Chapter Five
Lark
I awoke to sunlight streaming through the lace curtains of the Larkspur Suite, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings.
No blaring alarm, no immediate rush of adrenaline pushing me toward the day's obligations.
Just... quiet. The distant sound of birdsong and the gentle rustling of tree branches against the window.
For a blissful moment, I let myself sink deeper into the plush bedding, savoring the luxury of waking naturally.
My mind drifted to the previous evening at the community cookout—the simple fairy lights between trees, the casual laughter, Wade's warm hand around mine as we walked along the lakeshore.
The memory brought an unexpected smile to my face.
Wade Foster. The small-town lifeguard and high school teacher with surprising depth and undeniable appeal.
Our arrangement was strictly professional, of course—a mutually beneficial charade to boost Wintervale's tourism and give me a distraction from my Chicago troubles.
Yet something about his easy confidence and genuine warmth had caught me off guard.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand, shattering my peaceful reverie. I reached for it automatically, wincing when I saw four missed calls from Sloane. While I'd been playing small-town summer romance, the real world had continued spinning in Chicago.
With a sigh, I sat up and returned the call, mentally preparing for whatever fresh disaster awaited.
"There she is," Sloane answered on the second ring. "I was beginning to think you'd fallen off the face of the earth."
"Just taking that administrative leave seriously," I replied, padding to the window. The Evergreen Inn's gardens were already bustling with activity as Rory and a young man I didn't recognize arranged flowers in terra cotta pots. "What's happening at the firm?"
"Nothing good." Her voice lowered conspiratorially. "Andrew's been in closed-door meetings with the partners all week. Word is they're 'expediting the investigation process.'"
My stomach tightened. "'Expediting' sounds like they've already made up their minds."
"Not necessarily. James still seems on the fence, and he's the deciding vote." She paused, and I could almost see her glancing around to ensure no one was listening. "Did you keep copies of the Apex-Meridian projections? Just curious."
The question struck me as odd, but I was too preoccupied to analyze it. "Everything's in the firm's secure cloud storage. I didn't make local copies—that would violate our own protocol."
"Right, of course." Another pause. "Anyway, stay accessible. Things are moving quickly."
After disconnecting, I paced the spacious room, my momentary tranquility evaporated.
The magnitude of what was happening back home hit me anew.
My entire career— everything I'd worked for since graduating Northwestern Law—hung by a thread.
And here I was, playing pretend with a handsome townie while Andrew Cavendish methodically dismantled my professional reputation.
Grandmother's voice echoed in my head: "A Hayes doesn't run from a fight.
" But what was I supposed to fight with?
I had no proof of my innocence, whereas it seemed the amount of evidence pointing to my guilt was mounting by the day.
I felt utterly helpless, a sensation I detested more than anything.
Yesterday had been so easy to forget my troubles, to get lost in Wade's world—his friends, his community, that sense of belonging I'd never experienced in Chicago. For a few hours, I'd felt part of something genuine and warm, something I hadn't realized I was missing.
But Sloane's call had effectively doused that pleasant illusion with cold reality. I needed to remember who I was and what was at stake.
Glancing at the antique clock on the mantel, I realized with a start that I'd missed the inn's breakfast window. My stomach growled in protest as I quickly showered and dressed in tan linen shorts and a light blue blouse, leaving my hair to air-dry in loose waves.
Downstairs, the inn's foyer was quiet, the breakfast rush long over. Rory stood at the reception desk, checking out a middle-aged couple whose matching Hawaiian shirts suggested they were headed somewhere significantly warmer than Montana.
Bramble spotted me descending the stairs and trotted over, tail wagging expectantly. I bent to scratch behind his ears, finding unexpected comfort in his uncomplicated affection.
Rory glanced up, catching my eye and holding up one finger in a "just a minute" gesture as she finished the checkout process. After the couple departed, she turned her attention to me with a warm smile.
"Good morning, sleepyhead," she said, coming around the desk to give Bramble a scratch. "I was beginning to think you'd hibernated."
"Sorry about that," I replied, feeling oddly guilty for oversleeping. "I missed breakfast, didn't I?"
"The official window, yes. But I'd be a poor innkeeper if I let a guest go hungry.
" Her eyes twinkled. "I can fix you something in the kitchen.
This morning we served apple cinnamon French toast with maple syrup and fresh berries, and I've got a breakfast casserole with ham, potatoes and local cheese that should still be warm.
Plus, I just brewed a fresh pot of hazelnut coffee for the staff. "
My stomach growled audibly at the mention of food, making us both laugh.
"That would be amazing," I admitted. "Maybe it will take my mind off other things..."
Rory's expression softened with concern. "Everything okay?"
I hesitated, unused to discussing professional matters with strangers. But something about Rory's genuine interest broke through my usual reserve.
"There are some things going on with my firm back in Chicago," I said carefully. "Nothing I'm able to discuss in detail, but... let's just say this vacation wasn't entirely voluntary."
Rory nodded, not pushing for more information.
"Well, if you need legal perspective while you're here, you should talk to Bailey Wilder.
She and her husband Jacob moved here last year from Seattle and opened Wilder & Wilder Law.
Bailey's one of my best friends—she'd be happy to chat.
She left a big corporate firm herself, so she might understand whatever you're facing. "
"Thank you," I said, genuinely touched by her offer. "I might just reach out to her."
"Perfect. Now about that breakfast... meet me in the dining room in five minutes. I'll fix you a plate and pour that coffee."
As Rory disappeared toward the kitchen, Bramble at her heels, I wandered into the empty dining room.
Standing by the bay window overlooking the gardens, I felt caught between worlds—the cutthroat legal arena I'd always known and this slower, gentler place where people offered help without expecting anything in return.
Which was real? The Chicago where colleagues were constantly angling for advantage, or this Wintervale where neighbors brought casseroles to community cookouts and strangers offered connections just to be kind?
Perhaps both were real, just different versions of humanity. And for the first time, I wondered if I'd spent my entire adult life in the wrong version.
***
By late afternoon, I'd brushed up on basic paddling techniques using the inn's spotty Wi-Fi, determined not to appear completely helpless on the water. Knowledge was power, as they said, and I’d always been determined to acquire it.
Right on time, Wade's pickup truck appeared in the inn's circular drive. My pulse quickened unexpectedly as I watched him exit the vehicle, his tall frame casually outfitted in board shorts and a faded t-shirt that had seen better days but somehow looked perfect on him.
"Ready for your initiation into Montana water sports?" he called as I descended the porch steps.
"As ready as I'll ever be," I replied, ignoring the flutter in my stomach. "How was your swim class?"
His expression brightened at the question, blue eyes crinkling at the corners. "Really good, actually. Logan's becoming quite the teacher. He's got a natural way with the younger kids—probably because he remembers his own struggles in the water."
"Logan's your cousin, right? The one I met at the cookout?"
Wade nodded as he opened the passenger door for me. "That’s right. He’s my aunt Diana's son. He's thirteen going on thirty sometimes. Smart kid."
There was something in his tone when he spoke about Logan—pride mixed with a hint of worry. It made me curious about the young teen, and I sensed there was more to the story than Wade was ready to share.
The drive to the lake access point took less than ten minutes, Wade pointing out local landmarks along the way. Unlike yesterday's crowded public beach, he turned down a quieter access road that led to a secluded cove.
"I thought we'd start somewhere a bit more private," he explained, parking beneath a towering pine. "Fewer distractions, and no audience for your first attempts."
"Worried I'll embarrass myself?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Worried Zoe Blake will document every splash for her blog," he corrected with a laugh. "Trust me, we both need a break from being the talk of the town."
Two kayaks were already waiting at the water's edge—one red, one blue—alongside paddles and life vests. Wade must have brought them earlier, a thoughtfulness that caught me by surprise.
"I went with a recreational model for your first time," Wade explained, handing me a life vest. "Stable, easy to maneuver, harder to tip over."
"Is that a challenge?" I asked, fastening the vest.
"Definitely not," he grinned. "Mayor Snowcroft would have my head if I let his star attraction drown before the regatta."
"So I'm just an attraction now?" I teased, surprising myself with the flirtatious tone.
"The main event, according to festival ticket sales." He held my gaze a moment longer than necessary before turning to adjust the kayaks. "Let's start with the basics."