Chapter 3 - Tasha
I wake up before my alarm, my body humming with an anticipation I haven't felt in years—maybe ever. The early morning light filters through the cabin's wooden blinds, casting golden stripes across the quilt. For a moment, I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, replaying yesterday's encounter.
Brock Sullivan. In the flesh. Finally.
After four years of seeing him through the filter of Facebook photos and Ellie's stories, being in his actual presence was.
.. overwhelming. No curated social media image could capture the commanding presence he has in person.
The way he fills a room without even trying.
The deep timbre of his voice that seems to still resonate in my chest.
And those eyes—the most striking blue I've ever seen, crinkled at the corners when he smiled. Eyes that seemed to really see me, not just look at me.
I roll over and grab my phone, checking the time: 6:42 AM. Still plenty of time to get ready for our hike, but my hands and legs are still shaking at the thought of spending the entire morning with him. Alone.
"This is not a date," I remind myself firmly as I swing my legs out of bed. "He's just being nice because Ellie has been occupied. And he's literally old enough to be your father."
Though not my father, thank god. My own dad has been a distant figure at best since Mom died when I was fifteen, drowning his grief in bourbon rather than helping his daughter through hers.
Nothing like the man Ellie describes, who made pancakes every Sunday and never missed a school event, who rebuilt his life around raising his daughter after losing his wife.
I pad to the bathroom and turn on the shower, catching sight of myself in the mirror. My hair is a wild mess of bed-head curls, and yesterday's minimal makeup has smudged under my eyes. Definitely not the polished look I'd prefer for seeing Brock again.
"Get it together, Tasha," I mutter to my reflection. "It's a hike, not a cocktail party."
Still, I take extra care in the shower, shaving my legs even though I'll be wearing hiking pants and using the fancy shower gel I usually save for special occasions.
I blow-dry my hair instead of letting it air-dry into its natural waves, then apply tinted moisturizer, mascara, and a touch of tinted lip balm.
Subtle enough to look natural, but definitely more effort than my usual hiking preparation.
Back in the bedroom, I face my limited wardrobe options.
I didn't pack for impressing anyone, just for comfort and practicality.
After trying on three different combinations, I settle on my most flattering hiking pants—the ones that actually make my butt look good—and a moisture-wicking teal v-neck that brings out the gold flecks in my eyes.
I layer a lightweight flannel over it, leaving it unbuttoned. Casual but cute.
As I'm lacing up my hiking boots, my phone chimes with a text.
*On my way. Should be there in about 10. Hope you like breakfast burritos. -Brock*
I type back quickly: *Love them! Can I make coffee to contribute?*
His response comes immediately: *Already have some in a thermos, but thanks. See you soon.*
He's thought of everything. Of course he has.
I finish getting ready, double-checking my small backpack with water, trail mix, sunscreen, and a light jacket.
When I hear the crunch of tires on gravel outside, my pulse quickens.
A quick glance in the mirror—I look good.
Natural, but put-together. Like a woman who definitely isn't trying too hard to impress her best friend's father.
I open the door just as Brock is climbing the porch steps, and the sight of him nearly makes me faint.
He's dressed simply in khaki hiking pants and a navy henley that stretches perfectly across his broad shoulders.
His dark hair is slightly damp, and the morning stubble along his jaw makes him look rugged in a way that has me thinking how good it must be to feel it rubbing against my skin.
"Morning," he says with a smile that crinkles those blue eyes. He holds up a paper bag. "Breakfast delivery as promised."
"You didn't have to do that," I say, stepping back to let him in. "But I'm definitely not complaining. It smells amazing."
"Best breakfast burritos in town," he says, setting the bag on the counter. "Made by Madeline at the diner. She's been feeding Cedar Falls for forty years."
Everything about him radiates competence—from the way he arranged our impromptu breakfast to how he carries himself. It's incredibly attractive.
"Did you sleep okay?" he asks, glancing up at me.
"Like a rock," I say, hoping my face doesn't betray how much of that sleep involved dreams about him. "The mountain air knocks me out."
He chuckles, "It does that. Especially after hiking."
We settle at the small table by the window to eat, and I take a bite of the burrito—eggs, cheese, chorizo, and green chiles wrapped in a fresh tortilla.
"Oh my god," I moan before I can stop myself. "This is incredible."
Something flickers in his eyes at my reaction, and I feel the heat creep into my cheeks.
"Told you," he says, his voice a touch lower than before. "She doesn't mess around."
"Ellie never mentioned these. She's been holding out on me."
Brock laughs. "She probably wanted to keep them all for herself. She used to make me drive across town to get them every Saturday morning when she was in high school."
I try to imagine teenage Ellie and a slightly younger Brock sharing breakfast burritos on weekend mornings. The image makes me ache for something I've never had.
"You two are close," I say. It's not a question.
"She's everything to me," he replies.
I nod, taking another bite to buy myself time. "She talks about you all the time. Always has. 'My dad says this' and 'My dad would know how to fix that.'" I smile at the memories. "Freshman year, when our dorm had an electrical issue? She called you for advice instead of the maintenance staff."
He grins, "I remember that call. Two in the morning, and she's describing wiring configurations to me over the phone."
"You talked her through the whole repair," I add. "She was so proud of herself afterward."
"That's my girl. Never wanted to just be told the answer—always wanted to learn how to do it herself."
The pride in his voice is unmistakable, and I can't help but wonder what it would be like to have someone speak about me that way. My own father has barely acknowledged my accounting degree, let alone shown any real interest in my life.
"Ready to head out?" Brock asks, gathering our empty wrappers. "The trail gets busier later in the morning."
"Absolutely," I say, standing to grab my backpack. "Just let me brush my teeth real quick."
In the bathroom, I take a deep breath and study my reflection.
"This is just a hike," I whisper to myself. "With a nice man who happens to be incredibly attractive and also your best friend's dad. No big deal."
But as I rejoin Brock in the main room, watching as he checks the weather on his phone with the attention of someone used to preparing for all contingencies, I know I'm lying to myself. This feels like a very big deal indeed.
"All set?" he asks, looking up at me with those piercing blue eyes.
I nod, slinging my backpack over my shoulders. "Lead the way, Chief."
The corner of his mouth quirks up. "I thought we established that you'd call me Brock."
"Brock," I repeat, enjoying the way his name feels on my tongue. "Lead the way."
As we step outside into the cold morning air, he places his hand very lightly on the lower part of my back, guiding me toward his truck. It's a brief touch, completely proper, but I feel it like a brand through my clothes.
His truck is spotless—not a surprise for someone with his military background.
He opens the passenger door for me, and I climb in, inhaling the scent of leather seats and a faint hint of pine air freshener.
The dashboard is free of clutter except for a small photo tucked into the edge of the instrument panel—Ellie in her graduation cap and gown, beaming at the camera.
Brock slides into the driver's seat and starts the engine. "Should be about a fifteen-minute drive to the trailhead," he says, backing out of the driveway. "How are you with heights?"
"Generally good," I answer. "Why? Is this one of those terrifying cliff-edge trails?"
He chuckles. "Nothing that dramatic. There's one section with a pretty steep drop-off, but the path is wide enough. I just like to warn people."
"Considerate of you," I say, settling back into the comfortable seat. "I appreciate advance notice before potential death scenarios."
That earns me a full laugh. "Part of the job. Risk assessment and mitigation."
"Is that how you approach everything in life? Assessing risks?"
His eyes remain on the road, but I notice his hands tighten slightly on the steering wheel. "Occupational hazard, I guess. You see enough worst-case scenarios, you start to plan for them everywhere."
"That sounds exhausting," I say softly.
He glances over at me. "Sometimes. But it becomes second nature after a while." He pauses, then adds, "What about you? Does the accountant in you calculate risks and rewards in everyday life?"
"Busted," I admit with a smile. "I absolutely calculate the expected return on investment for almost every decision. It drives Ellie crazy."
"Example?"
"When we were deciding on apartments junior year, I created a spreadsheet comparing everything from rent-per-square-foot to distance from campus to average utility costs based on building age and insulation quality."
Brock shakes his head, amusement clear on his face. "And how did that go over?"
"She told me I was being ridiculous and then asked which option had the best ROI anyway."
The truck fills with his warm laughter, and I find myself leaning slightly toward him, drawn to the sound.
"That sounds exactly like my daughter," he says. "Complains about the process but wants the results."