Chapter 12
TWELVE
JOE
Thursday, One Day Before the Summer Swap
Krista climbed into the passenger seat of Joe’s rental SUV with a fresh iced coffee and then pointed her straw at the dash like she was directing a getaway car. “Okay,” she said. “Head out and turn left.”
Joe pulled onto the road, leaving the lake behind. The morning sun warmed the windshield, the air freshener giving the rental that unmistakable new car smell.
“So…you moved here when you were sixteen…” Joe started to say.
Krista picked up the conversation, telling him how she finished high school here, became friends with Zoe first, then Madison, Zach, Liam, and Jackson.
“Any jealous exes pining for you?” Joe said jokingly.
“Ha, no. What about you? You leave a trail of broken hearts in your wake?”
“No, nothing like that. There was one woman I dated for a while, but our schedules, long-distance…it just didn’t work out.”
The library sat on the residential side of the lake, near the post office, schools, and quiet neighborhoods.
Between that side of the town and the Hideaway stretched a pocket of wilderness that held the campground, rolling hills, trails that climbed to overlooks.
From up there, Maple Falls looked like it belonged exactly where it was, in the valley with the lake cradling it.
They made it all of three minutes before Krista changed her mind.
“Actually,” she said, eyes fixed ahead. “Pull off up here.”
Joe glanced at her. “I thought we were going to the library.”
“We are,” she said, too quickly. Then she tilted her head and flashed him a look that was half-challenge, half-trouble. “But I want to show you something first.”
He slowed near the turnoff marked by a weathered wooden sign: Scenic Overlook .
“Yep, right there,” Krista confirmed.
Joe turned the wheel. “Are you kidnapping me?”
“I’m borrowing you,” she corrected. “Though we could use a blindfold if you want.”
The narrow road climbed, trees crowding in.
Through the rearview mirror, the lake flashed blue and green between branches.
Joe kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh.
He couldn’t stop noticing her beside him—her bare knee angled toward him, her hand on the center console.
He could picture himself reaching for it, steadying it in his own.
“Just a little bit further,” she coaxed, snapping his mind back to the climbing drive.
“You’re being suspicious,” he said.
She shot him a smile that said, Just wait .
The road ended in a small gravel turnout overlooking the whole town.
Maple Falls spread below them like a postcard with its clustered rooftops, the ribbon of Oak Way, the lake gleaming on one side like polished glass.
He could even see the Hideaway’s deck, the dock, the kayaks lined up along the water’s edge .
Krista unbuckled before the SUV had fully stopped. “Come on.”
Joe cut the engine as she stepped out into the sunshine, stretching, taking in the view.
Up here, the breeze was cooler, carrying the clean summer scent of wildflowers, sunbaked earth, and sweet grass. She walked to the wooden guardrail and rested her forearms against it, gazing down at the town like she was taking inventory of everything she loved.
Joe joined her.
“What do you think? It’s beautiful up here, isn’t it?”
“Stunning,” he replied—and he wasn’t sure whether he meant the view, or her.
She nodded. “It’s where I come when everything feels too loud.”
Her fingers curled around the rail. “I’m not very good at taking breaks,” she admitted. “Not when there’s always something I should be doing.”
“You’re allowed down time,” Joe said quietly.
She huffed a laugh. “Says the man who lives out of a backpack.”
His lips curved. “Okay. Fair.”
She finally turned to him, and whatever was in her eyes wasn’t teasing. It felt like a question she didn’t quite want to ask.
Joe didn’t answer it with words. He lifted his hand slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wanted, and brushed a loose curl back from her cheek. His knuckles grazed her skin. She closed her eyes, like the touch landed somewhere deeper inside.
She stepped closer, closing the last inch herself.
Their mouths met in a tender kiss—lips brushing, tongues mingling.
It felt like a long summer afternoon stretched out, time bending around them.
Krista pressed closer, and Joe felt the heat of her through denim and cotton.
His hand slid up her side, beneath the edge of her shirt to warm skin.
Her stomach tightened under his palm. She shivered, and he swallowed.
He kissed the corner of her mouth, then traced slow, deliberate kisses along her jaw. Her head tipped back instinctively, offering him more. His hand skimmed up her back, feeling the shape of her shoulder blades, the heat beneath thin fabric.
He wanted more—wanted to turn her, press her against the guardrail, take his time like they’d be together forever.
Instead, he forced himself to pull back half an inch, breathing hard.
Krista blinked up at him, lips swollen, eyes bright. Her cheeks were flushed in a way that made him feel proud and feral all at once.
He rested his hands on her hips. “If we don’t stop,” he said roughly, “we’re not making it to the library.”
Her smile turned slow, wicked. “Who said we had to make it to the library?”
Joe let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-pain. “You’re killing me.”
“And you like it.”
He kissed her once more—shorter, a promise instead of a plunge—then made himself step back, hands falling to his sides like that was a normal thing to do when his body was still vibrating with her.
Krista exhaled and smoothed her hair with trembling fingers, then looked out at the town again. She glanced back. “Okay, fine. Let’s go to the library.”
Joe followed, jaw tight, trying to pretend he wasn’t already counting the hours until he could have her somewhere with a locked door.
A short while later, they slipped past the stacks, the floor creaking beneath their steps, and reached the small back room marked Archives .
The light was dimmer here, filtered through high windows and drifting dust motes.
Old ledgers lined one wall; bound newspapers were stacked neatly by year along another.
A lone microfilm machine hummed in the corner.
Krista trailed her fingers along the spines of the old volumes. “I used to come here as a kid. Grandma would drop me off for story hour, and I’d sneak back here. The old stuff felt like treasure.”
Joe smiled faintly, rolling up his sleeves. “Still does.”
He tried to focus—on Isabel, on the mystery—but his mind kept circling back to the taste of Krista’s lips, the warmth of her skin, the way she’d moved against him like she fit there.
He reminded himself why he didn’t do this. He didn’t get involved, not anymore. He wasn’t staying. His life fit into a backpack. People like Krista deserved roots, permanence—things he didn’t have to offer.
But that didn’t stop him from wanting her.
“Okay,” he said, snapping himself back to the present. “What year did your great-grandmother go missing?”
“1946,” Krista answered.
Joe loaded the microfilm reel. The machine whirred softly as black-and-white headlines flickered across the screen—fundraisers, fishing tournaments, weddings. Then one stopped him cold.
“Krista,” he said quietly. “I think I’ve got something.”
She leaned over his shoulder, her perfume faintly floral, warm. He pointed to the faded headline: Local Bride Vanishes—Search Underway At Bear Lake
Krista’s hand flew to her mouth as he read aloud:
“ Miss Isabel Arroyo, 20, of Maple Falls, disappeared yesterday evening following a dinner celebrating her upcoming marriage to Peter Callahan. The young woman was last seen walking near Bear Lake at dusk. Local authorities have launched a search. Mr. Callahan, her fiancé, has expressed hope that she will be found safely. ”
Krista murmured, “Peter Callahan. We have a last name. ”
Joe sat back, studying the page. “So, she didn’t marry him. Maybe she ran away instead?”
“Because of Jonah.” Krista nodded.
“Could be.” He looked at her, watching the thoughts flicker behind her eyes. “If she was in love with someone else, and her family was forcing the match…”
“She ran,” Krista said softly. “She must have.”
The hum of the machine filled the room. Joe leaned back, hands on his knees. “The last diary entry said she had to choose—duty or desire. Maybe she chose him.”
Krista nodded, still staring at the screen. “But then what happened? Because my great-grandfather’s name is definitely not Jonah.”
“Families bury things,” Joe said quietly.
Krista looked down at her phone, opening the photo of Isabel’s diary. “Then I guess I better see what I can uncover.”
She smiled faintly, but something deeper flickered in her eyes. They were unraveling a secret love story, chasing ghosts—but all Joe could think about was the living, breathing woman beside him.
Would they uncover a happy ending for Isabel? And was he ready to face their own story’s end?