Chapter 9 #2
Several minutes later, we slipped into a clearing where a narrow stream cut through the earth—clear, cold, singing over stone.
Vek crouched near the edge and motioned for me to follow.
Boone splashed upstream immediately. June Bug barked at her reflection and scared herself.
A mountain man, two idiots, and me, once again.
Vek dipped his fingers into the current, eyes tracking the shadows beneath the water. “Here,” he murmured.
I crouched beside him, knees easing into damp moss. “Here what—”
Then I saw it: a flicker of silver darting below the surface.
“Fish,” I whispered.
He nodded. “Fast. Watch.”
I opened my mouth to ask why we were crouched like cryptids in a nature documentary, but before the thought finished forming, his hand shot forward silently, and came back with a trout flipping wildly against his palm.
“Lord have mercy,” I breathed, half-laughing. “You didn’t even scare it.”
As though it were just another day, he examined it and then released it gently before shaking the water from his fingers. “Too small.”
“How long do we wait?”
“Until ready.”
“Is that your whole philosophy?”
He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “It works.”
So, we waited, but the quiet around us wasn’t empty; it listened. The scent of crushed leaves followed our steps and the faintest thread of weather coming from far down the ridge. A kind of stillness pulled between us.
“You quiet,” he said after a moment, catching me by surprise. I’d been twisting wildflowers into a bracelet, lost in my own thoughts.
“I’m thinking.”
“Good or bad?”
“That depends. You want the truth or the polite version?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Truth.”
Setting the flowers down, I let a breath slip out. “I’m thinking this is the strangest date I’ve ever been on.”
He blinked. “Date?”
“When two people spend time together on purpose,” I said, acutely aware of the heat in my face. “Usually not… like this.”
His mouth softened at the edges. “You laugh more now.”
I didn’t look at him. Didn’t trust myself to. “Maybe I just needed a change of scenery.” A beat passed. “Or company.”
A flash of silver cut the water again. Vek moved impossibly fast. The trout broke the surface in his grasp, larger this time and thrashing with all its might.
“Dinner,” he said.
Although I grimaced, I leaned in to look closer. “You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
He didn’t hand it over immediately—he studied me first, like he was checking for something beneath my expression. Then he offered it. The fish slapped my wrist as I grabbed it.
“Vek!” I yelped, barely keeping his catch contained.
His warm laugh rolled through the clearing, pulling straight through my chest. “Trade,” he said. “You teach words. I teach this.”
I tried to glare, but failed. “Fine. But next time we’re doing pancakes. Less… flopping.”
He watched me like the sunlight and the smile I was fighting were somehow the same thing. “Good,” he said softly. “You laugh.”
Something inside me folded at the words. Something I was afraid to admit.
As I warred with my emotions, he rose and offered his hand. His palm was broad and warm, the kind of hold that didn’t ask for trust but earned it. I took it without question.
“Come,” he said. “Home.”
For a heartbeat, everything stilled—the charged air, the stream, my breath. Then I nodded. “Yeah,” I whispered. “Let’s go home.”
By the time we reached the house, clouds stacked low over the ridge. Clouds stacked low and dark, heavy enough to feel in my teeth. Boone trotted ahead as he always did, carrying his stick like he’d discovered fire. June Bug waddled in crooked circles behind him, worn out from saving the world.
Vek walked beside me, quiet, the trout hanging from his hand as if it weighed nothing at all. The air tasted metallic—storm-breeding weather—and the first threads of wind teased at the leaves along the tree line.
Inside, the house held the lingering scene of coffee. I set the pan on the counter and lit the burner, the flame catching with a soft whump. Vek stood near the window, watching the sky the way some folks study scripture.
“You felt it earlier,” I said, seasoning the fish.
“Yes.” His voice stayed low. “Storm comes fast.”
“Always does this time of year.” I glanced toward the ridge. “She’s just gettin’ warmed up.”
A low roll of thunder answered, stretching too long, and the windows rattled with it. Boone froze under the table, and June Bug crawled directly onto Vek’s foot like he was the only high ground left. They had become quite attached to him.
He glanced down at her, then back at the sky. “They feel it,” he said.
“Yeah,” I murmured. “So do I.”
The room filled with the smell of crisping skin and pine smoke. I’d cooked fish a thousand times, but somehow this felt different—like the storm and the silence and the man-thing watching me all braided together under the same roof.
Abandoning the window, he drifted closer to the stove, curiosity softening the lines between his brows. “You cook fish much?”
“Not usually what I catch with my bare hands,” I said, flipping the fish. “But yeah. I’ve cooked it before.”
Another rumble rolled over the ridge, closer this time. The storm had picked up speed. Wind pressed against the windows, setting my nerves buzzing.
“Where did you stay during storms when you were out there?” I asked. Just the thought of him being hunched over in the rain, cold and alone, brought a sting to the backs of my eyes.
Vek glanced toward the window again, eyes going distant. “Caves.”
Lightning flashed—no sound yet, just a white vein in the clouds. The reflection lit the fur along his shoulders, turning him into something carved from weather instead of bone.
“You don’t have to do that anymore,” I said softly. “Be out there alone.”
He didn’t look away from the window. “You want that?”
My heart tripped. “Want what?”
When he turned toward me, I could tell by the look in his eyes that he was choosing the moment carefully. “Me staying.”
The thunder waited for my answer.
Swallowing hard, I dipped my chin. “I want you safe. That’s all.”
“Safe here.” He said it like he was putting something together, like a truth was brushing against the edges of his understanding.
I didn’t trust my voice, so I checked the fish instead. “Dinner’s ready.”
We ate at the counter while the storm pushed across the sky. Rain tapped lightly at first—a polite knock—then shifted into a steadier beat. The dogs edged closer until all four of us were crowded at the same end of the kitchen.
Lightning cracked somewhere too close. The lights blinked once, then gave up entirely.
Darkness swallowed the house, and I froze. No matter how old I got, storms always made me feel like a frightened child.
Rain hit the roof hard enough to drown out thought.
In the dark, Vek stood and crossed the room, finding the counter, then the drawer with the matches. A faint scratch, then the tiny flare of flame lit his face in gold.
“You okay?” he asked, lighting a candle.
“Yeah,” I said, though my heartbeat disagreed. “Just… don’t love the dark when the wind gets ideas.”
Lightning flashed through the kitchen window—bright enough to paint his silhouette in white for a heartbeat. He didn’t even blink. Instead, he stepped closer, lowering the candle so the glow settled between us.
“You safe,” he said again, his knuckles brushing my face, “Here.”
The touch lingered, sending goosebumps across my body. Part of me knew I wanted more, but I wasn’t ready to admit it yet.
Using the candle, I lit a lamp, and warm light pushed back the dark. Rain hammered harder against the roof, and the walls creaked under the wind.
“Will rain a lot,” he said, patting June Bug on the head.
“Probably,” I said. “Depends which way she turns.”
As the words settled between us, I realized I wasn’t just talking about the weather.