Chapter 7
SEVEN
KRISTA
Wednesday, Two Days Before the Summer Swap
The drive around the lake shimmered in the midday sun, the air thick with pine and sun-warmed water.
The road curved through stands of birch and oak, sunlight dancing over the windshield.
Krista kept her hands steady on the wheel, gripping them a little too tight, as if that small act of control could somehow hold back the rest of her life.
She needed Joe to see more of her world for the swap—but the next step, visiting her grandmother, carried a private weight that she didn’t feel ready to share.
By the time the community park came into view, Krista’s stomach had started to protest. She looked at the clock, saw it was past noon, and made an executive decision, swinging into the lot. “We’re grabbing food,” she announced, like it was all part of the lesson plan.
“Where are we going?” Joe searched out the window.
“Trust me, it’s a Maple Falls summer must-have.”
“Now you really have me intrigued.”
They stopped by the food truck parked near the pavilion.
The food truck smelled like everything good in the world, filling the air with smoke and the rich tang of barbecue sauce.
The guy at the window handed over two pulled pork sandwiches wrapped in red-and-white paper, the buns soft, the meat piled so high it was spilling out the sides.
The sandwiches were topped with smoky barbecue sauce and tangy coleslaw.
They added two crinkly bags of chips—still warm from sitting in the sun—and cold sodas fresh out of the cooler.
They took everything to a picnic table shaded under tall oaks and settled in. Krista was about to dive in when Joe took out his camera, organizing the food on the table.
“I thought people just did that on Instagram.” Krista laughed, watching him style the table and take photos, resting the camera on the table before shooting from above.
“You’d be surprised how many food shots I take. The magazines love them, and it really gives you a feel for the town. In fact, I’ll need a few more throughout the week.”
“I can do that,” Krista said without hesitation.
“Good. I expect at least one shot that makes me question my own talent,” Joe said with a wink.
“Ah, a challenge. I’ll see what I can do,” Krista tossed back.
Two minutes later he set the camera down.
“Are we good to eat now?” Krista tried not to act impatient, but time was one thing she was perpetually short on. She knew it had been her idea to stop for food, but the day was getting away. The quicker they ate, the quicker they could tackle the next item on her to-do list.
“Good to go, but what’s the rush?” Joe snapped on the lens cap and put the camera aside.
“Because my life is busy, and as much as I’d like to have a lazy lunch with you, it’s just not on the cards for me today.”
“Today or every day?”
Krista weighed Joe’s words. “Okay, you got me. Every day. ”
“Then let this be an anomaly. A special occasion even––my first ever pulled pork sandwich.”
“You just made that up.”
“You’re right, I did. But can we still take a moment to just sit and relax, enjoy the view?” He motioned to the surrounding park, the trees full of leaves, and the glimpse of the lake.
Krista took a deep breath. “Alright. I shall attempt relaxation.”
Krista forced herself to focus on the sandwich, the breeze, the way the world didn’t fall apart just because she stopped moving for two minutes. It should have felt torturous. Instead…It was almost pleasant.
Joe looked completely at ease. How did he do that? Didn’t he have deadlines and emails and a thousand people who needed something from him? How could he just…be here?
Halfway through her sandwich, Krista wiped sauce from her thumb and glanced at Joe.
“Since we need to know each other’s schedules,” she said lightly, “I help my grandma make ice cream every week for the Hideaway. She’s been making it forever, but her memory isn’t what it used to be.
It’s harder for her to do things on her own.
” Her voice faltered despite her effort to keep it steady, and she fixed her gaze ahead of her. “So, I help whenever I can.”
Joe didn’t rush to fill the space. When he spoke, his voice was calm, grounded.
“Sounds great, I’d love that. Your grandma’s a gem.
She gave me a loaf of honey-lemon bread yesterday, made with honey from the Moonlight Kiss blooms. Told me how she and your grandpa used to hike for those flowers.
Said they make the best honey in town and have a magical scent, but they’ve only just been rediscovered. ”
Krista smiled faintly, her chest tightening. “She must’ve been having a good day if she told you all that. Some days she remembers everything. Other days…” She trailed off, shaking her head .
They finished eating, gathered up the wrappers and chip bags, and tossed everything in the nearest bin. A few minutes later, they were back in the truck, the cab carrying a faint blend of barbecue and lake air.
The road narrowed as they turned onto the Hidden Hills private lane, gravel crunching beneath the tires. Tall pines and maples arched overhead, their branches knitting together into a tunnel of bright greens and dappled light.
The trees finally opened onto a weathered log cabin set back from the water. Sunlight spilled across the stone path, flowerbeds bursting with zinnias and black-eyed Susans. Wind chimes stirred beneath the porch eaves, their notes soft and low.
Beyond the office, the campground spread out in two directions. To the south, rustic sites tucked deep into the trees. No electrical hookups, just picnic tables, fire rings, tents peeking out between trunks. It was quieter down there, more secluded.
To the north, the more developed loops curved toward the lake.
RVs and trailers lined up beside electrical posts, awnings extended, camp chairs already clustered together.
A brown wooden bathhouse sat between the loops, with a matching shower building farther on.
Both were simple wooden buildings, windows near the roof line which fogged on cool mornings.
The camp store was near the main drive. Firewood bundles were stacked along the porch, an ice cooler humming beside them. Inside, shelves held everything a camper might forget including canned goods, eggs, milk, butter, toilet paper, rain ponchos, extra sleeping bags.
It was its own little world out here, threaded with trails and trees and lake breeze. And every inch of it, Krista thought, carried her grandparents’ fingerprints.
She turned onto a narrow dirt driveway that was intentionally easy to miss.
Alice and Walt’s cabin sat far enough from the campsite that it felt separate, almost hidden.
Smoke curled lazily from the chimney, though the day had warmed.
Krista parked and cut the engine, the quiet settling around them.
“I think I’m in love,” Joe said softly.
“Yeah, it’s pretty magical,” Krista agreed, taking a deep breath before she opened the door, wondering how Grandma would be today. “Come on in.”
The scent of honey and cream greeted them the moment they stepped through the door. A bowl of cracked eggs sat beside the old wooden churn, sugar dusting the counter like frost. Her grandmother stood at the sink, humming, silver hair pinned in its usual twist.
“Where’s Gramps?” Krista asked, stepping forward to kiss her cheek.
“Oh, you know your grandfather,” Alice said, waving a hand toward the back window. “Out tinkering with something or another.” Then her gaze shifted to Joe, eyes twinkling. “And who’s this? Did you bring a new boyfriend over?”
“Grandma.” Krista groaned, heat rising in her cheeks. “This is Joe Valerio. He’s a reporter doing a piece on the Local Blooms project.”
Alice’s face lit up. “Oh! Well, it’s lovely to meet you, Joe. You think my granddaughter’s a keeper, don’t you?”
Joe smiled easily. “I sure think she’s something special, ma’am.”
Krista mouthed “I’m sorry,” a deep ache settling in her chest. Just as she’d feared, Alice didn’t seem to remember meeting him before. But if Joe minded, he didn’t show it.
Alice chuckled, reaching for the cream carton. “Here, Grandma, I’ve got that,” Krista said, stepping forward.
“Oh, come now,” Alice said, waving her off. “I’ve been making this recipe for fifty years. Wouldn’t you rather be out enjoying this handsome man of yours?”
“Grandma!” Krista groaned, shooting Joe a mortified look.
This was exactly why she didn’t bring men around her grandparents’ house, even before Grandma’s dementia arrived.
Not that there had been any to bring. Still, age seemed to grant people a kind of unfiltered honesty, and her grandmother had never been shy about exercising it.
Alice winked, pouring the cream into a saucepan. “If I were you, and I had a hot honey like this one, I wouldn’t be stuck inside making ice cream with my grandmother.”
Krista covered her face, half laughing, half cringing. “You can’t say things like that.”
Joe cleared his throat. “Truth be told, I would love to learn.”
“Oh, you’ve got a hankering for homemade ice cream, do you?” Alice asked, stirring the cream and honey together. Warm vanilla drifted through the small cabin like sunlight.
“It’s part of something we’re doing for Maple Falls,” Krista explained, grateful for the subject change.
“It’s called the Summer Swap. Joe and I are trading lives for a week, or five days anyway.
We start on Friday. He’s going to manage the Hideaway and help you and Gramps, and I’m going to take over his photography gig. We’ll switch where we’re living, too.”
“Well,” Alice said with a grin, “then we better teach him how to make good ice cream.”