Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Jules
T he world after a rainstorm has an otherworldly quality I'd forgotten. Everything glistens, colors more vibrant, scents more potent. The mountain air feels impossibly clean, each breath like drinking straight from a spring.
"Careful here," Declan warns, offering his hand as we navigate a particularly muddy section of the service road. "It gets slippery."
I hesitate before accepting his assistance, his fingers warm against mine despite the cool air. He holds on a beat longer than necessary once I'm safely across, and I find myself reluctant to pull away.
We've been walking for about twenty minutes, the wildlife blind now well behind us. The storm has moved on completely, leaving behind puddles that reflect the emerging afternoon sun and a subtle rainbow arching across the eastern sky.
"Hungry?" Declan asks, breaking our comfortable silence. He reaches into his pack and pulls out a small container. "Homemade trail mix."
"Let me guess," I say, accepting a handful. "Another family secret?"
"Something like that." He smiles, and I notice a small dimple I hadn't seen before. "Dried cherries from the orchard down the valley, maple-candied pecans, and dark chocolate."
I sample a piece, surprised by the perfect balance of tart, sweet, and bitter. "This is... actually amazing."
"You don't have to sound so shocked every time I feed you something good," he teases.
"I'm not shocked. Just impressed by your range. From fine dining to trail mix."
"Food is food. It's all about quality ingredients and knowing what complements what." He gives me a sidelong glance. "Kind of like people, when you think about it."
The comment hangs between us, loaded with meaning I'm not ready to acknowledge. I focus on the path ahead instead, noting that we've reached a ridge that offers a sweeping view of the valley below. Mountain Laurel Lodge sits nestled among the trees, smoke rising from its stone chimney.
"It's beautiful," I admit, pausing to take in the landscape.
"This is one of my favorite spots," Declan says, coming to stand beside me. "Especially after a storm, when everything feels washed clean."
Perhaps it's the lingering intimacy from our time in the blind, or the strange vulnerability that comes after being caught in a storm, but something compels me to share a thought I'd normally keep private.
"I used to climb the maple tree behind our house in Vermont to get views like this," I say softly. "My father would get so angry, worried I'd fall. But I needed to see beyond our little town."
"And now you have the corner office with the Manhattan skyline view," Declan observes.
"Forty-third floor," I confirm. "You can see all the way to the Statue of Liberty on clear days."
"But not trees. Or mountains."
"No," I concede. "Not those."
Our eyes meet, and the same electric current I felt in the blind passes between us again, stronger this time without the distraction of thunder and rain.
"We should keep moving," I say, breaking eye contact. "Mia will be wondering where I am."
"Sure." Declan gestures ahead. "It's mostly downhill from here."
We continue in silence for a while, the only sounds our footsteps on the wet ground and the occasional call of a bird. I find myself hyper-aware of his presence beside me—the rhythm of his breathing, the way he instinctively positions himself on the outside edge of the trail, the lingering scent of cedar and spice that clings to him.
"About Mia," he says eventually. "I hope it's okay that she's been spending so much time with my family. Mom tends to adopt every child who crosses her path."
"It's fine," I assure him. "More than fine, actually. Mia's clearly thriving here."
"She's a great kid. Smart, curious, kind."
"Yes, she is." Pride warms my voice. "Though I can't take all the credit. She came into this world with her own personality fully formed."
"But you've given her a solid foundation," Declan says. "That counts for a lot."
I'm touched by his perception, by how he sees the effort behind my sometimes rigid parenting. "Thank you for saying that. I'm not always sure I'm doing it right."
"Is anyone?" He shrugs. "My parents weren't perfect, but they gave us roots and wings. That's all any kid really needs."
"Roots and wings," I repeat, liking the phrase. "I worry I've focused too much on the wings part—preparing her for success, independence—and not enough on roots."
"You're her roots, Jules," he says simply. "You and whatever home you create together, wherever that is."
Something shifts in my chest, a truth recognized but not fully embraced until this moment. Home isn't my carefully decorated Manhattan apartment or my gleaming office. It's wherever Mia is. And right now, she's happier at this mountain lodge than I've seen her in months.
The thought unsettles me, and I quicken my pace slightly.
We round a bend in the trail, and the lodge comes into fuller view, now much closer. Staff and guests mill about on the terrace, enjoying the post-storm sunshine. The retreat activities have clearly resumed.
"Looks like things are back to normal," Declan observes.
"Yes," I say, suddenly eager to return to the structure and schedule of the retreat. "I should check on my team, see what I've missed."
"And I should make sure dinner preparations are on track." He sounds reluctant, as if also sensing the bubble of our shared experience beginning to dissolve.
We approach a small wooden footbridge that crosses a swollen stream—likely fed by the recent rainfall. Water rushes beneath it, catching golden light in its ripples.
"One more potentially slippery spot," Declan warns, stepping onto the bridge first and offering his hand again.
This time I take it without hesitation, our fingers interlacing naturally. He helps me onto the bridge, and we stand there for a moment, halfway between wilderness and civilization, our hands still joined.
"Jules," he says softly, and something in his tone makes me look up.
The setting sun illuminates his face, turning his eyes to warm amber. He's looking at me with an expression I haven't seen in years. There’s genuine interest, unhurried and attentive.
"I had a nice time today," I say, wincing internally at how formal it sounds.
"Getting lost in a rainstorm?" His smile is gentle, teasing.
"Finding shelter," I clarify. "The conversation."
"Me too." His thumb brushes lightly over my knuckles, sending an unexpected thrill up my arm.
I should step away. Release his hand, cross the bridge, return to the retreat and my carefully ordered world. Instead, I remain rooted in place, caught in his gaze.
"You have raindrops in your hair," he says, his free hand lifting to brush a strand back from my face.
The touch is feather-light, but it sends heat blooming across my skin. Time seems to slow, the rushing water beneath us the only sound in a suddenly quiet world.
When he leans toward me, it feels as inevitable as gravity. His lips meet mine softly, hesitantly, giving me every opportunity to pull away.
I don't.
Instead, I find myself leaning into the kiss, my free hand resting lightly against his chest, feeling his heartbeat quicken beneath my palm. The kiss is gentle at first, a question rather than a demand, but when I respond, it deepens with surprising intensity.
For one suspended moment, I allow myself to simply feel. The warmth of his mouth, the strength in his hand still holding mine, the dizzying sense of falling despite standing perfectly still.
Then reality crashes back like a second storm.
I'm kissing a man I barely know, a man ten years my junior, a man who lives in a world completely separate from mine. A lodge chef with no ambitions beyond his mountain kitchen. A man my daughter is already becoming attached to after just three days.
Panic surges through me, and I pull back abruptly, breaking the kiss.
"I'm sorry," I say, taking a step backward. "That was a mistake."
Hurt flashes across his face before he carefully masks it. "A mistake," he repeats, his voice neutral.
"We got caught up in the moment. The storm, the isolation..." I'm babbling, making excuses as I continue retreating. "It doesn't mean anything."
"Doesn't it?" His question is quiet but direct.
"No," I say firmly, more to convince myself than him. "It can't. I'm leaving in three days. I have a company to run, a life in New York."
"I'm not asking you to abandon your life, Jules."
"Aren't you?" The words come out sharper than intended. "What else could possibly come from this?"
He doesn't answer immediately, his expression thoughtful rather than offended. "I don't know," he finally says. "But I think it could be worth finding out."
"I don't have the luxury of romantic uncertainty," I say, turning to cross the rest of the bridge. "I have responsibilities, plans. A daughter who needs stability."
"A daughter who's happier here than I've seen her since you arrived," he points out, following me. "Who's thriving with a little less structure and a little more spontaneity."
The observation stings because it's true. "That's not fair."
"Neither is dismissing what just happened as meaningless because it doesn't fit into your five-year plan."
We've reached the other side of the bridge now, standing at the edge of the lodge grounds. Staff members are visible on the terrace, and I instinctively step further away from him, maintaining a professional distance.
"This conversation is over," I say with finality. "We have three more days of this retreat, and I'd appreciate it if we could keep things professional from now on."
Before he can respond, I turn and walk briskly toward the lodge, not looking back. My heart pounds erratically, my lips still tingling from his kiss. But with each step, I rebuild the walls that momentarily crumbled on that bridge.
By the time I reach the lodge entrance, I've almost convinced myself I made the right decision. Almost.
I pass through the lobby without acknowledging the friendly wave from Jameson at the front desk, taking the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator, needing the physical exertion to clear my head.
In the privacy of my suite, I lean against the closed door, finally allowing myself to exhale the breath I've been holding since I pulled away from Declan.
What was I thinking? Kissing a man I've known for less than a week? Allowing myself to be charmed by his easy manner and obvious affection for Mia? Opening up about Vermont, about my insecurities as a mother?
I cross to the bathroom and stare at my reflection in the mirror. My hair is still damp from the rain, my cheeks flushed, my eyes too bright.
The last time I felt this way, I ended up a single mother with a fledgling business, scrambling to prove I could manage both. The last time I trusted someone with my heart, they left when things got difficult, when my success outpaced theirs.
I can't do that again. Won't do that to Mia.
A knock at the door makes me jump. For a heart-stopping moment, I think it might be Declan, but then Mia's voice calls out, "Mom? Are you in there?"
I quickly splash water on my face and compose myself before opening the door.
"Hi, sweetheart," I say, forcing brightness into my tone. "I was changing out of my wet clothes."
Mia barrels into me for a hug, Evie Callahan standing in the hallway behind her with a warm smile.
"You got caught in the storm!" Mia exclaims. "Evie said you were in a special wildlife house with Declan! Did you see any animals? Did you get super wet? Was there lightning?"
"Slow down," I laugh, genuinely this time. "Yes, we took shelter in the wildlife blind during the storm. No animals, yes very wet, and yes, some lightning, but we were safe."
Mia pulls back, studying me with unexpected intensity. "You look different."
My heart skips. "Different how?"
She shrugs. "I don't know. Just different." Then, with the mercurial attention span of a seven-year-old, she's on to the next topic. "I made you something in pottery class! It's still being fired in the kiln, but I can show you tomorrow!"
"I can't wait to see it," I say honestly.
Evie steps forward. "I hope you don't mind me bringing her up. She was getting worried when all the other teams returned but you hadn't shown up yet."
"Of course not. Thank you for watching her." I'm careful to maintain eye contact with Evie, terrified that she'll somehow see what transpired between her son and me written on my face.
If she notices anything amiss, she doesn't show it. "It was my pleasure. Both of you are welcome to join us for dinner in the main dining room whenever you're ready. Most of your team is already there."
"We'll be down shortly," I assure her.
After Evie leaves, Mia flops dramatically onto the bed. "Did you win the challenge?"
"Not exactly," I say, rummaging through my suitcase for fresh clothes. "We took a wrong turn."
"You got lost?" She sounds delighted by the idea. "But you never get lost!"
"Well, I did today." I pull out a simple blouse and pants, business casual rather than the jeans and sweater I'd normally wear for dinner. Armor, of a sort.
"Was it scary in the storm?"
I pause, considering the question. "No," I answer truthfully. "We were safe in the blind. Declan was..." I swallow, pushing away the memory of his kiss. "He was prepared. Had a radio, tea, everything we needed."
"He's really smart," Mia says with admiration. "He taught me how to test if bread dough is ready by poking it! And he knows the names of all the birds that come to the bird feeders."
"He seems very knowledgeable," I say neutrally, retreating to the bathroom to change.
When I emerge, Mia is standing by the window, looking out at the mountains. "Mom," she says without turning around, "can we stay here longer? Like, after your business meetings are done?"
The question catches me off guard. "What? No, sweetheart. We have to go back to New York on Sunday. I have meetings all next week."
"But it's so nice here," she persists, turning to face me with a pleading expression. "And Evie said we could come back anytime. She said they have special weekend packages for families."
Something twists in my chest at the hope in her voice. "We can discuss visiting again sometime, but we can't extend this trip."
She sighs dramatically. "Fine. But I'm going to miss everybody. Especially Declan. He promised to teach me how to make homemade pasta next time."
Next time. The words echo in my mind as we head downstairs for dinner, Mia chattering excitedly about her day while I nod and respond on autopilot.
There won't be a next time. There can't be. Not when a simple kiss on a footbridge was enough to shake the foundations of the life I've so carefully constructed.
No, I decide as we enter the dining room. Better to end this now, before anyone gets hurt. Before Mia gets any more attached. Before I make another mistake I can't undo.