Chapter 32
THIRTY-TWO
JOE
Tuesday, Day Five of the Summer Swap: The Last Day
Joe had been in a lot of strange places for a story. There was the hostel run by an elderly man whose permanent scowl still visited his nightmares. An alleyway in Prague where the temperature had dropped twenty degrees and he swore something whispered against his ear.
But this might have been the first time he’d followed a mystery by sound.
And it was definitely the first time he’d done it with a beautiful woman at his side.
“Hear that?” Krista asked, pausing on the narrow game trail.
They’d set out before sunrise—the only way to fit everything in. It was the last day of the swap, and it was going to be long. Joe didn’t mind. He’d been up half the night thinking about her anyway. Sleep could wait until his next assignment. Time with Krista was precious.
He stilled and listened. Beneath the usual forest soundtrack—birds, insects, wind in the trees—another note threaded through. Faint at first. Then clearer the longer he listened.
“Singing,” she said softly.
She turned in a slow circle, eyes closed, head tilted, as if she could feel the sound brushing her skin. The afternoon light slid through the canopy, catching on the edge of her curls, on the gold hoop in her ear, on the strap of the camera hanging against her chest.
For a second, he forgot about water and sound and every lead in Isabel’s diary. He just saw her—cheeks flushed from the hike, curls unruly. She looked like she belonged here. Like some part of her had always been walking toward this place.
Zoe and Jackson were supposed to come too. But Jackson had stopped by the Hideaway yesterday and claimed they couldn’t make it.
Joe might’ve believed him if Jackson hadn’t followed it up with a comment about how he and Zoe “really appreciate the privacy of nature,” and “maybe you and Krista would too.”
They’d left the main trail twenty minutes ago, ducked under low branches. The water was louder now.
“What do you think?” he asked.
Krista opened her eyes and scanned the slope below. The ground fell away more steeply here, trees thinning just enough to show glimpses of rock.
“I think…” She exhaled, then pointed. “There.”
They picked their way down the incline, boots sliding on pine needles, Frankie trotting between them as if he’d personally scouted the route months ago.
The “singing” grew clearer with every step, a jumble of notes and echoes, like someone plucking a harp underwater.
Moonlight Kiss blooms dotted the bank, bumblebees drifting lazily between them.
At the bottom, Joe saw it.
A narrow stream tumbling over a ten-foot ledge, fanning out into a frothy waterfall before dropping into a dark pool. Water struck stone in multiple places, splitting the sound into overlapping tones. The surrounding rock walls curved inward, cupping the sound and throwing it back.
“The water there always sings,” Krista murmured, the diary line drifting out like she was barely aware she’d said it aloud.
He turned slowly, taking in the shape of the space. A natural alcove. Beyond the waterfall, the rock sloped back into shadow.
“Okay,” he breathed. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
“Joe.” Krista stepped toward the rock by the waterfall, eyes narrowed. “Look.”
He followed her gaze. At first, it seemed like nothing—just cracks in the stone. Then his eyes adjusted, picking up the faint, deliberate lines.
A bear.
Not a realistic one—more like an old woodcut illustration. Broad shoulders, round ears, a curve to the back. The lines were shallow but sure, weather-worn but unmistakable.
“The Legend of Bear Lake,” he said.
Krista glanced at him, a startled smile flickering. “You see it too, right? I’m not imagining this.”
“Definitely not,” he said. “That’s either a bear or the world’s angriest raccoon.”
Her laughter bounced off the rock and came back thinner, warped; the water’s song had picked up a new note.
Frankie trotted over and sniffed the rock, then sneezed dramatically like he’d just solved the case and now he wanted a treat.
Krista stepped closer, fingers hovering just shy of the carving. “Just like from the legend. The bear is still keeping watch.”
Joe studied her profile—the little crease between her brows, the way her thumb rested just beside the carved line without quite touching it.
He lifted his camera.
“Don’t,” she said instantly. “My hair’s a mess. ”
“I don’t care about your hair.”
The look she shot him said she didn’t believe that for a second.
“You’re beautiful,” he said simply.
He framed her with the carving—the curve of her shoulder, the bear etched beside her, light skimming water and stone. He clicked the shutter once, twice, three times, adjusting barely at all. The image was already perfect; he just had to capture it.
She looked so right here. Like this carved bear and the singing water had been waiting for her specifically.
For a moment, the reporter in him fell quiet and simply observed. The other part—the man who had woken her before sunrise with a tight embrace and a soft kiss—leaned in and thought, Yeah. I could get used to this.
“This has to be their cave,” he said quietly, lowering the camera. The hairs on his arms were standing up from the sound, from the chill of the shaded rock. “It has everything. The water, the bear, even the echo.”
Krista moved toward the darker curve of rock. Joe followed, squinting as his eyes adjusted. The temperature dropped; the air grew damper. The water’s song changed, too. It was muffled, bouncing off a tighter space.
“I think you’re right,” she whispered. “This is their place. It all feels…surreal.” She swallowed. “I want to know everything. What happened next? Why did they cut their trip short? How did she even meet my great-grandfather?”
“There’s time. I’m sure you’ll figure it all out.” He had no doubt she’d get to the bottom of it all. Krista was determined like that.
“It feels like Isabel is…nudging me. It’s hard to explain. But I feel her here.” Krista tapped her heart with her hand. “Encouraging me.”
“And what do you think she’s encouraging you toward?”
She let out a breathy laugh. “That’s the problem. I don’t know.” She looked deeper into the shadows before turning back to Joe.
He stepped closer. Close enough to feel her breath. His hand lifted to her jaw, tipping her face up. He waited for a heartbeat, enough time for her to pull away.
She rose onto her toes and kissed him first.
He answered immediately. The kiss deepened in a single breath. The cave gathered the sound—his breath and the softest hitch in her throat—and returned it to them.
She pulled back before it could become more, both of them breathing hard.
Frankie chose that exact second to let out a fierce bark. The pup stood rigid, tail straight, shoulders squared to attention. Staring straight at a shadow lumbering across the stone near the cave entrance.
Joe froze, his hands still on Krista’s shoulders. Outside, the animal pawed and huffed.
“Joe,” she whispered. “I think that’s a?—”
“Bear.”
Frankie growled, a noise far too big for his body, then barked again. The echo made him sound enormous.
The thought hit him hard. What if this is its den? His gaze darted around for anything they could use. Scattered pebbles. A few fist-sized rocks.
It would have to do.
He and Krista crouched, each picking up a rock. It felt like bringing a spoon to a sword fight.
“Stay behind me,” he said, stepping forward.
But it didn’t matter because Frankie charged out first.
The miniature dachshund barreled toward the entrance, barking like he was leading a cavalry charge.
“Frankie!” Krista cried, sprinting after him.
“Krista—” Joe lunged after her, heart slamming against his ribs .
Outside, the surrounding brush gave way with heavy limbs snapping as the bear crashed through the undergrowth.
Frankie kept barking in its wake, triumphant and relentless, until his little body disappeared into the greenery.
Joe caught Krista’s arm before she plunged after him into the brush. “Look.”
He pointed.
Up in a nearby pine, the black bear scrambled higher, claws digging into bark as it climbed with startling speed.
Krista’s breath left her in a rush.
As if satisfied with his victory, Frankie came bounding back, tail waving like a banner.
“I think that’s our cue to get the hell out of here,” Joe said.
“You did good, buddy,” Krista said, clipping Frankie’s leash back on with shaking hands. Then she looked at Joe. “But you’re right. We’re leaving. Now.”
No sentimental moment. No more kisses in the cave.
With one last glance at the singing water and the watching bear carved in stone, they retreated toward Maple Falls.