Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
KRISTA
Friday, Day One of the Summer Swap
By the time Krista reached Joe’s tent, the sun had shaken off the morning mist, gold drifting through the pines in soft, broken patches. Birds called overhead. The air still held a touch of cool, but it wouldn’t last past breakfast.
She hitched her backpack higher and smiled to herself.
He’d looked surprised when she handed him the key. It was a simple metal key on a leather fob, warm from being in her pocket, suddenly significant when she pressed it into his palm.
“Try not to burn the place down,” she’d said, half teasing.
“No promises,” he’d replied with a grin.
Then she’d told him, breezy as she could manage, “I’ll stop by later, after breakfast. You don’t need to be at the Hideaway until eleven. We can spend a bit of time together going over Isabel’s diary.”
The look he gave her had nothing to do with the diary.
She crouched to unzip the tent and froze when a familiar voice called out behind her.
“Krista? ”
She turned.
Her grandpa, Walt, stood at the edge of the clearing, his hands in the pockets of his old windbreaker, silver hair curling under his baseball cap. His brow creased when he saw her.
“I didn’t expect to find you here,” he said, eyes scanning the campsite.
“We swapped. Joe’s at my place now. I’m camping this week.”
Walt stepped closer, not looking thrilled. Krista’s grandpa looked like he’d been built by the campground itself. He was tall, skin sun-browned, with a belly that suggested he enjoyed Alice’s cooking but arms that still did real work.
“You sleeping out here alone?” He eyed the campground like he didn’t trust it, even though he knew every inch of the property.
“Grandpa, I’m not sixteen.”
“I know that.” His gaze flicked to the tent. “Just didn’t figure you’d be out here while he moves into your bed.”
Krista flushed. “He’s not— We’re not— It’s not like that. It’s for a dare. A fundraiser!”
Walt gave a shrug that said, Sure, sure , but his mouth twitched.
Krista changed the subject before he could press. “How’s Grandma?”
His face softened. “Tired. She’s pretending she’s not, but I can see it.”
Krista nodded. “I figured.”
There was a pause, long enough for a bird to chirp nearby, for the breeze to shift the leaves overhead.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” she said eventually. “I’m selling the Hideaway. After the swap, I’ll come back to the campground full time. Help you both.”
Walt didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was low. “You’re sure? ”
She nodded.
He sighed, tugging at the brim of his hat. “I don’t like it.”
Krista’s chest tightened. “Because you don’t want me giving it up?”
“Because I don’t want you giving yourself up,” he said gently. “You built that place from scratch. You love it.”
“I love Grandma more,” she said. “And you. And this place. You took me in when no one else did.”
He looked at her then, really looked. “You don’t have to thank us for that.”
“I do,” she said, her throat tightening. “You stood up to Mom. Letting me live with you?—”
“Was never a question,” he cut in. “Your mother got her priorities mixed up. I told her then, and I’d tell her again now. You don’t have kids to mold them into the life you wanted. You raise them right. Then you step back and let them listen to their hearts.”
Krista blinked fast. “So, you’re not mad?”
“Of course not,” he said. “Even if we could do it all over again, we’d take you back in a heartbeat. You’ve brought nothing but joy to our lives, Krista Jean.”
She swallowed hard and blinked up at the sky, just to keep the tears from spilling. “Don’t call me Krista Jean.”
Walt chuckled. “That fire. That’s how I know you’re still our Krista.”
She laughed, wiping at her face with the sleeve of her sweater.
He stepped closer, placing a warm, weathered hand on her shoulder. “So, what’s the story with this Joe fella?”
Krista sighed. “He’s just passing through. Traveling. Writing. We’re doing this swap for a week, and working together trying to figure out what happened to Great-Grandma Isabel, but that’s it.”
Walt raised a single eyebrow. “Mmhmm. ”
“What?” she demanded.
“Nothing.” He shifted his weight, voice thoughtful. “Just think it’s a shame, is all. Seems like a nice, hardworking man.” His eyes softened. “And I trust my instincts. They’ve served me well all these years. That Joe…he’s a good one.”
Krista blinked. “Grandpa.”
“What?” He lifted a shoulder, unbothered. “A man doesn’t have to stick around forever for me to see his character. And if he did?” Walt gave her a look that felt suspiciously like a gentle blessing. “Well. Your grandma and I would be just fine with that.”
Krista groaned, face warming. “He’s just passing through.”
“Sure,” Walt said, turning back toward the trail. “But he looks at you like he might forget that.”
Krista sighed.
Could Gramps be right? Because even now, in the hush of the woods, she could still feel Joe’s hands on her skin, the weight of his gaze, the kiss they didn’t finish.
And perhaps today, in her apartment, diary open between them and their eyes catching just a little too long—she’d discover this thing between them was only just beginning.