Chapter 16 — Heron Lake （Beck） #2
Nora stiffened beside me. Her hand curled inside my pocket. I stepped half a pace sideways without breaking stride, putting my shoulders between her and the lot, blocking the sightline with my back and my height. The wind hit my face. Fine. Let it.
“He's creepy when he's cheerful. Let's keep walking,” Nora murmured.
“Yeah,” I said. “Keep walking. I've got the wind.”
“You're a wall,” she said. “My large, handsome wind wall.”
“Keep moving, wall,” Cole said quietly. He had gone still, eyes on the lot, jaw tight. “Don't give him a pose.”
We kept moving. I didn't look up again. Looking up told him we'd seen.
The trail dipped into a hollow where the wind dropped and the air went soft. Dead leaves lay thick and the smell rose up, sweet rot and wet bark. Nora breathed in deep and smiled.
“That smell,” she said. “Fall turned all the way up.”
“Truck heater's got it beat,” I said. “Dust and glory.”
“Dust and glory,” she laughed. “Put that on a candle.”
“Sold in the team shop,” Cole said, dredging up a grin. “Next to the losing-season reel — next to the old programs.” He caught himself, whatever the joke had been, and let it fall. “Sorry. Brain's soup.”
“No apology needed,” Nora said. “My brain's soup most days. Psych major. We study the soup.”
“Is my soup in the textbook?” Cole said.
“Chapter nine,” she said. “Right after sleep and before snacks.”
“Am I passing?” Cole said.
“Barely,” she said. “You skipped the reading. I can tell.”
“I always skip the reading,” he said. “Ask Beck. I'm a vibes learner.”
“Can confirm,” I said. “Zero notes. All vibes.”
He huffed, almost a laugh, then went quiet again.
The hollow swallowed our footsteps. Somewhere above, a car engine turned over, gravel popping, fading down the access road.
I didn't check if it was his. I kept my eyes on the two people in front of me.
One warm in my pocket. One cold beside me with his hands hidden.
We came out of the hollow into white sun again, and the dock reached into the cove ahead like it had been waiting.
“Dock break?” I said.
“Dock break,” Nora agreed. “My toes are done. Completely resigned.”
“Sit,” I said. “Swing your feet. I'll block the wind.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, and sat, and kicked her boots once. “Best seat in Ohio.”
We stepped onto the boards. They creaked and swayed, familiar now, and the wind came back full off the water, lifting her ponytail straight out.
I took the windy side again, planted my boots, and she leaned into me like a door finding its frame.
Her head settled on my shoulder. Her breath came warm through my jacket.
Mine slowed to meet it, in, out, the lake setting the tempo.
“Give me your hands. They're freezing, and I've got you,” I said.
“They're not that bad,” she said, but she gave them over.
I took both, folded them between my palms, breathed heat into the small cold space.
Her fingers curled around mine. Her forehead tipped to rest against my jaw, breath shared in the inch between us, no kiss held too long, just warmth passing back and forth.
“Hi,” she whispered.
“Hi,” I said.
“This is my favorite thing,” she said. “Don't argue.”
“Not arguing,” I said. “Logging it.”
“Log this too,” she said. “You always take the windy side. I've noticed, you know.”
My chest locked up. I checked the green thread on my wrist with two fingers, quick, no words, and let go. The knot sat where she had tied it, snug against the navy cord. It held. I held.
“I like you warm. That's the whole plan,” I said.
“Solid plan,” she said. “Ten out of ten. No notes.”
Cole hung back at the foot of the dock, hands in sleeves, phone still dark wherever he'd left it. He watched the water with that flat stare again, the one I hadn't named aloud. When I glanced over, he read it and shook his head once, small.
“I'll head back,” he said. “You two stay. Finish the loop pretty.”
“You sure?” Nora asked, lifting her head. “We can all walk in. I've got granola bars. Very crushed. Very good.”
“I'm sure,” Cole said. “Enjoy the quiet. You earned a soft day.” He backed up a step, then another. His jaw stayed tight, but his voice stayed kind. “See you at the house, Beck.”
“Cole,” I said. “Routes, film, mornings — whatever happens next, I'm in the room for it. Drive safe.”
“Yeah?” he said.
“Nothing,” I said. “Drive safe.”
He nodded like I'd said the real thing anyway and turned up the trail. His shoulders stayed high all the way to the bend. Something sat on him, quiet and heavy. Today wasn't the day to drag it out of him. Nora was warm against my side.
“Is he okay?” Nora asked softly.
“Don't know,” I said. “He'll tell me.”
“You always give people room,” she said. “I love that about how you are. No crowding.”
Her hand found mine again. I laced our fingers and held on, thumb circling once over her knuckles. The wind pushed. The dock rocked. We rocked with it, steady.
We finished the loop slow, the last half mile hand in hand through thinning light.
“Chariot awaits,” Nora said. “Heater willing.”
“Heater's willing,” I said. “Get in before the wind changes its mind.”
I opened her door and handed her up. She slid across the bench toward the middle, close, and I climbed in after.
She tucked her hand into my jacket pocket even in the truck, leaning in, shoulder to mine.
At the stop sign her head tipped onto my shoulder and stayed there while I waited for a pickup to pass.
My knee pressed hers on the bench seat. Hers pressed back.
The lake fell away behind us, light going thin and white through the trees.
“Today was good,” she said. “The threat is still there, but it stayed outside us for a few hours. I needed that.”
“Me too.” I kept my hand over hers inside my pocket. “Priya still digging?”
“She found the file was shared before Kip posted it. She's pulling the access history now.” Nora tipped her head against my shoulder. “I showed you the second I knew. I need you to keep doing the same.”
“No solo protecting,” I said.
“Exactly. You don't get to decide what I can survive, and I don't get to hide bad news because your face might break my heart.”
“Fair rule.”
“Best one we've got.” Her thumb moved over my knuckle. “Now keep driving. Keep me warm. Tell me truck thoughts until my brain stops trying to arrest everybody.”
“Heater's loud on two,” I said. “Wind's pushing the tail. Your glove has a hole in the left thumb.”
She groaned. “That is the least romantic thought in Ohio.”
“I'll fix it tonight.”
“My large, handsome wind wall and glove mechanic.” Her laugh-snort filled the cab, and the road felt straighter under the tires.
Light lay in a white road across Heron Lake, and her hand stayed warm in mine.