Chapter 1 #2
Except… I swear I did smell her when I stalked past, enraged that she was disturbing my solitude.
That cabin has been empty for almost a year now.
I like it empty. But I swear I smelled something warm and sweet when I stalked past. Like late summer honey, fresh lemon, and sunlight on female, pretty female, skin.
Scrubbing a hand through my wet hair, and down over my chin, feeling the raised scar along my jaw through the stubble, I roughly exhale.
Get it together, Gruene.
You’re not seventeen and horny. You’re thirty-three and ruined.
Who gives a shit if Cabin 2 is pretty. She’s none of your business.
Showering quickly, I hastily dry off and grab a pair of sweatpants from the basket near the door. Everything else is folded. Ordered. Simple. That’s how I keep it. Routine is what keeps me from going under.
I flick on the box fan under the window and lay down without bothering to pull the covers over me. I’m hot as hell from the shower and annoyed that I noticed my new neighbor. The river still rushes in my ears, but the silence underneath it is the thing that haunts.
That night. Their last breaths. Everything that followed.
It plays on a loop in my head.
I close my eyes and try to pretend I’m not still underwater, still drowning, still stuck six years back on the riverbank under the broken guardrail. The metal twisted, and the rain so loud I couldn’t hear my wife’s cry… my daughter’s scream.
But it’s there.
They’re always there.
Phantoms that live in my soul. Unrelenting.
My failure playing over and over and over within my head.
Until I wake up gasping.
Until I dive in again.
Morning hits hard, like it always does. I’m up before dawn, boots on, shirt off, coffee black. I keep a tight schedule. I don’t like surprises… except today, there’s one standing in my driveway.
She’s got on a grey tank top and cutoff shorts.
Cheap sunglasses are pushed on top of her head.
Her long, dark hair is pulled into a loose braid and is falling over her shoulder.
She’s holding a muffin in one hand and a water bottle in the other.
Both are shaking. She’s trespassing on sacred ground.
Stepping out onto the porch, I cross my arms. “Can I help you?” My voice is brusque.
She jumps, almost dropping the muffin. “Hi! I—uh. I wasn’t trying to be weird. I just thought… I brought you something. To say thanks.”
“Thanks for what?” My brow rises.
She shrugs, cheeks turning pink. “For not calling the cops on me when I showed up last night.” She fidgets, still holding the muffin and the water.
“I’m assuming you now live there,” I deadpan. “Not much to call in.”
She laughs nervously, then holds the muffin out like a peace offering. “Still. Thanks. I wasn’t spying… Last night, I mean.” I just stare at her. “It’s banana nut… from a mix. I know not everyone likes bananas… or nuts. But it’s good. I swear I didn’t poison it.” She looks at me, expectantly.
I don’t take the muffin as I continue to look at her.
She shifts her weight from foot to foot. Her smile falters just a little, and a pang hits me in the gut. “Okay, well. I tried. Have a good day. Sorry to bother you.”
She turns to leave.
“Wait.” It comes out before I even realize I was going to say anything.
She stops, glancing over her shoulder at me. Her brow arches.
Sighing, I step down the porch and take the muffin from her. It’s warm. Wrapped in a paper napkin with a tiny smiley face drawn on it.
Who the hell still does that?
“Thank you… for the muffin. I’m Gruene,” I say after a beat, because the silence is uncomfortable.
“Blakelyn. Blakelyn… Wa—Vaughn. She smiles. “It’s nice to meet you, Gruene. I’ll uh… I’ll be going back to my cabin now.”
I nod once and retreat back to my porch, the muffin in my hand like some kind of cursed relic. She heads toward the riverbank, not her cabin, barefoot and easy, like she’s lived here forever. Like she belongs.
I watch her walk. The braid bounces against her back. Her hand trails over the wildflowers by the path. I know I should look away, but I don’t.
She doesn’t look afraid.
I’d bet money she is.
Just like me.
By noon, the heat settles in like a second skin. My tubing shop— Cavanaugh River Outfitters —is open for business, and the usual crowd’s already gathering. Tourists with sunburned shoulders. College kids with coolers full of cheap beer. Locals who want to float and forget.
I run the register, load the buses, and check the life jackets.
I do the work. But I don’t smile. I don’t chat.
I don’t fucking engage.
“Hey, Gruene,” Reece calls from the dock. “Got a new local asking about gear. Says she just moved in next door to you.” I don’t miss the question in his eyes… I just choose not to acknowledge it.
I stiffen. Then, I see her.
She’s walking toward the shop in a tank top, short shorts, and flip-flops. Her dark hair is down, waving around her shoulders. Her eyes are wide as she takes it all in. And damn it, she glows.
Blakelyn.
Catching my eye, she lifts her hand in a small wave.
I don’t wave back.
Instead, I turn to the shelf behind the counter and grab a brochure. I walk it over to her like it’s a damn peace treaty.
“You don’t want to float today,” I say, handing it to her.
She frowns, looking around at everyone loading tubes into the river and boarding the buses that take them to other drop spots. “Why not?”
“River’s low. Snaggy. Heat index is brutal. Wait a week.”
She cocks her head as she regards me. “Are you always this friendly?” Her lips purse.
“Nope. Just honest.” I almost snarl.
Her lips twitch. “You say that like it’s a warning.”
“It is.”
She holds my stare. Doesn’t flinch as she replies, “You’re not what I expected.”
“Neither are you.” I flatly retort.
She’s not. But she also is. She’s trouble.
The air between us snaps tight again. Same as last night.
She steps closer. Not close enough to touch, just enough to make me feel it.
“You live next door,” she says. “We’re neighbors, Gruene. It’s probably a good idea if we figure out how to coexist.”
I don’t answer. Because coexist is a nice word. A safe word. A word for people who don’t look at each other like they’re drowning and dying and daring someone to save them.
Nope. She can live next door. But I’m keeping my distance.
I watch her walk away.
She doesn’t look back. But the air still hums in her wake. I know I’m lying to myself.
And I’m already in trouble.