“I want,” he says quickly, his eyes meeting mine with unexpected intensity. “God, Holly, I want. But I don’t know how to...I don’t know if I can be what you need.”
Something in my chest aches at the vulnerability in his voice. This confident and charming man, who seems to have everything—money, looks, friends—is standing here telling me he feels inadequate.
“Maybe you should let me decide what I need,” I suggest softly.
Kai studies me for a long moment, then straightens up, decision made. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”
“Now? With your hand like that?”
“It’s not far.” He’s already moving toward the door, grabbing his keys from the hook by the entrance. “And I think it might help you understand.”
Curiosity overrides my exhaustion. I follow him out to his ridiculous sports car, sliding into the passenger seat as he starts the engine with his good hand.
“Where are we going?” I ask as we pull out of the driveway.
Kai’s smile is small but genuine. “The springs. There’s something there I think you should see.”
THIRTY
HOLLY
Kai’s carpurrs along the winding mountain road, headlights cutting through the growing darkness. The silence between us feels weighted with something I can’t quite name—a sort of vulnerable expectation. His bandaged hand rests lightly on the steering wheel, the white gauze stark against his tanned skin.
“You okay to drive with that hand?” I ask, partly out of genuine concern and partly to break the quiet.
“I’ve driven with worse,” he says with a half-smile. “Broke several fingers on both hands in a snowboarding accident once. Still made it down the mountain and to the hospital, all by myself.”
“That was incredibly stupid and dangerous,” I inform him mildly.
He winks at me, some of his usual charm returning. “Story of my life, Hollipop.”
We turn onto a narrow dirt road that I wouldn’t have noticed if I’d been driving. The sports car bounces over the uneven terrain, making me grab the door handle.
“Sorry,” Kai says, slowing down. “Not exactly the ideal vehicle for off-roading.”
“Where exactly are we going?” I peer through the windshield at the dense forest surrounding us. “I thought the hot springs were on the other side of town.”
“The public one where the tourists go is.” He navigates around a fallen branch. “But there are others. This one is smaller, but more…locally significant.”
The car comes to a stop in a small clearing. Kai kills the engine, and suddenly we’re enveloped in the profound silence of the wilderness. No traffic noise, no hum of electronics—just the soft whisper of wind through pine needles and the distant call of a night bird.
“Come on.” Kai gets out, and I follow suit, zipping up my jacket against the evening chill.
He leads me along a barely visible path into the trees. The moon is nearly full tonight, casting enough silvery light through the branches that we can see our way without flashlights. After about five minutes of walking, I detect a subtle shift in the air—warmer, more humid, with a faint mineral scent.
“Almost there,” Kai says, his voice hushed as if we’re entering a sacred space.
We round a cluster of boulders, and I stop in my tracks. Before us lies a small, perfectly circular pool, perhaps fifteen feet across. Unlike the larger hot springs I’ve seen in photos around town, this one doesn’t steam. Instead, its surface is mirror-still, reflecting the stars above with such clarity it’s as if we’re looking at two night skies—one above, one below.
But what truly catches my breath is the water itself. It shimmers—not with reflected moonlight, but with something that seems to come from within. A subtle, pulsing glow that shifts between blue and silver.
“What is that?” I whisper, unable to look away.
“The source,” Kai says simply. He moves to the edge of the pool and kneels, his movements careful and reverent. “This iswhere it all begins. This spring is closest to the underground water source that feeds the entire valley.”
I approach slowly, drawn by the otherworldly beauty of the pool. The bottom is lined with smooth white stones that seem to amplify the strange luminescence.
“Is it safe?” I ask, crouching beside him.
