Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Declan
" A lmost there!" I shout over the increasingly heavy downpour, pointing ahead to where the trail curves around a massive oak tree.
Jules follows behind, her poncho plastered against her body by the wind, determination etched on her face despite being thoroughly soaked. The wildlife viewing blind appears through the curtain of rain. It’s a sturdy wooden structure nestled against the hillside, partially hidden by rhododendrons. My brother Rowan rebuilt it last year, turning what had been little more than a dilapidated shed into a proper shelter.
I reach the door first, yanking it open against the wind and holding it as Jules ducks inside, water streaming from her poncho in rivulets.
The interior is small but thoughtfully designed. There’s a bench along the back wall, shuttered viewing windows, and a small table with trail guides. It smells of cedar and pine, the wood still relatively new.
"Welcome to five-star mountain accommodations," I say, pulling out a small battery-powered lantern. Soft light fills the space, casting long shadows.
Jules doesn't smile. She removes her poncho, hanging it carefully on a hook by the door, then runs a hand through her damp hair.
"How long will the storm last?" she asks, all business.
I check the small weather station Rowan installed. "Barometric pressure's still dropping. I'd say we're in for at least an hour, maybe two."
"Two hours?" She pulls out her phone, frowning at the screen. "No signal, of course."
"There's a radio," I offer, pointing to the emergency equipment. "We can let the lodge know we're safe if you're worried about Mia."
"I'm not worried about Mia," she says, though her expression suggests otherwise. "She's with your mother. I'm concerned about my team. We were supposed to complete this exercise and return for the strategy session at three."
"The entire mountain is getting drenched. I guarantee your strategy session is postponed." I hand her a thermal blanket. "Here. You should get that wet jacket off before you get chilled."
She eyes the blanket skeptically, but a visible shiver convinces her. She removes her damp outer layer and quickly wraps the thermal blanket around her shoulders.
I busy myself with the radio, giving her privacy while I send a brief message to the lodge. Static crackles, then Liam's voice comes through.
"Copy that, Dec. Most teams made it back. All activities postponed until the weather clears. Over."
"Is Mia okay? Over," I ask.
"Having the time of her life making clay animals with Mom. Says the thunder sounds like dragons. Over."
I glance at Jules, who's listening intently. "Tell her we're fine and will be back soon. Over and out."
"Dragons, huh?" Jules says softly. "That sounds like Mia."
"She has quite an imagination." I pull out a small camp stove—not standard issue for the team-building exercise, but something I added just in case. "Tea? I always carry some."
"You came prepared for everything except my navigational errors," she says, humor breaking through her frustration.
"I wouldn't say that was an error. More like an alternative route selection."
"You don't have to be nice about it. I took the wrong trail because I was too stubborn to admit I might have misread the compass."
"If it makes you feel better, that particular junction confuses everyone. The trail was rerouted last spring, but the maps haven't all been updated."
She gives me a skeptical look. "Are you making that up to make me feel better?"
"Scout's honor," I say, holding up three fingers.
Soon I'm pouring hot water into two collapsible cups and add a bag of Earl Gray tea to each. Thunder crashes directly overhead, making the entire structure vibrate. Jules flinches but quickly composes herself.
"Not a fan of storms?" I ask.
"I don't mind storms when I'm safely indoors. Real indoors, with solid walls and electricity."
"This is solid," I assure her, rapping my knuckles against the cedar wall. "Rowan rebuilt this last year for his fiancée, Daisy. She's a children's book author who needed a place to observe the local wildlife for her illustrations."
"There's a small waterfall and pool just beyond those trees," I add, pointing toward one of the shuttered windows. "All sorts of animals come here, especially at dawn and dusk."
"Your brother's fiancée is a children's author?" Jules looks genuinely interested.
"Yeah. They met on one of the trails near the lodge when she got lost. Not during a storm, but their story definitely has that whole city-girl-meets-mountain-man romance vibe."
Jules sits beside me, careful to maintain distance. "And now they're engaged?"
"Yep. Turns out getting lost on a mountain trail can lead to finding exactly what you need."
She looks away, but not before I catch the slight flush in her cheeks. "I think most people who get lost just end up with poison ivy and cell phone anxiety."
"So, Vermont, huh? You mentioned yesterday you grew up there."
She nods. "Small town called Maple Creek. Nothing like this, though. Fewer mountains, more dairy farms."
"How did you go from small-town Vermont to CEO of a tech company?"
"Determination. Scholarships. Seventy-hour work weeks." She shrugs, like her accomplishments are merely the expected outcome. "The usual American dream narrative."
"There's nothing usual about building a company from scratch," I counter. "Mia says you started in your apartment."
"My kitchen table, actually. The living room was already serving as my bedroom since I'd converted the bedroom to Mia's nursery."
"Impressive."
"Necessary," she corrects. "I was a single mother with student loans and no safety net."
"No desire to return to Vermont?"
"Sometimes I miss the seasons," she admits. "But New York is where the business is."
She hugs the thermal blanket closer as another shiver works through her.
"You're cold," I observe.
"I'm fine."
I unzip my fleece jacket—still mostly dry thanks to my poncho—and hold it out to her. "Here. This is dry."
After a moment's hesitation, she accepts, slipping it on over her thermal blanket. The sleeves hang past her fingertips, and the effect is both amusing and oddly endearing.
"Better?" I ask.
She nods, zipping it up to her chin. "Thank you."
"For the record," I say, "you're handling this admirably well. Most executives I know would be having a complete meltdown about missed calls and rescheduled meetings."
"I've learned to adapt when necessary." She sits slightly closer than before. "Though I admit, being disconnected makes me uneasy."
"Most people feel that way nowadays. Personally, I think occasional disconnection is healthy."
"Says the man who voluntarily lives on a mountain with spotty cell service."
"Exactly. Gives me the perfect excuse when suppliers call with price increases."
She laughs softly, the sound warming the small space. It's her real laugh, not the polite one she uses with colleagues.
"So what does the great Chef Callahan do when he's not creating culinary masterpieces?" she asks.
"Fishing. Hiking. Preserving summer produce for winter. Mostly normal mountain man activities."
"No wife? Children?" Her tone aims for casual, but there's curiosity beneath it.
"Not yet. Came close once, but it didn’t work out."
"Would you ever consider leaving?"
I consider the question seriously. "For the right person? I might. But they'd have to be pretty extraordinary to pull me away from all this."
Our eyes meet, and for a breath, neither of us looks away. Something electric passes between us.
Jules breaks the connection first, adjusting the too-long sleeves of my jacket. "It must be nice," she says softly, "having such a clear sense of where you belong."
"You don't feel that way about New York?"
"New York is convenient for business. It's where my office is, where Mia's school is."
"But not home?"
She looks genuinely perplexed. "I don't know that I've ever really thought about 'home' in that sense."
The rain begins to ease, the torrential downpour softening to a steady shower. Another flash of lightning illuminates the blind, followed by thunder, but the rumble is more distant now.
"Sounds like it's passing," Jules notes.
"Another fifteen minutes and we should be able to head back safely," I agree, feeling oddly disappointed.
She stands, moving around the small space as if suddenly restless. My jacket hangs almost to her mid-thighs, making her look younger, less formidable.
"Mia would love this place," she says suddenly. "The blind, the trail guides, all of it."
"We could bring her up here when the weather's better," I offer. "There's a family of deer that visits the clearing just before sunset."
"Your family is so different from what I'm used to."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"It was meant as one."
Our eyes meet again, and this time, neither of us looks away. The distance between us seems to shrink without either of us moving. My gaze drops briefly to her lips, and her breath catches audibly.
For one charged moment, I think she might actually lean toward me. Instead, she clears her throat and takes a deliberate step back.
"The rain's letting up," she says, her voice slightly higher than normal. "We should probably head back."
"Right." I gather our makeshift tea set. "We can take the service road back. It's longer but less treacherous than the muddy trail."
She removes my jacket, folding it neatly before handing it back to me, once again the composed executive despite her damp clothes and wind-tousled hair.
But something has shifted between us. I saw behind her carefully constructed walls, if only for a few storm-bound moments. And unless I'm completely misreading the situation, she felt it too. That inexplicable pull, that sense of recognition that defies logical explanation.
As we prepare to venture back into the elements, I can't help but wonder what might have happened if the storm had lasted just a little longer.