Chapter Four
Parker
The streets of Maple Ridge are quiet at five-forty-five in the morning, just the way I like them.
I make this drive into town from my cabin almost every day, but today, the silence feels different.
Maybe because I’m heading to pick up Vesper, and something about that has my heart beating faster than it should.
I told myself this is about helping her get good photos, but the town’s stupid legend keeps echoing in my head.
I’ve never asked for a day off, especially not to spend time with a woman.
Hell, I’ve never met a woman who makes me feel like Vesper does.
I take the winding road down from the mountain, my truck’s headlights cutting through the darkness.
Living up here has always been exactly what I needed.
It’s quiet, private, and away from people who ask too many questions.
But this morning, as I head toward The Maple Lodge B&B, I’m thinking about how empty the cabin felt when I woke up.
Like something, or someone, was missing.
Someone like Vesper.
The B&B comes into view, and the front porch light glows in the darkness. I can see Vesper’s silhouette already waiting outside. She has her camera bag slung over her shoulder and what looks like a travel mug in her hand. Even at six a.m. and from this distance, she looks beautiful.
She’s got real curves, the kind that makes me want to wrap my arms around her and never let go.
There’s something so appealing about a woman who looks like she enjoys life, good food, and laughter.
A woman who’s comfortable in her own skin.
Vesper’s soft in all the right places, and I can’t help but fantasize about what it would feel like to undress her and kiss her naked body.
I shake my head, trying to get the images of a naked Vesper out of my head. The last thing I need is to arrive with a hard-on.
I idle the truck and she gets in, bringing the scent of something floral and warm with her.
“Morning, Parker,” she greets me with a big smile.
I laugh. “You’re awfully cheerful for having to get up this early.”
She shrugs as she clicks her seatbelt into place. “I’m used to early-morning photo sessions. You learn to function on coffee and adrenaline in this business.” She holds up her travel mug like evidence. “Speaking of which, I may have already had two cups, so I might be a little wired.”
“Good. You’ll need the energy for the hike up to Lookout Rock,” I say as I put the truck in drive and pull away from the B&B.
“How far is it?”
“About a twenty-minute drive, then maybe a fifteen-minute hike. The trail’s not too bad, but it gets steep near the end.”
She settles back in her seat, and I catch her looking around the interior of my truck. She scrutinizes the worn leather seats, the coffee-stained cup holder, and the work gloves tossed on the dashboard before turning to me. “Nice truck.”
“It gets the job done.” I glance over at her. “So, you ever been hiking before?”
“Charleston, where I live, has some decent hiking spots, but I’m usually too busy with work to explore much.”
We drive away from town and start climbing the mountain road. The higher we get, the more the mist clings to the trees, creating an almost ethereal atmosphere. I steal glances at Vesper as she watches the landscape change outside her window, her eyes wide with fascination.
“This is incredible,” she breathes. “The way the fog wraps around everything? It’s like driving through a fairy tale.”
Her excitement is infectious, and I suddenly find myself seeing my daily, familiar route through her eyes. She’s right. It’s gorgeous.
“Wait until you see the view from the top,” I say.
A few minutes later, I park at the trailhead and grab my backpack. “Ready?”
She nods and follows me, her hands gripping her camera, ready for action.
The trail starts easy enough, winding through tall pines and maples beginning to turn. Vesper keeps stopping to take pictures, and I wait patiently each time until she’s done.
“Sorry,” she says after her fifth stop. “I know this is supposed to be about the destination, but the journey is pretty amazing too.”
“Don’t apologize. Taking pictures is what you’re here for.”
As we climb higher, the trail gets steeper. I can hear her breathing harder with every step, but she doesn’t complain. When I offer to carry her camera bag, she waves me off.
“I’m fine. Just give me a second.” She stops and takes a few deep breaths, her hands placed on her knees. “Okay, I may have underestimated the Tennessee mountains.”
“You’re doing great, Vesper. And we’re almost there.”
The promise of the destination being right around the corner gives her a renewed burst of energy.
We round the final bend, and Lookout Rock opens up in front of us.
The cliff face extends out over the valley, offering a panoramic view that never fails to take my breath away, even though I’ve seen it hundreds of times before.
The entire town of Maple Ridge spreads out below us, looking like a miniature village. Beyond that, Osprey Lake glimmers in the morning light, and the mountains roll on for miles in every direction. But I’m not looking at the view this time. I’m looking at Vesper.
Her face lights up like Christmas morning. She lets out a little gasp and immediately lifts her camera.
“Oh my God, Parker. This is…” She trails off, already moving to different spots along the cliff, checking angles and light. “This is absolutely perfect. Thank you for bringing me here.”
She’s in her element now, and it’s mesmerizing to watch. The way she moves with purpose, how she seems to see compositions I would never notice. She crouches low, then climbs up on a boulder for a higher angle.
“The light is incredible right now,” she says, more to herself than to me. “And the way the mist is lifting off the lake in the distance… Can you see how it’s creating these layers?”
I can see it, but mostly I’m seeing her. The pure happiness radiating from her as she works fills my entire body with heat.
She spends the next hour taking shots from every conceivable angle. I sit on a fallen log and watch. When she finally seems satisfied, she comes and sits next to me, slightly breathless.
“Thank you,” she says. “This is exactly what I needed for the article. These shots are going to be incredible.”
“Good.” I stand and open my backpack. “Now for the second part of this morning.”
“Second part?”
I unpack the breakfast I threw together before leaving. Fresh cinnamon rolls, coffee in a thermos, and some fruit. It’s nothing fancy, but Vesper’s eyes widen like I’ve laid out a feast.
“You brought breakfast?”
“Figured you’d be hungry after all that work.”
She takes a bite of the cinnamon roll and closes her eyes, letting out a moan of pleasure. “Oh, my god, this is amazing.”
The sound goes straight through me, and I’m suddenly thinking about all the other ways I could make her moan like that. The thought hits me so hard that I nearly choke on my coffee.
“Martha’s secret recipe,” I manage to say.
We eat in silence, looking out over the valley.
“So,” she says eventually, “how did you end up in Maple Ridge? You mentioned the Jacksons helped you out, but you never said why.”
I take a long sip of coffee, buying time. I don’t usually talk about this, but something about sitting here with her makes it easier.
“I was sixteen when I came here,” I start. “My parents weren’t exactly the nurturing type. They left when I was fifteen. Packed up and disappeared one day. Left me with nothing.”
Vesper’s hand finds mine. “Parker, I’m so sorry.”
“I was in the system for a while, bouncing between foster homes. None of them worked out.” I clench my jaw, remembering those dark months. “I was angry, getting into fights, causing trouble. Then I got placed with the Jacksons.”
“They were foster parents?”
“Yes. They still take in kids when they can.” I turn to look at her. “They saved my life, Vesper. Gave me a home, taught me what family means. When I aged out of the system, they offered me a job at the orchard. Been working there ever since.”
Her thumb strokes across my knuckles, and heat shoots up my arm. “They sound like incredible people.”
“They are. This whole town is full of people like that. It’s why I’m so protective of it.”
“I understand now. Why you didn’t want more attention from magazines.”
I nod. “Places like this are rare. I don’t want our town ruined by becoming some tourist hotspot.” I give her a smile. “What about you? When we met, you said something about a bad engagement ring?”
She goes quiet for a second. Then she pulls her knees up and releases my hand.
“I was engaged,” she says, not looking at me.
“To a guy I met through work. He was charming, ambitious, always saying the right things. Too perfect, really. Should’ve been a red flag.
A few weeks later, my best friend became my business partner.
We were building a photography brand together and were starting to get noticed.
Then one day I wake up, and they’re both gone.
My fiancé and my best friend. Together.”
I clench my jaw.
“She took my work. My files. Passed off my portfolio as hers and pitched it to a publisher I’d been chasing for months.
Landed a book deal with my photos. It’s not fair, but I don’t have the money to start a lawsuit against them.
Or the energy. Then the two of them posted a selfie from Paris, engagement ring and all. ”
Fucking hell. I want names. Faces. Addresses. I want to drag that smug piece of shit back from Paris by the collar and make him apologize with broken teeth. And as for the so-called best friend? She’s lucky I wasn’t in the room when it happened.
“You built something with them. Trusted them. And they stole it from you like it meant nothing? That’s horrible, and they should pay for it,” I say between gritted teeth.
Without thinking, I shift closer and put my arms around her.
“One day, they’ll realize they burned down something rare.
And by then, you’ll be so far ahead of them that they won’t even be a footnote.
Fuck, you’re going to nail this assignment for American Lens, you hear me?
Let’s not stop. Let’s keep taking pictures all over town.
I’ll even let you photograph me if you think it could make a difference. ”
She turns her head, and our eyes meet. “Really?”
“I mean it. Whatever you need, I’m in.”