Chapter 4 - Brock
I catch myself staring and quickly look away, focusing on the waterfall instead of the woman beside me.
But the damage is done—she noticed, and now I'm scrambling for a plausible explanation that doesn't reveal what I was actually thinking: that the way the morning light catches in her hair and illuminates her profile makes her look like she belongs here, in this pristine setting, more than anyone I've ever brought to this spot.
"There's a good place to sit just over there," I say, nodding toward a flat boulder near the edge of the pool. "Perfect spot for a break."
She follows my lead, carefully picking her way across the smaller rocks until we reach the larger boulder.
I extend my hand to help her up, and when her fingers close around mine, I'm struck by how small they feel in my grasp, how smooth compared to my calloused palm.
I shouldn't notice these things. I definitely shouldn't be cataloging them in my memory.
"This view is even better," she says once we're settled, her voice filled with genuine wonder.
I've seen these falls hundreds of times, but today they seem different—brighter, more vibrant somehow. Or maybe it's just that I'm seeing them reflected in Tasha's amber eyes, watching her experience them for the first time.
"I can't believe Ellie hasn't brought you here before," I say, pulling our thermos from my pack.
Tasha shrugs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"This is actually the first time I've visited Cedar Falls.
We always talked about it during college, but something always came up.
Internships, summer jobs, family obligations.
" A shadow crosses her face at the mention of family, there and gone so quickly I almost miss it.
"Well, I'm glad you finally made it," I say, pouring coffee into the thermos cap and offering it to her. "Though I'm sorry my daughter has been such a neglectful host."
"Don't be. I understand." She accepts the coffee, her fingers brushing mine in the exchange. "First love is all-consuming. I remember what that feels like."
The casual reference to her past relationships shouldn't bother me, but I feel an unmistakable twinge of... something. Jealousy? Ridiculous. I have no right to that emotion, no claim to this woman.
"Grant's a good man," I say, pouring my own coffee once she's had a sip. "But he should know better than to monopolize all of Ellie's time when she has a guest."
"To be fair, I think it's mutual," Tasha laughs. "Ellie's been just as clingy. Yesterday she texted me four times to apologize for bailing on our lunch plans, then ended up not coming anyway because Grant surprised her with tickets to some local band."
I shake my head, though there's no real annoyance behind it. "I raised her better than that."
"You did," she agrees, her tone softening. "She's the most considerate person I know—usually. This is just... new territory for her."
"And what about you?" The question slips out before I can consider its implications. "Is this new territory?"
She looks at me quizzically. "Cedar Falls?"
"No," I clarify, though I should probably stop right here. "Being the third wheel. You mentioned remembering what first love feels like. Are you..." I hesitate, knowing I'm crossing into personal territory. "Is there someone back in Chicago?"
Tasha's laugh is short and self-deprecating. "No, definitely not. My last relationship ended about a year ago. He was an investment banker, a few years older, who thought my career ambitions were 'cute' until they started requiring as much time as his."
I frown. "Sounds like an ass."
"He was," she confirms with another small laugh. "But a valuable lesson in recognizing what I don't want."
"Which is?"
"Someone who sees my passion as competition rather than something to celebrate." She takes another sip of coffee, her eyes fixed on the waterfall. "What about you? Ellie doesn't talk much about your... social life."
I nearly choke on my coffee. "That's because there's not much to talk about."
"Sorry, that was too personal," she says quickly.
"No, it's fine," I assure her, though this conversation is veering into dangerous territory. "There have been a few relationships over the years, nothing serious. Cedar Falls is a small town—limited dating pool."
"I can imagine."
We lapse into a brief silence, the only sound being the constant rush of the waterfall. I use the moment to pull myself together and remember why this line of conversation is inappropriate. She's Ellie's friend. She's young—too young for me. She's a visitor who will be gone in less than two weeks.
But as I steal a glance at her profile, at the way she's completely absorbed in the natural beauty surrounding us, another thought intrudes: she fits here, in a way I didn't expect.
Not just in the setting, but in the quiet moments between us.
The conversation flows naturally, without the awkward pauses or forced pleasantries I've grown accustomed to on the few dates I've had in recent years.
"What are you thinking about?" she asks, catching me watching her again.
The truth isn't an option. "Just that we should probably start heading back soon if we want to beat the crowds on the trail."
Her face falls slightly. "Already? We just got here."
"We can stay a bit longer," I concede immediately, unable to deny the simple request. "The view is worth it."
Her smile returns, bright and genuine, and I'm struck by how easily she expresses her emotions and how openly she responds to the world around her. It makes me feel ancient by comparison—too accustomed to keeping my thoughts guarded, my feelings checked.
"Tell me about the fire department," she says, shifting to face me more directly. "Ellie says you have a tight-knit crew."
Safer territory, thankfully. "We do. Small department—just five of us total. You get close fast when you're trusting each other with your lives."
"Grant is one of your firefighters, right? That must be interesting, having him date your daughter."
I snort. "Interesting is one word for it. He asked my permission first, which I respected."
"Very old-fashioned of him."
"Less about old-fashioned, more about respect, and the chain of command," I explain. "He wanted to make sure I wouldn't have a problem with it."
"And do you? Have a problem with it?"
I consider the question. "No. He's my best friend. We met in the military, and he’s a fantastic firefighter, one of my best. We’ve gone through everything together. And he treats Ellie well. That's all that matters."
"A father who doesn't go into overprotective mode?" she teases. "I'm shocked."
"Oh, I had my moments when she first started dating," I admit. "But Ellie's always had good judgment about people. Better than mine, sometimes."
Tasha stretches her legs out in front of her, and I try not to notice how her hiking pants hug her curves. "That's refreshing to hear. My dad took the opposite approach after my mom died—suddenly every boy was a potential threat to his precious daughter's virtue."
It's the first time she's mentioned her mother, and the casual reference to that loss creates an unexpected bond between us. I'm careful with my response, recognizing the delicate territory.
"Everyone handles grief differently," I whisper.
She nods, her expression turning contemplative. "True. Some people shut down. Some try to control everything around them. Some throw themselves into work."
"And some do all three," I add, thinking of my own response to Claire's death.
The months of emotional numbness, followed by the desperate need to create a perfectly structured life for Ellie, the long hours at the station that let me avoid an empty house.
"Did you?" she asks, her voice gentle.
"I had Ellie to think about," I say, which isn't really an answer but is easier than admitting the truth. "Kept me from going too far in any one direction."
"She was lucky to have you."
"I was lucky to have her," I counter, meaning it completely. "Gave me a reason to get up every morning."
A comfortable silence falls between us, and I realize we've somehow shifted closer on the boulder, our shoulders nearly touching. I should move away, reestablish an appropriate distance, but I remain where I am, shamefully savoring her nearness.
A distant rumble of thunder breaks the spell. I look up to see dark clouds gathering over the mountain peaks to the west.
"That's our cue," I say, standing and offering her my hand. "Mountain storms can move in quickly."
She takes my hand, letting me help her down from the boulder. "Should we be worried? About lightning, I mean?"
"Not if we get moving now. The storm's still a way off."
We pack up quickly, and I lead us back to the trail at a slightly faster pace than before. The temperature has dropped a few degrees, and the wind picks up as we make our way through the forest. When another, louder rumble of thunder sounds, Tasha jumps slightly beside me.
"Not a fan of storms?" I ask.
"Not when I'm exposed on a mountainside, no," she admits with a nervous laugh.
"We're fine," I assure her. "I've been caught in plenty of these. We'll be back to the truck well before it hits."
But nature has other plans. We're barely halfway down the trail when the first heavy drops begin to fall, quickly turning into a steady rain. The canopy of pine trees provides some shelter but not enough to keep us dry.
"Damn it," I mutter, scanning the trail ahead. "There's a small shelter about a quarter mile from here—just a three-sided structure for hikers caught in weather like this. We should make for that."
She nods, pulling up the hood of her lightweight jacket, though it's clearly not waterproof. The rain is coming down harder now, and the trail is quickly turning muddy beneath our boots.
"Stay close," I instruct as visibility decreases with the rainfall. "The trail gets slippery here."
I reach back without thinking, offering my hand. She takes it immediately, her fingers cold and wet as they wrap around mine. It's a practical gesture, meant for safety, but the contact sends a surge of protectiveness through me. I must protect her, must keep her safe.
We move as quickly as safety allows, her warm breath brushing against my neck, slightly labored from the pace and the way her hand tightens in mine whenever thunder crashes overhead.
The rain has soaked through my jacket now, plastering my shirt to my skin, and I can only imagine she's equally drenched.
Finally, the small wooden shelter comes into view—just a simple roof with three walls and a bench inside, but a welcome sight nonetheless. We hurry the last hundred yards and step under the roof just as the heavens truly open, the rain now coming down in sheets.
"Perfect timing," I say, trying to sound upbeat despite our waterlogged state.
Tasha pushes back her hood, revealing her damp hair clinging to her neck and cheeks. She's breathing hard from our rushed descent, her chest rising and falling visibly, and despite the chill in the air, I feel suddenly warm.
"How long do these storms usually last?" she asks, wiping rainwater from her face.
"Hard to say. I didn’t expect it to start this fast. Could be twenty minutes, could be a couple of hours." I set my backpack on the bench and rummage through it. "Here," I say, pulling out a small towel I keep for emergencies. "It's not much, but it's dry."
She takes it gratefully, dabbing at her face and hair. "Always prepared, aren't you?"
"Occupational hazard," I reply with a small smile.
The shelter is tiny—no more than eight by eight feet—forcing us into closer proximity than I'm prepared for. I can see the raindrops clinging to her eyelashes, the way her wet clothes cling to the curves of her body. I force myself to look away, focusing instead on the downpour outside.
"I'm sorry about this," I say. "Not exactly the hiking experience I promised you."
"Are you kidding? This is an adventure." Her voice holds genuine enthusiasm despite her shivering. "How many people get caught in a mountain thunderstorm with the fire chief as their personal safety guide?"
I laugh despite myself. "When you put it that way, I guess it's not so bad."
"It's not bad at all," she says, "Actually, being stranded here with you is kind of perfect."