3. Mara
Mara
Tess is still asleep when I slip out of bed. Her blond hair is a halo against the pillow, one arm flung over where I'd been lying just minutes ago.
We stayed up way too late last night—her idea, of course, insisting that she couldn't possibly sleep alone in her room after we had agreed on a sleepover.
So she'd dragged her blanket and pillow into mine, climbed in beside me, and we'd talked until our voices turned hoarse and laughter gave way to quiet sighs.
We talked about everything and nothing. About Sweet Creek and how different it feels now, about the café, her excitement for her new job, about the tourists that'll pour in once the ski trails open next week. And, inevitably, about Daniel and his pack.
Tess, always the open book, shared what she remembered. I listened half-curious, half-embarrassed by the tiny tug low in my chest every time his name came up.
"My brother's very close with them," she said, yawning. "Grayson's the genius. Leo's the one who'll convince you to do shots at a ski lodge bar and then climb a mountain at dawn."
I laughed, asking which one was the nicest, and she only smirked. "All of them, I guess. They're all so serious—well, except Leo. He seems fun."
Now, as I tug on a sweater and smooth down my hair, fragments of that conversation drift through my head.
Leo Sandoval—his family owns a restaurant in Denver, but he started his own outdoor adventure company.
Summit High Adventures, Tess said. Rock climbing, rafting, skiing trips in Estes Park, all that adrenaline-fueled stuff.
Then there's Dr. Grayson McAllister—ER physician in Denver. Very chill and keeps to himself a lot.
I'd known of them, sure. Tess has mentioned them in passing, but meeting them for the first time last night was… something else.
Especially reuniting with Daniel.
Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was just how sharply time can chisel someone into something magnetic.
Now, in the cold light of morning, I can still picture the curve of Daniel Hartwell's jaw when he stood near us. The shadows that made him look a little untouchable, a little too composed.
"Maybe it was just the tequila," I mutter to myself, buttoning my jeans.
The apartment is still quiet as I step out of the room. Light spills down the hallway from the far window, turning the wooden floors amber. I move softly, not wanting to wake Tess, and start down the stairs.
That's when the scent hits me.
Cedarwood. Sage. A clean, dark edge underneath. Not the lavender and sugar cookies I've come to associate with Margaret. This scent is distinctly… masculine.
It coils through the air before I even reach the bottom step, and my pulse stumbles. I brace myself because I already know who I'll find.
Sure enough, there they are—Margaret Hartwell and her son, sitting at one of the small tables in the café, coffee cups in hand. Morning light slants through the windows, outlining them both in a golden haze.
Margaret looks exactly the way she always does, composed but soft around the eyes. Daniel looks like sin in a hoodie.
He's in navy, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, exposing the lean muscle of his forearms. His hair is tousled in that careless way that feels intentional. There's stubble on his jaw, just enough to make him look like he didn't sleep, and yet somehow he still manages to look expensive.
"Morning," I manage, my voice steadier than I feel.
They both turn toward me. Margaret smiles first. "Morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?"
I nod, heading toward the counter for coffee. "Yeah. Eventually. Tess kept me up talking."
"I figured." Margaret chuckles, eyes warm. "How are you feeling? Any headache?"
"Nope. Surprisingly fine." I pour myself a cup, grateful for the excuse to keep my back to Daniel. "Guess I still have college-party stamina buried somewhere in me."
"That's good," she says with a grin. "I do have a small errand for you this morning, if you're up for it."
"Of course," I reply, turning back toward her.
She sets her cup down. "The housekeeper mentioned that some of the rooms still have old ski maps—ripped and faded. Before we open officially, we need to replace them. Nora set aside a few new ones for me. Think you can head to Falling Pines and pick them up?"
I smile immediately. "I haven't had the time to visit the bookstore since I came back. I love that shop."
Margaret nods. "It's our little gem, isn't it? Nora is probably already there. You can tell her they're for the lodge. Let me get you my keys, dear. The roads are a mess, and that little car of yours is no good in this."
Before I can answer, Daniel's voice cuts through the quiet, low and calm. "I can drive her."
My stomach flips.
I look up at him, trying not to let it show. He's watching me with the same expression that always made me nervous when I was younger, like he could see right through whatever bravado I wore.
"That's not necessary," I start, but Margaret waves her hand.
"It's no trouble. The roads are still slick, and it's cold enough to freeze you solid before you get there. Besides, you two should catch up."
I glance between them, then finally nod. "Sure. Thank you."
"Perfect." Margaret claps her hands softly. "The maps are already paid for. Just collect them and maybe grab a coffee while you're there. Nora will insist."
Daniel stands, finishing what's left of his drink. "I'll change and meet you outside the café in ten."
His voice is smooth, but the words land with weight. He moves past me on his way out, close enough that the scent of cedar and something greener—sage, warmed by skin—trails after him. My breath stutters for just a second, and I hate myself for noticing how much broader his shoulders are now.
"Grab your coat, honey," Margaret says softly, her voice grounding me. "It's colder than it looks."
"Right." I force a smile, setting down my mug. "Be right back."
Upstairs, I lean against the closed door for a moment, eyes shut. The quiet of the room wraps around me, thick and steady, but my pulse refuses to calm.
I cross to the dresser, pulling on my coat, and catch my reflection in the small oval mirror. My hair's a mess, cheeks still red from the warmth of the kitchen. I look… flustered.
Ridiculous.
He's just Daniel Hartwell. The same man who used to help his dad fix fences, who always had dirt on his jeans and that serious look that made him seem older than the rest.
Except now, he is older. Taller. More defined. The years have settled on him in a way that only made him sharper—like steel honed instead of dulled.
And suddenly, I feel like the air's been punched out of my lungs.
I've always had a little crush on him—everyone did, back in high school—but I buried it under the kind of logic you use when you're trying not to embarrass yourself. He was older. My best friend's older brother. Out of reach. A fantasy you could laugh about later.
But seeing him now, after all this time? It's different. This isn't the fluttery kind of attraction you can laugh off. It's heavier. Low and molten, coiling tight in my belly until I have to breathe through it.
Nothing like what I felt last night, dancing with Chris.
Chris was easy—light flirtation, the buzz of music and tequila making everything feel possible. His touch had made me smile. Daniel's presence, though, undoes me.
It's eviscerating, the kind of pull that makes every nerve in my body feel newly awake.
I sit on the edge of the bed for a second, dragging in a breath. "You're fine," I whisper to myself. "You'll get the maps, have a normal conversation, and come back. That's it."
The mirror doesn't buy it, but I tug on my gloves anyway and smooth down my coat. My heartbeat's still uneven as I head for the stairs.
Outside the window, I catch a glimpse of him through the glass. He's leaning against his truck, hands in his pockets, breath fogging in the cold morning air. He looks like he belongs in this setting—broad, steady, framed by the snow-dusted pines and the muted gray sky.
I close my eyes for a beat, steadying myself before heading down.
I tell myself it's just an errand. Just a quick drive.
But deep down, I already know better.
"I'm ready," I say, pulling my scarf tighter around my neck as I step outside. The cold nips at my cheeks, the air crisp and sharp enough to sting. Snow drifts lazily from the sky, each flake catching light like dusted glass.
Daniel's leaning against the driver's side of his dark gray truck.
He's wearing a black wool coat over a gray sweater, his breath fogging in the air.
When he straightens, the simple movement looks effortless—fluid strength wrapped in quiet composure.
He opens the passenger door for me, waiting silently until I climb in.
The seat is cold beneath me, and I fumble with the seatbelt, gloved fingers awkward against the metal clasp. He doesn't start the engine until he hears the click, then nods slightly and turns the key.
The truck hums to life, the air icy against my legs. Music explodes, something loud and fast, electric guitars thrashing against drums. Daniel mutters a curse under his breath and reaches for the dial, turning the volume down.
"Sorry," he says, voice edged with a dry laugh. "That's Leo's playlist. He thinks every road trip needs to sound like a concert."
I smile despite myself. "I don't mind it."
He glances at me, one brow lifting. "You don't?"
I shake my head, curling my hands around the seatbelt. "I kind of like it. It's… different."
He huffs a small laugh, the kind that softens his usual seriousness. "All right," he says, leaving the song low, more hum than roar, before flicking on the heater. Warm air begins to build slowly, a gentle sigh filling the space between us.
The world outside is muted by snow—rows of pines heavy with frost, rooftops capped in white, and the soft, unbroken sheen of the road stretching toward the town's heart.
"So," he says after a moment, glancing sideways. "What's new in Sweet Creek? It's been a while since I was last here."