Chapter 13
I guide Hazel toward my truck with my arm still wrapped around her shoulders, both of us still breathing a little unsteadily from that kiss. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips slightly swollen, and she keeps stealing glances at me like she’s trying to figure out what I have planned.
“So where exactly are we going?” she asks as I help her into the passenger seat.
“You’ll see.” I close her door and walk around to my side, grinning at her obvious frustration with my vague answers.
She settles back in her seat with a resigned sigh, but I can see the curiosity and anticipation in her eyes.
I pull out of town and head toward the mountain road that winds up through the state forest. The headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the autumn trees that line the narrow road.
The maples and oaks are at peak color even in the dark, their leaves catching the light like scattered jewels.
“We’re going up the mountain?” Hazel asks, peering out the window as the road starts to climb.
“Mmhmm.”
She’s quiet for a few minutes, watching the familiar landscape pass by. Then I see recognition dawn on her face as we pass a distinctive outcropping of granite that juts out from the mountainside.
I can’t keep the satisfied smile off my face. “Do you recognize the path we’re taking?”
“Wait,” she says slowly. “Luke, this is the old hiking trail. The one that goes up to the clearing where we used to hide when we wanted to be alone.” She looks down at the paved road beneath us, confusion clear in her voice.
“When was this trail converted into a road? We used to have to hike for miles through the woods to get up there.”
“About five years ago,” I say, enjoying her bewilderment.
The road curves sharply to the left, and suddenly we’re in a paved parking area that definitely wasn’t here eight years ago. Warm light spills from between the trees ahead, and I can see the outline of a building through the branches.
“What the hell?” Hazel breathes, staring through the windshield. “There was never anything up here except that old cabin the hermit lived in.”
“Harold Hutchins,” I say. “He died about six years ago. His family put the property up for sale.”
Understanding starts to dawn on her face, her eyes widening. “Luke, you didn’t.”
“I bought it,” I say simply. “All two hundred acres of it. And I had the old hiking trail converted into a proper road.”
“You bought an entire mountain?”
I get out of the truck and walk around to help her down, my hands settling on her waist as I lift her from the seat. “I bought a part of the mountain. The place where we used to escape from the world.”
She stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “What did you do with it?”
Instead of answering, I take her hand and lead her down the lit pathway. The walkway winds through the trees for about a quarter mile, following the same route we used to hike but now paved with natural stone that blends seamlessly with the forest floor.
Solar lanterns line the path, casting a warm, romantic glow that makes the autumn leaves overhead look like they’re on fire. The air smells like pine needles and woodsmoke, crisp and clean in a way that makes you want to fill your lungs and never let it out.
“Luke,” Hazel whispers, her voice filled with awe as we walk. “This is incredible.”
The path opens into the clearing I remember so well—the same meadow where we used to spread blankets and talk for hours, where we shared our first real kiss, where I told her I loved her for the first time. But now, instead of an empty field, there’s a rustic lodge nestled among the trees.
It’s not huge or ostentatious. The building looks like it grew from the forest itself—cedar and stone construction with large windows that glow with warm light. A wraparound porch faces the clearing, and I can see rocking chairs positioned to take advantage of the view down the mountain.
“You built a lodge?” Hazel asks, stopping dead in the middle of the path.
“I converted the old cabin. Expanded it, but kept the original foundation.” I watch her face as she takes in the building. “It’s not a public lodge. It’s private. Just for us.”
She turns to stare at me. “Just for us?”
“The whole property is private. No other guests, no staff tonight. Just you and me and two hundred acres of forest.” I squeeze her hand gently. “I wanted somewhere we could go that was completely ours. Somewhere with no interruptions, no history, no painful memories.”
Her eyes are bright with unshed tears as she looks between me and the lodge. “Luke, this is... I can’t believe you did this.”
“Do you like it?”
“Like it?” Her voice cracks slightly. “It’s— I don’t know what to say.”
Pride swells in my chest, warm and satisfying. “Come see the inside.”
I lead her up the stone steps to the front porch. The rocking chairs are positioned perfectly to catch the view, and I’ve strung tiny white lights along the porch railings that twinkle like stars. When I open the front door, warm air scented with cedar and something delicious wafts out.
The interior is all to her taste—rustic but elegant, cozy but not cramped.
The main room features a massive stone fireplace with a fire already crackling, casting dancing shadows on the log walls.
Deep leather furniture is arranged to take advantage of the fireplace and the floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the forest.
“My God,” Hazel breathes, stepping inside and slowly turning in a circle. “Luke, it’s perfect.”
The kitchen is open to the main room, all granite counters and copper fixtures. I can see she’s taking in every detail—the dining table made from a single massive piece of oak, the built-in bookshelves filled with classics, the way the lighting is warm and intimate without being dim.
“Are you hungry?” I ask. “I had dinner delivered from a new Italian restaurant in Burlington.”
She nods wordlessly, still looking around in amazement.
I guide her to the dining table, which is already set with white linens and candles. The meal is waiting under covered dishes—herb-crusted salmon with roasted vegetables, wild rice pilaf, and a bottle of the white wine she used to love.
“This is...” She sits down heavily, shaking her head. “Luke, when did you plan all this?”
“I’ve been working on the lodge for three years,” I admit, taking the seat across from her. “Ever since I got the property back from my uncle and had access to real money again. But I never brought anyone here. I was waiting.”
“Waiting for what?”
“For you to come home.”
The words hang between us, honest and vulnerable. I watch her face as they sink in, see the moment she understands what I’m really saying.
“You built this place for me,” she says quietly.
“I built it for us. For the future I still hoped we might have.” I reach across the table and take her hand. “I know we’re starting over, taking things slow. But Hazel, I never stopped believing we’d find our way back to each other. At least a part of me never did.”
Tears spill over then, tracking down her cheeks in the candlelight. But she’s smiling through them, and when she squeezes my hand, I feel like I can breathe properly for the first time in eight years.
“This is the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen,” she whispers. “And you’re crazy for building it without knowing if I’d ever come back.”
“Maybe. But it worked out, didn’t it? You’re here now, aren’t you?”
She laughs through her tears. “Yeah. It worked out.”
We eat dinner talking about everything and nothing—the lodge construction, her work on the festival, memories from when we used to hike up here as teenagers. The conversation flows easily, naturally, like we’re picking up where we left off eight years ago.
After dinner, I stand and hold out my hand to Hazel. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”
She takes my hand, curiosity dancing in her eyes as I lead her toward the back door of the lodge instead of out to the front porch.
“Where are we going now?” she asks, but she’s smiling, caught up in the magic of the evening.
“You’ll see.”
I open the back door and guide her outside, and I hear her sharp intake of breath the moment she sees what I’ve prepared.
The expansive clearing behind the lodge has been transformed into something out of a fairy tale.
Soft blankets and plush pillows are arranged on the ground in the center, creating a cozy outdoor living room under the stars.
But it’s the lights that take her breath away—several wooden poles of varying heights have been strategically placed around the perimeter of the space, each one wrapped in different types of fairy lights.
Some twinkle like stars, others glow with warm amber light, and a few pulse gently with soft white radiance.
The effect is magical. The lights cast a warm, ethereal glow over everything, creating pools of golden illumination that fade into the darkness of the surrounding forest. It’s like we’ve stepped into our own private wonderland.
“Luke,” Hazel whispers, her voice filled with awe. “This is...”
“I wanted to recreate something,” I say, leading her toward the blankets. “Do you remember that night senior year when we hiked up here during the meteor shower? We lay on that old camping blanket and watched the stars for hours.”
Her eyes fill with tears as the memory hits her. “You said you wanted to lie under the stars with me every night for the rest of your life.”
“I meant it then, and I mean it now.”
I help her settle onto the blankets, the soft fabric cushioning us from the cool ground. The pillows are arranged so we can lie back comfortably and still see the sky, which is brilliant with stars this far from town.
“The lights are beautiful,” she says, looking around at the glowing poles that surround us like gentle sentinels. “It’s like being inside a constellation.”