Chapter Twelve – Sorcha
She couldn’t believe how happy she was that Christopher had agreed to spend the rest of the day with her. Happiness bubbled inside Sorcha like champagne, fizzing through her veins and warming her from the inside out. She hadn’t felt this light in years—maybe ever.
Then reality crashed in. Christopher had been driving somewhere when they met on the road. He’d had plans before she’d interrupted them.
“Don’t feel obliged,” she blurted, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. “I know I’ve taken up enough of your time, and if you have errands to run…”
Christopher’s brow furrowed in confusion. Then a slow grin spread across his face, transforming his features and making her heart skip.
“No, I…” He trailed off, looking almost bashful.
Sorcha tilted her head, studying him. “Were you coming to find me?”
He shrugged, glancing down at his steering wheel before meeting her eyes again. “I might have been.”
Something about his shy admission, the way his shoulders hunched slightly as he said it…was adorable. Completely at odds with his usual quiet confidence, and all the more charming for it. Sorcha laughed, feeling the last of her morning’s tension dissolve like sugar in hot tea.
“So we have two cars,” she said, gesturing between their vehicles. “What’s the plan?”
“We should drive back to the cabins and then go in my truck for lunch, if you’re hungry.” The way he said it with undisguised eagerness sent another thrill through her, though he quickly tempered it with a more casual tone. “If that works for you.”
Right on cue, her stomach growled loudly enough that she was sure he could hear it through both their car windows. Heat rushed to her cheeks.
“Starving,” she admitted. “Ice skating worked up an appetite.”
“Great, then you go on and I’ll turn around and follow you back.”
Sorcha nodded and put her car in drive, but found herself checking the rearview mirror more than the road ahead as she made her way back to Bear Creek Cabins. Christopher’s truck stayed a consistent distance behind her, and something about knowing he was there made her smile.
When they reached the cabins, Gretel emerged from the office, bundled against the cold in a thick cardigan and a scarf patterned with tiny snowflakes.
“Well, well,” she called out, rubbing her hands together. “Look who found each other.”
Christopher shot Gretel a warning look as he cleared his throat. “Gretel, we’re just heading out for some lunch.”
“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Gretel’s eyes twinkled as she looked at Sorcha. “He’s a good one, my dear. A heart of solid gold.”
“I don’t know about that,” Christopher said as he brushed away the compliment, though Sorcha caught the hint of a smile.
“Oh, hush, you know I think the world of you.” Gretel waved him off. “Now, you two go and have fun. Don’t rush back on my account. I can get someone in to work the night shift if…”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be back in time…” Color flushed Christopher’s cheeks as he shook his head.
“I was hoping to stay on for a couple more nights,” Sorcha said, to cover Christopher’s embarrassment. “But I know you’re busy at this time of year…”
“No problem,” Gretel said quickly, her eyes flickering to Christopher once more. “I had a cancellation come in overnight. The weather…” She waved her hand in the air.
“Perfect,” Sorcha said, surprised at the intense relief she felt that this was not her last day in Bear Creek. With Christopher.
“Great, shall we go?” Christopher asked.
“Have fun,” Gretel said and turned away, chuckling quietly.
Christopher guided Sorcha toward his truck. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be,” Sorcha replied. “You can tell a lot about someone by how their employer speaks about them.”
“Employer…I…” He glanced back toward Gretel.
Sorcha winced; she’d obviously embarrassed him. “Although I guess when you work closely with someone, you see yourselves as more like friends.”
“Gretel is a good friend.” His hand hovered near the small of her back as they walked, not quite touching but close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his palm through her coat. The gentlemanly gesture made her feel oddly cherished.
When they reached the truck, he opened the passenger door for her and hooked his hand on her elbow to help her climb inside. There was that familiar shock of recognition she felt whenever they touched. Or was it desire, pure and simple?
Although there was nothing pure in her thoughts about Christopher. Or simple.
She wanted to get complicated with him.
But then he removed her arm, and the moment was gone. Leaving her feeling as confused as ever. Maybe over the course of the next couple of days, she’d stop feeling as if every touch from him rewrote the story of her life. Or maybe she’d just admit she didn’t want it to stop.
Once they were settled in the truck, the heater blasting warmth against her chilled fingers, Sorcha turned to him. “Where are we going?”
Christopher’s lips curved into a mysterious smile. “It’s a surprise.”
Normally, surprises made Sorcha twitchy.
She preferred knowing what was coming, having a plan, and being prepared.
But with Christopher, the uncertainty felt exciting rather than unsettling.
She realized with a start that she would go wherever he wanted to take her, without question or hesitation.
She trusted him completely not to let her down.
The revelation should have terrified her. Instead, it felt oddly comforting.
“You’re smiling,” Christopher observed as he navigated the truck down a winding road that cut through dense pine forest.
“Just thinking about how nice it is not to know where I’m going.” The words slipped out before she could filter them, more honest than she’d intended.
“I guess in your job everything is mapped out, where you’re going to stay, what you’re going to see,” Christopher said.
“Something like that,” Sorcha agreed. “When I get an assignment, it’s detailed. There are points I have to cover and places I need to visit, people to talk to. But within that framework, there’s room for the unexpected. That’s actually my favorite part.”
Christopher glanced at her, curiosity warming his expression. “What’s the most unexpected thing you’ve discovered on an assignment?”
Sorcha thought for a moment, memories flashing through her mind like slides in a presentation.
“In Thailand, I was supposed to be covering traditional festivals, but I ended up writing about this tiny noodle shop run by an eighty-year-old woman who’d been making the same soup for sixty years.
Her customers included everyone from local farmers to government officials.
” She smiled at the memory. “She let me into her kitchen and showed me how she made her broth—a recipe she’d never written down, just carried in her head. ”
“That sounds amazing,” Christopher said, his eyes still on the road but his attention clearly focused on her words.
“It was. Her hands were so gnarled with arthritis, but she moved with this incredible precision.” Sorcha gestured, mimicking the old woman’s movements. “My editor loved that piece. Said it captured the soul of the place better than any festival coverage could have.”
“Is that what you look for when you travel? The soul of a place?”
The question struck her as unexpectedly profound. “I guess I do,” she admitted. “Anyone can describe scenery or list attractions. I want to find out what makes somewhere unique, what would make someone want to experience it for themselves.”
“And what have you found in Bear Creek?” Christopher asked, his voice softening.
Sorcha hesitated, feeling suddenly exposed. What she’d found in Bear Creek was sitting right beside her, his firm hands resting on the steering wheel, his presence filling the truck cab with a warmth that had nothing to do with the heater.
“I’m still discovering that,” she said carefully.
They drove in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the road narrowing as they ventured deeper into the forest. Sorcha watched the trees flash by, sunlight dappling through the branches onto the snow below.
“So what about you?” she asked, seizing the opportunity. “You mentioned working in finance, but you didn’t say much more. What brought you to Bear Creek, really?”
Something flickered across his face—caution, perhaps. “Like I said, my car broke down.”
“That explains how you got here, not why you stayed,” Sorcha pointed out gently.
Christopher’s hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel. “I needed a change. The city was…too much. Too loud, too fast, too crowded.”
There was more to it, Sorcha could tell. Her journalist’s instinct hummed with certainty. The careful way he chose his words, the slight tension in his jaw—he was editing his story.
“What about family?” she asked. “Do they visit you here?”
“No family left,” he said simply. “Just me.”
The sadness in those three words made her heart ache. She wanted to reach out, to touch his arm, to tell him he wasn’t alone anymore. But that would be presumptuous. They’d known each other for barely two days.
“I’m sorry,” she said instead.
Christopher shrugged. “It’s been a long time. And I try not to look back, you know?”
“Wise words.” Sorcha recognized a closed door when she saw one. Whatever had happened, whatever had driven him to this remote mountain town, he wasn’t ready to share it. And she had no right to pry, not when she was leaving so soon.
Her reporter’s mind chafed against the mystery, instinctively wanting to dig deeper, to uncover the truth. But the part of her that was drawn to Christopher urged her to let it be. Trust had to be earned. If he wanted her to know, he would tell her when he was ready.
She made a silent promise to herself: no late-night Google searches, no discreet calls to contacts who might know something. If Christopher chose to share his past with her, she would listen. If not, she would respect his privacy.