Chapter 3 - Tasha #2
"She's actually the perfect balance to my overthinking," I admit. "She pushes me to take chances I might talk myself out of otherwise."
"Like what?"
I consider the question. "Like taking this trip. Two weeks away from work during our busy season isn't exactly responsible. But Ellie insisted I needed a break, that the mountains would 'recalibrate my soul' or something equally poetic."
"Has it worked?" he asks, his voice genuinely curious. "The recalibration?"
I look out the window at the mountains rising majestically around us, morning light painting their peaks gold and pink. "I think it might be starting to."
The truck turns onto a narrower road that winds upward through dense pine forest. The air feels cleaner here, farther from town, and I roll down my window slightly to breathe it in.
"What about you?" I ask. "How does someone get from military service to fire chief in a small mountain town? That seems like quite a journey."
"The simplified version is that I grew up here, left for the Army after high school, came back when..." he hesitates, "when I needed to settle somewhere stable. Started as a regular firefighter, worked my way up."
I nod, sensing the careful edit in his story, the gap where his wife's death must fit into the timeline.
Ellie has mentioned it only in passing—her mother dying when she was fourteen, cancer taking her quickly, leaving Brock to raise their daughter alone.
It's clearly not something to pry about on a casual morning hike.
"Cedar Falls is lucky to have you," I say instead.
"I'm the lucky one. Not many places would have given me the chance they did."
"I doubt luck had much to do with it," I counter. "Ellie says you've dragged the department into the modern era and secured more funding than anyone thought possible."
He shoots me a surprised look. "She talks about my budget negotiations?"
"I told you she's very proud of you," I say. "Everything you do."
We pull into a small gravel parking area at the base of a forested trail. No other cars are parked there.
"Perfect timing," Brock says, cutting the engine. "Still early enough to have the falls to ourselves."
As we get out of the truck, I watch him retrieve his backpack from behind the seat. He checks something on his phone and then tucks it away.
"Just making sure we have cell service," he explains, catching my curious look. "Always good to have in case of emergencies."
"Always the fire chief," I tease lightly.
"Some habits are hard to break," he admits. "Ready?"
I adjust my backpack straps. "Lead on."
The trail starts gently enough, winding through towering pines that filter the morning sunlight into dappled patterns on the forest floor. Brock sets a comfortable pace, not too fast to talk but steady enough that I can feel my muscles working.
"So, accounting," he says after we've been walking for a few minutes. "Was that always the plan?"
"From about age twelve," I confirm. "I was the kid who actually enjoyed balancing checkbooks and tracking allowance spending in notebooks."
"A natural-born numbers whisperer."
I laugh at his phrasing. "Something like that. I like the certainty of it. The way everything has to balance in the end."
"No gray areas," he observes.
"Exactly. Unlike most of life." I step carefully over a protruding root. "What about you? Always wanted to be a firefighter?"
He shakes his head. "Military was my first plan. Career Army, like my father. The firefighting came later, almost by accident."
"How so?"
"During my last deployment, there was an incident—a fire in one of the barracks.
I was first on the scene and got everyone out before the professionals arrived.
" His voice remains matter-of-fact, but I sense there's more to the story than he's sharing.
"Afterward, one of the fire crew said I had good instincts, should consider it as a career when I got out. "
"So, you did."
"Not immediately. But the idea stuck with me." He glances back to make sure I'm keeping up. "You doing okay with the pace?"
"I'm good," I assure him, though my breathing is a bit heavier than his. "Don't slow down on my account."
"No rush," he says easily. "The falls aren't going anywhere."
We continue climbing, the trail gradually growing steeper. Brock points out various plant species and wildlife signs as we go, his knowledge of the forest impressive. When we pause for water, the conversation flows as naturally as the stream we can hear burbling somewhere nearby.
"Ellie mentioned you grew up in Chicago," he says, recapping his water bottle.
I nod. "Born and raised. Concrete jungle kid all the way."
"Quite a change, coming to mountains like these."
"Life-altering," I admit, looking around at the vastness of nature surrounding us. "Makes my everyday worries seem pretty insignificant."
"That's what I love about these mountains," he agrees. "Perspective adjustment."
"Is that why you came back here? After the Army?"
Something flickers in his expression—a shadow quickly replaced by his usual calm demeanor. "Partly. Also wanted Ellie to have the same kind of childhood I did. Open spaces. Community where people know your name."
I try to imagine raising a teenager alone in this small town, creating a stable life after loss. "You did a good job. With Ellie, I mean. She's amazing."
"She made it easy. Even through the typical teenage rebellion phase, she was always fundamentally good-hearted."
"She mentioned her purple hair experiment senior year," I say with a grin.
Brock groans. "God, that was a disaster. Purple for about three days, then this bizarre greenish color for weeks."
"She still has pictures."
"Of course she does." He shakes his head, but there's nothing but affection in his expression. "Ready to keep going? We're about halfway there."
We resume our hike, the trail growing more challenging as we ascend.
At one point, the path narrows alongside a steep drop-off, just as Brock warned.
Without saying anything, he positions himself on the outer edge, placing his body between me and the potential danger.
It's such a natural, protective gesture that I doubt he even realizes he's done it.
"This must be the death-defying part," I joke, trying to mask how his proximity affects me.
"Just watch your footing here," he advises. "The rocks can be loose after rain."
As if on cue, my boot slips slightly on a patch of gravel. Before I can even gasp, Brock's hand is at my lower back, steady and strong, keeping me upright.
"I've got you," he says, his voice low and close to my ear.
"Thanks," I manage, my pulse racing from both the near-slip and his touch.
His hand moves to my arm until we're past the narrow section, then he releases me with what feels like reluctance. The absence of his touch leaves a lingering warmth on my skin.
"Hear that?" he asks as we round a bend in the trail.
I focus, catching the distant sound of rushing water. "The falls?"
He nods, a smile spreading across his face. "Almost there. This next part is my favorite."
The trail opens up, and suddenly, the trees part to reveal a stunning view—a crystalline waterfall cascading down a rock face into a clear pool below, surrounded by wildflowers and mossy boulders. The morning sun creates a rainbow in the mist rising from where the water hits the rocks.
I stop dead in my tracks, momentarily speechless. "Oh my god," I finally breathe. "It's magical."
Brock watches my reaction, looking pleased. "Worth the hike?"
"Worth every step," I confirm, moving forward to get a better view. "How is this place not overrun with tourists?"
"Locals prefer to keep some spots relatively secret," he explains, coming to stand beside me. "Plus, the trail is challenging enough to discourage casual visitors."
I pull out my phone to take a picture, then hesitate. "No photo could do this justice."
"Take a mental snapshot," Brock suggests. "Some experiences are better left uncaptured."
I lower my phone, understanding what he means. Instead, I close my eyes for a moment, trying to imprint everything about this moment into my memory—the sound of rushing water, the scent of pine and earth, the cool mountain air on my skin, and the warm presence of the man beside me.
When I open my eyes, I find Brock watching me with an eyebrow raised.
"What?" I ask, suddenly self-conscious.
He shakes his head slightly.
"Nothing. Just..." He pauses, seeming to choose his words carefully. "It's nice to see someone appreciate this place the way it deserves."
But something tells me that's not what he was going to say.