The Stardust Readers Retreat #8
Eleanor looked up. “Thank you. For not turning this into something uglier than it already is.”
Jo met her gaze. “I’m glad you told the truth,” she said. “I hope that counts for something.”
When they moved into the hallway it felt wrong without the retreat’s glittery decorations. There were no excited readers, no phones held high, no breathless “Omigod, it’s her.” Just the soft hush of a building trying not to remember what had happened the night before.
For once, Eric didn’t steer her toward their rooms.
He nodded down the corridor toward the lobby. “Come on.”
Jo blinked. “Where are we going?”
“Outside,” he said simply. “Before the day’s over.”
Aspen’s ears perked up at the word outside as if it were a magical incantation. Her tail thumped against Jo’s leg in immediate approval.
Eric’s mouth twitched. “I must have a good idea if Aspen agrees with me.”
They moved through the lobby—past the check-in desk where Jo had signed Sarah-with-an-h’s book, past the banner still hanging like it hadn’t gotten the memo.
WELCOME, READERS & AUTHORS
THE STARDUST READERS RETREAT
GLAMOUR · STORIES · MAGIC
Jo read it again and felt something soften in her chest. “Magic might still be pushing it.”
Eric glanced at her. “Maybe. But I respect the confidence.”
Jo’s laugh burst out, surprising her. “Stop it. That’s my line.”
“I’m revising my statistics,” he said, his lips quirked up into a smile that was as cute as the cardigans he knitted.
Outside, the mountain air was cold and crisp. The sky was vivid blue, filled with puffy white clouds. It was the kind of afternoon that looked like it had been washed and hung to dry.
Jo’s boots crunched over gravel. Not trail dust exactly, but close enough to feel like home. Aspen trotted ahead with her leash slack, tail high, fur catching the new light like she’d personally negotiated a better ending.
Her blue eyes scanned the valet area with immediate suspicion. Still. Valet parking. Still no trust.
Eric watched her, then deadpanned, “Your dog is going to key someone’s car one day out of principle.”
“She would never,” Jo said automatically.
Aspen looked over her shoulder with the kind of expression that suggested Jo was na?ve.
Eric laughed. “Oh. She would absolutely.”
“The lack of opposable thumbs would make it difficult,” Jo responded.
Aspen huffed, clearly offended.
“I think she’s smart enough to figure out a way.” He teased.
They reached the edge of the patio, where the view opened wide. In front of them was the lake, trees, fog rolling in off the mountains. It was quieter out here, away from the formally locked-down ballroom and the weekend’s chaos.
Jo leaned her elbows on the railing and let herself breathe. For a moment, neither of them spoke. It wasn’t awkward. It was the kind of silence that felt earned. Eric came to stand beside her, close enough that their sleeves brushed when the wind shifted.
“I keep thinking about it,” Jo admitted, staring at the water. “How quickly everything can change. One second you’re dancing and the next—”
“And the next,” Eric said softly, “your life becomes a story you never wanted to write.”
Jo swallowed. “I hate that he died. Even if he wasn’t . . . nice.”
“I know,” Eric said. His voice held no judgment, just understanding, like he’d been cataloging messy human motives his whole life and still wanted people to get a chance at being better. “And I hate that she’ll carry the guilt with her.”
Jo’s hand tightened on the railing. “It was an accident. He should’ve respected her, listened to her.”
Eric’s gaze stayed on the lake. “True. It’s unfair she will have to live with this when he could have prevented it.”
Aspen sat between them like a furry judge, then leaned her shoulder into Jo’s shin with a soft sigh. Jo bent to scratch behind Aspen’s ear, grounding herself in the warmth and the familiarity of dog fur under her fingers.
“This weekend is going to live with us all forever,” she murmured to Eric without looking up. “This isn’t a retreat-only story.”
Eric’s breath caught—not loud, not dramatic. It was like he wanted to say something, but didn’t have the words.
When Jo straightened, she found him watching her with that steady, observant calm that had felt like a shield at first . . . and now felt like safety.
“I don’t want to go back to my life and file you away as ‘interesting weekend,’” Eric said. “A statistic. An anomaly.”
Jo’s heart did that ridiculous fluttering thing it had no business doing after the last twenty-four hours.
She lifted an eyebrow, because teasing was easier than confessing. “Are you telling me you’ve developed feelings? In the middle of a murder investigation?”
“Accidental death investigation,” he corrected automatically.
Jo smiled despite herself. “Of course.”
Eric’s eyes warmed. “It’s inconvenient.”
“Incredibly,” Jo agreed.
He leaned a fraction closer, waiting for her to answer the question he hadn’t voiced.
Jo turned fully to him. “I arrived here covered in trail dust,” she said, soft and honest. “I was ready for panels and fans and pretending I had everything together.”
Eric’s gaze dropped to her mouth, then lifted back to her eyes, still he didn’t move closer.
“And then you walked into a chest,” Eric said.
“A very solid chest,” Jo said with a smile.
Jo’s smile tugged wider. “And my dog approved. Which, apparently, is binding.”
Aspen huffed once, as if to say: Correct.
Eric’s hand hovered near hers—not grabbing, not claiming. Just offering. Jo slid her hand into his.
“So,” Jo said, heart thudding. “What happens now?”
Eric’s thumb brushed lightly over her knuckles, a question in motion. “Now I ask if I can kiss you. Like a gentleman. And because you deserve to choose.”
Jo’s throat tightened. “You’re annoyingly considerate. I like it.”
And then—because she was Josephine Hart and she believed in earned endings—she tilted her face up and met him halfway.
His kiss was warm and slow, no rush, no performance. It wasn’t the kind of kiss that solved everything. It was the kind that promised they’d be willing to try.
When they broke apart, Aspen sneezed loudly.
Eric laughed, resting his forehead against hers. “Is that approval or critique?”
“With her, it’s probably both.” Jo pulled back just enough to see his expression. “You know I hike,” she said. “I disappear into the woods. I’m not—”
“A glitter-soaked retreat person?” he supplied.
“Exactly.” Jo nodded.
Eric’s smile turned softer. “Good. Because I’m not a glitter-soaked retreat person either.”
Jo glanced down at his sweater, remembering the homemade tie, the sourdough, the quiet steadiness. “You’re more of a . . . Grandma hobbies person.”
“I contain multitudes,” he said solemnly.
Jo snorted. “So do I.”
Aspen stood, leash taut, tail high, moving like she had somewhere to be. Jo let her tug on the leash, then looked back at Eric. The lake glittered behind him, the sunset turning everything gentler than it had a right to be.
“Do you want to go for a walk?” Jo asked. “A real one. Not the valet loop.”
Eric’s fingers tightened around hers. “Statistically speaking, yes.”
Jo squeezed back. “Good.”
They let Aspen lead them toward the path that curved around the lake, the resort behind them and the evening ahead—quiet, unfinished, and strangely content.