloane: Yeah, I’ve been having a bit of a reset.
I hit send and continue walking down the trail, my feet moving on autopilot as I wait for her reply. The wind picks up, sending a chill across my face, and the uncertainty of the situation wraps itself around me like a cold blanket.
Within seconds, Amy responds.
Amy: Wow, that’s cool. I mean, I don’t blame you. The heat on you is still raw.
I stop walking, the phone trembling slightly in my hand. I swallow hard.
Why can’t everyone forget what happened so I can eventually return to my old career with a new perspective? Will I ever be allowed to forget what happened?
Sloane: Really? I don’t like the sound of that. I thought it’d die down, eventually.
I squeeze my eyes shut, taking a deep breath to calm myself.
The wind continues to whip through the trees, and the world feels colder than it did just moments ago. I try to calm myself, but Amy’s words press down on me like an anchor. Why does it feel like I’ll never escape it?
Amy: Sloane, come on. You’re a journalist. You know how it works.
It’s going to be a story until something new comes along to steal the spotlight.
And, honestly, you’ve been the hottest story for the longest time.
People are still talking about the way things went down with that article.
But, hey, don’t let it keep you up at night.
You’re out of the fire now. Take it for what it is. You’ll be back, eventually.
I take a deep breath, feeling the words sink in, each one a weight pressing on my chest—Amy’s right. As much as I want to bury my head in the sand and pretend everything will magically reset, that’s not going to happen.
The world doesn’t let you hide from your mistakes. You have to wear them as a badge of honor, whether you want to or not.
Sloane: I know, I can’t wait until I can be back, you know? Anyway, hope you’re good!
Amy: I’ve been working on a story on NeuraTech, so I’ve been busy.
Urgh, once upon a time, that story would have been mine. But I don’t begrudge my friend anything. I do kinda need something sweet now, though, so as I text back and ask her about the job, I take a detour into the town.
Granger’s Goods is one of those old-school general stores that feels like it’s been standing for generations. The kind where you can find everything from canned beans to handmade wool scarves, and the smell of wood polish and something sweet always seems to linger in the air.
As I walk through the door, a bell rings overhead. The store is warm and cozy, the wooden floors creaking underfoot. The shelves are packed with all kinds of goods. Local honey, jams, firewood, coffee beans, and the occasional knick-knack that you never thought you needed but can’t resist buying.
Behind the counter, a man, presumably Bill Granger, stands, hunched over and grumbling to himself as he arranges cans of soup.
“Morning,” he mumbles as he turns to face me. “Oh, I’ve heard everything about you.” He straightens up and smiles. “You’re that new cook. Dottie was telling me all about you. Said you have a good heart.”
“She did?”
After hearing about the gossip about me in the city, it brings a small smile to my face.
“Oh, Beau, for the love of…” I spin around as a new voice joins us in the store. “Do we have to do this today? You know I have mayoral duties all afternoon?”
This must be Mayor Judith Hartwell. She’s the epitome of authority: tight bun, tailored suit, and heels clicking with purpose on the creaky wooden floor.
Her teenage son couldn’t look more different in his ‘Eat the Rich’ tee and skater jeans. “Mom, just hurry up, will you? I have places to be as well.”
Bill Granger shakes his head, muttering something under his breath about “kids these days,” but his eyes twinkle with amusement.
“Where do you have to be, Beau? The skate park?”
“At a protest, actually,” he shoots back. “One I’m starting against this whole town.”
Jude rolls her eyes and wanders off down the aisles. The argument trails behind her, but I can tell there’s no spite in it.
Truth be told, there doesn’t seem to be much spite in anything in this town.
Coyote Glen really is a place like no other.