18. Sloane
SLOANE
I’ve been sitting at the cabin’s kitchen table writing in my notebook since we finished lunch, but I can’t tell you what I’ve written.
Mostly, my feelings about Kristen Quinn not being here when we arrived, and how I still don’t understand why she would leave this place before she absolutely had to.
It’s magic, and not in the sexual sorcery way my friends joked about before I left. Although being woken up with Jensen kissing his way down my body was its own sort of spell.
This cabin is more about the awe-inspiring beauty of the backcountry and having my own little safe space tucked into a perfect meadow surrounded by the forest. It’s solitude, but not quiet, with birds and chipmunks and God knows what else (I’m not asking) making noise just beyond the glass.
Even with the windows closed, the air smells like pine trees, so fresh it could inspire paragraphs of body wash ad copy.
If I had a book to write, there’s no place I’d rather be.
My heart stutters at the idea, and I drop my pen, glancing out of the window I cleaned earlier. I love putting my thoughts on paper, but I never considered making them into something worthy of more eyes than mine.
As if sensing my gaze, Jensen looks up over Rick’s bent shoulder and gives me a little wave. I return it with a smile I hope doesn’t look as dopey as it feels.
Rick stopped by this morning to check on us and see if we needed anything, but his real mission was to get help installing new solar panels on the cabin roof. He didn’t waste time hinting that if Jensen could spare a couple of hours, he’d be grateful for an extra set of hands.
Of course, Jensen agreed. He’s the guy who takes care of things. His mother when she was dying, his brother after she was gone, every artist he’s ever written for or backed up on tour, or sat beside in a studio at two in the morning when the song wasn’t working.
He’s modest about it, but my internet deep dive filled in the details. And that’s why I know that once we get back to reality, I need to say goodbye to him for good.
I think I’ve known that from the beginning. Not the beginning of this trip or when he showed up in Skylark or the first glimpse of his photo on the volunteer wall at Vanderbilt. I knew it from the moment he slid into the booth across from me at The Alcove.
He’s a man who takes care of things, and I’ve had enough of people who felt like they needed to fix me.
I left that version of myself behind on the shoulder of a mountain highway.
Sure, cancer changed things for a while, but I refuse to be a person who lets other people carry her because she doesn’t have the strength to stand on her own.
It would be too tempting with Jensen. Or maybe there’s just too much weakness left in me to trust that I wouldn’t fall right into it.
So I ignore the sharp ache radiating across my chest as I narrate the ending in my own mind and push back from the desk.
I’m not done with this little high-altitude bubble surrounding us, and Jensen doesn’t treat me like a damsel in distress. But that doesn’t change who we each are at our core.
I slide on the Birkenstocks, which don’t seem to be the romance deterrent Avah is convinced they are. She’s full of it, anyway. Because she also knows Jeremy wouldn’t care if she were wearing a paper bag. My brother is so gone for her it’s embarrassing.
An acute awareness of what I’m missing settles over me. I wouldn’t mind having what my friends have. Maybe I will someday. Once I’m fully in remission, and there’s enough distance between me and the worst year of my life. Then I can let myself love again.
Love. What a loaded word.
Did I ever truly love the loser who left me on the side of the road in Colorado, or was he just a way out of a life that didn’t fit me? An escape from the low-grade hum of parental disappointment that I could hear from across an ocean?
I might not be ready to name my feelings for Jensen, but it can’t be love. I barely know him. Let’s call it lust. I’m comfortable calling it lust, but nothing more. Falling that fast would make me a damn fool.
My bucket list challenge was to embrace and reclaim a little of my wildness. But being wild and being an idiot are not the same thing. I hope I know that.
“There she is,” Rick says with a smile when I step outside. “You look a lot happier than you did yesterday afternoon.” He gives me a wink.
“It’s amazing what a night of sleep in an actual bed will do for you,” I tell him, returning the wink.
“I’m just gonna say, I don’t think you’re missing much with your friend. I doubt a week on thousand-count sheets at the Ritz-Carlton could wipe the permanent scowl off her face.”
My mind reels at that nugget of information. Kristen Quinn has a permanent scowl? I don’t know her in person, but her social media persona is a curated mix of Indiana Jones, Elizabeth Gilbert circa Eat Pray Love, and the Dalai Lama, with a little Kardashian thrown in for good measure.
“Well, she was missing out. I love it here,” I say. “Thank you for letting us use the cabin.”
Rick nods. “I was just asking Jensen how long you guys are planning to stay. She had it booked through the weekend, but the final reservation for the season doesn’t arrive until later next week, so the place is yours until then.”
I meet Jensen’s gaze.
“I told him it was up to you,” he says. “My calendar’s open.”
I don’t believe that for a second, but I appreciate it.
“We should probably head out tomorrow,” I say, contrary to what I want. “You mentioned this place is accessible by ATV. I don’t suppose there’s any way we could arrange for—”
“Already taken care of,” Rick says. “Although you did the hard part on the hike here. Getting down is easy.” He inclines his head toward Jensen. “Well, maybe not easy if your feet are still in recovery mode.”
Jensen laughs. “Yeah, these hikers are getting thrown away when I get back to sea level.”
“You can’t throw them away now.” Rick sounds scandalized, which is kind of hilarious. “Not after you’ve broken them in.” The older man gives Jensen a gentle nudge. “And who knows if you buy a new pair whether you’d have an angel to take care of you again.”
I blink when I realize he’s talking about me. Angel might be pushing it, but I did take care of Jensen. I was the prepared one with the tent, first-aid kit, moleskin, and antiseptic wipes. I patched him up and pitched camp. Not to mention got us here.
Jensen nods like it’s an established fact.
“Would you two like to come over for dinner tonight?” Rick asks, looking between us. “I’m used to myself for company, but I wouldn’t mind some new company.” He laughs at his own joke like it’s the funniest thing anyone’s ever said.
Note to self: don’t live as a hermit full-time. Socializing is important.
But I return his smile. “We’d love to join you.”
Jensen angles his head. “There’s a box mix of brownies in the cabin. How about we bring dessert?”
“That would be great,” Rick says. “Plan on five thirty. We’ll have an early dinner so you all can get back here before dark.”
He heads off down the trail, and Jensen walks toward the porch, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “My angel,” he says, with a theatrical bow.
“And don’t you forget it.” I say it like a joke, but my heart is slamming against my ribcage so hard it almost hurts. There’s nothing funny about my feelings for this man.
“I never will,” he says quietly. He climbs up two porch steps, pausing when we’re at eye level. “Can I kiss you, Sloane?”
I laugh. “You weren’t too interested in asking permission last night. Or this morning.” I wag a finger at him.
“It feels like the right thing to do in broad daylight.”
“There’s no one watching.”
His brows draw together like he isn’t sure how to explain, but I get it. Things that happen in the dark or while checked into a hotel room can be categorized as lust. A kiss shared on this porch with the sun high in the sky? That’s something else entirely. At least where we’re concerned.
“Kiss me, Nashville,” I whisper, and he presses his lips to mine so tenderly my breath catches. Everything’s different now. Most of all, me.
“What have you been up to?” he asks when I pull back.
“I did a lot of journaling.”
“You should think about writing a book,” he says. Just like I thought earlier.
I turn the thought over in my mind like a kaleidoscope, imagining all the variations of color and pattern a dream like that could hold. Could I do it? Would anyone actually want to hear what I have to say?
“For all you know, I could be a terrible writer,” I tell him, turning and heading back inside because this moment suddenly got too real.
He follows me into the cabin. “I can’t tell you how many terrible songs I’ve written, but something good always comes from the bad.”
“I’ll remember that.” I draw in a steadying breath, needing to get back on solid footing before I lose my balance completely and never want to find it again.
“You said you got service here, right?” I ask.
He nods. “Rick has one of those GalaxyLink satellite things installed. Guests get to choose whether to activate it or not.” He grins. “One guess what Kristen picked.”
“I’d love to FaceTime Avah and my brother. Do you think I could borrow your phone?”
“Of course. Let me grab it from the bedroom.”
I command my hormones to settle the fuck down while he disappears down the hall. They patently ignore me, which is why my fingers are trembling when he comes back and hands me the phone.
“I’ll take a little walk,” he says. “Give you some privacy for the call. These walls are pretty thin.”
“Thanks. I won’t be long.”
“Take all the time you need.”
I wait until the screen door closes behind him, then FaceTime call Jeremy. He picks up on the first ring, and of course, Avah is right there next to him.
“What’s wrong?” she demands before I can say hello. “Oh, wait, it’s you.”
“Hi.” I wave. “I borrowed Jensen’s phone.”
“Tell us everything. How are you? Are you and Kristen besties now? No, you can’t be besties. We’re your besties.”
Jeremy grins into the camera. “How are you, sis?”
“I’m good.” My smile feels just a little wobbly. “She wasn’t here when we got to the cabin. She left a day ago.”
Silence.
“What do you mean she left?” Avah asks.
“Turns out there’s an ATV trail that goes right to the cabin.
A wider path the forest service put in for fire access.
Most people use it. She didn’t hike in, even though her social media made it look like she did.
And she left a few hours before we arrived.
According to her story, she’s now at some yoga retreat center in Tahoe. ”
“What a fake-ass bitch,” Avah murmurs.
I bristle, mostly over what it says about me that I believed a stranger’s social media persona was the whole truth. “She’s an author, not an endurance athlete.”
“She’s a big fat liar.”
“I mean…yeah.” I can’t argue with that one. “She is.”
“Do you need the plane?” Jeremy asks, already in fix-it mode.
“It’s weird that you throw out a private jet like you’re offering me a stick of gum.”
I love him for it, of course. For always wanting to take care of me, even when it makes me crazy. When the thing I’m trying to prove—to myself or the universe or whatever higher power is keeping score—is that I don’t need to be taken care of.
“So how’s Jensen?” Avah asks in a tone so deliberately casual it hits obvious right on the nose.
“He’s fine. It hasn’t been terrible having him along.”
“Because he’s your soulmate?” Avah suggests.
I choke. “Because I’m pretty sure I’m faster than him on account of his blisters, so if a bear came after us, I could outrun him.”
“Real soulmate behavior,” Jeremy says drily.
I can tell from the look on Avah’s face that she knows something’s up. She’s got that narrowed-eye thing going, which means I need to get off this call before she starts asking questions I’m not ready to answer.
“We’re taking an ATV back down the mountain tomorrow. I’ll call you from Billings.”
“You’re coming home, then?” Avah asks. “And fuck Kristen Quinn.”
“I’ll call you from Billings,” I repeat, and end the call before either of them can push harder.
I stare at the dark screen for a few moments while I think about what comes next.
I should go home. I should take Avah’s suggestion and say fuck Kristen Quinn. Fly back to Skylark and move on with my life. That would be the logical, reasonable, adult decision.
But my bucket list challenge isn’t about logic. I want to be a woman who goes after what she wants instead of waiting for permission or letting someone else take the lead. Giving up now, just because the first plan didn’t work out, feels like proving every person who’s ever underestimated me right.
Including myself.
As I set the phone on the table, the screen lights up with notifications about two missed calls and five text messages, all in the time I was on FaceTime.
I don’t read them on purpose, but my eyes catch a few words before I can look away. Cody’s name and dates for a studio reservation. A voicemail notification from a number saved as Jamie. And the one that hits me hardest: the words “need you back” on a text preview.
Robert: Need you back.
The unavoidable clarity about how much Jensen gave up to be here hits me hard. He has a whole life in Nashville that didn’t pause just because he chased some woman into the mountains.
Taking care of people is what he does. It’s noble and generous and would make any woman’s heart do somersaults.
But I don’t want to be someone’s project, or the reason a man neglects his own life. I spent a year being the person everyone worried about. Who they rearranged their schedules around. I hated every second. The guilt of being a burden was almost worse than the chemo.
Jensen has a life, and I need to let him go back to it.
Even if I really, really like having him here with me.
I hear the screen door open and quickly flip the phone facedown, arranging my expression into something I hope passes for neutral.
“Everything okay?” he asks from the doorway.
“Perfect. They say hi.” I hand him the phone. “Also, you’ve got some messages.”
He picks up the phone, and what flickers across his face is gone too fast for me to read. Then he presses the button to turn it off and shoves it into his back pocket.
“We should start those brownies,” he says lightly.
Okay, I’ll keep playing pretend for a little while longer. “You know how to make brownies?”
“I can read the back of a box.”
“You burned jarred marinara.”
“One sauce-related mishap doesn’t define me.”
I laugh, and the heaviness weighing me down lifts. I can give myself another night and day before I have to let reality back in.
“Fine,” I say, pushing up from the table. “But I’m supervising.”
“Deal,” he says, and the way he looks at me almost makes me forget that this has an expiration date. But not quite.