1. Mara #3
We head up the staircase, our footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. The hallway stretches long and cozy, lined with doors painted a deep forest green. The smell of cleaner mixes with old cedar and something faintly floral.
"I still can't believe they own this place," Tess says again as she pushes open a door. "It's like… this was always the town landmark, you know? We used to sneak in and drink cocoa by the fire during blizzards. And now it's ours."
"Ours?" I tease, wiping down a dresser.
"You know what I mean," she says, flicking dust at me. "I just never thought Mom and Dad would take on something like this. It's huge. They've got a full staff now—cooks, cleaners, even maintenance guys—but it's still a lot of work. Especially with ski season starting."
She isn't wrong. The lodge is what keeps Sweet Creek Falls running through the winter.
Tourists pour in from Denver and the Front Range, drawn by the slopes and the promise of small-town charm.
The café and the lodge feed off each other—one offering warmth, the other offering rest. It's a rhythm the entire town depends on.
I dust the nightstand, running my cloth along the carved edges. The room feels like a memory—warm wood, plaid blankets, sunlight slipping through the curtains. It's so peaceful that, for a second, I forget to be on guard.
"How did the interview go?" I ask finally, glancing at Tess.
She straightens, tucking a curl behind her ear. "Pretty good. I've got one more round next week, but the head of the department said it's basically a formality."
I grin. "See? I told you they'd be lucky to have you."
She shrugs, clearly trying to play it cool but glowing anyway. "It's just a TA position, nothing fancy."
"At the Academy, that's still impressive."
"Yeah, well…" She hesitates, picking up a pillow and fluffing it unnecessarily. "It's for Professor Alden."
I pause mid-wipe. "Alden? As in Dr. Marcus Alden?"
She nods quickly, avoiding my eyes. "It's not that big of a deal."
"He taught us Behavioral Dynamics our second year," I say. "He's, what, mid-forties? Ex-military Alpha? The one who made half the class cry during mock evaluations?"
"The very same."
I stare. "Tess, how did you get him to consider you for a position?"
She gives a noncommittal shrug. "A lot of begging. And coffee. Mostly coffee."
I tilt my head. "Begging?"
"Don't look at me like that," she says, cheeks flushing. "It's not what you're thinking."
I hold up my hands. "I didn't say anything."
"You didn't have to."
The silence that follows isn't awkward exactly, but there's a weight to it. Tess has been distracted lately—out late, texting people she won't name, brushing off questions. I have a feeling her landing the job interview isn't the whole story, but I've learned not to push. Everyone hides something.
She changes the subject before I can. "Are you ever going to apply there too? You were one of the brightest. They'd offer you a job for sure."
"I can't." The answer comes out sharper than I mean it to. I force a breath and lower my voice. "They'd find me, Tess. If I step anywhere near the Academy, Jonathan's firm will know within hours."
Her expression softens. "Oh. Right. I didn't even think about that."
"It's fine," I say. "I like it here. The café's good for me. It's quiet. Predictable."
She studies me for a moment, brow furrowed. "Are you really okay, though?"
I dust the last surface and look out the window. The snow outside glows faintly under the pale sun. "I'm fine," I say. "I like working at the café. It's peaceful. The town's just like it always was."
Tess lets it drop, bless her. Then she grins suddenly. "You know what you do need?"
"What?"
"A night out."
I groan. "No."
"Yes," she says firmly, wagging a finger. "We're going to the Bluejay tonight. You, me, maybe a couple of locals. They've got karaoke Thursdays and those spicy fries you love."
"The Bluejay?" I repeat. "That place is chaos."
"Exactly. Controlled chaos. It'll be fun. We haven't gone out since you moved back, and you can't keep hiding behind the espresso machine forever."
I try to glare, but she's impossible to resist when she's like this—eyes sparkling, grin crooked. "Fine," I mutter. "But if Wes starts his cheesy pickup lines again, I'm leaving."
Tess laughs, looping her arm through mine. "Deal. But we're staying for at least one song. Maybe two. And then we're having a sleepover like old times."
"Do we even fit on your bed anymore?"
"I'll make room."
We finish dusting the last of the rooms and drop the rags back off at Mrs. Lacey's cart. She thanks us with a nod and a muttered "Don't forget to salt the steps. Those tourists slide like toddlers."
As we step back outside, the snow crunches under our boots. The café's chimney is smoking gently, the scent of baked bread drifting up the hill. The whole town seems to glow under the pale sun, quiet and bright and safe.
I let myself smile without forcing it. Maybe Tess is right. Maybe I need to stop living like I'm waiting to be found.
"Bluejay tonight," Tess says again, bumping her shoulder against mine.
"Bluejay tonight," I echo, shaking my head but unable to stop smiling.
The cold air stings my cheeks, but it feels good. Real. Alive.