The chaos of the party has wound down into a boring dull as some workers slowly shift the pavilion from celebration back to its bare bones. White folding chairs screech across the concrete as they stack them. Streamers get yanked down and stuffed in trash bags, and the quiet turns out to be more depressing than the playing kids and popping balloons.
I wrestle with my bag, lug it over my shoulder, the dirt from the bottom scuffing along my white button-up, and I tuck my cash into the side pocket.
When I look up, Ranger Sullivan remains.
He leans against one of the pavilion posts, one hand in his pocket, cheeks red from the sun. In his other hand, a plate with a single piece of cake.
I look around, wondering why he’s standing there, but then he steps forward, taking several long strides toward me.
Why hasn’t he left yet? My chest tightens. I should be relieved this party is over. There are several hours of daylight; I could hit a short trail.
His eyes track me until he’s standing in front of me. He extends the plate, a green plastic fork sticking straight out of the top of an uneaten piece. “Here. Saved you some. Have a good night, Lily.”
I blink and then finally take it. He withdraws, walking across the open grassy area toward the parking lot.
Chapter 9
Noah
An apple tumbles out of the cart, rolling across the pavement. I watch through my side mirror as it descends down the slight slope leading to my truck waiting patiently in the pickup spot. Morgan scrambles after the dropped fruit at the same time her cart full of my mother’s groceries accelerates in the opposite direction.
I chuckle to myself before opening my door and hopping out to help. I run after the escaping groceries, while Morgan scoops up the apple, tucking it into her orange visibility vest.
“That was a close one,” I say.
Morgan laughs, securing the strands of hair that fell into her face behind her ear. She totes the cart over to my truck. “No uniform, huh?”
I shake my head. “Nope. I’m off today.”
Her eyes light up. “Really? We should do something. I … I mean if you want to.”
I grapple with the handle and open the door to the back seat.
“Where’s Max?” she asks as soon as she sees his usual spot in the back is empty.
“I’m taking Mom to the doctor today. So, I’ll have to take a raincheck on the doing something.”
Her face falls, and guilt gnaws when I see the disappointment on her face. It’s the truth. I do have to take my mother to the doctor today, and she doesn’t get out much as it is. I never rush the doctor days—it’s our day. Maybe it’s wrong, but selfishly I look forward to these appointments. These are probably some of the most depressing days for my mom, but part of me hopes she enjoys the time we have, too.
I can’t help that Morgan is holding out for something between us. Even Brent has told me it’s ridiculous we don’t just date again, see where it goes. It’s almost too predictable, too perfect. I’ve heard the rumors from the locals, especially since the whole town knows how she feels about me, about what a “perfect couple” we’d make. We’d have the cutest babies. Make our families happy. The national park ranger and the small-town girl—it’s practically written into town law at this point.
Call me a heartbreaker or picky—I’ve heard it all before. But I want more.
It’s cliché, but I want a stomach-dropping love. I didn’t have that with Morgan at any point, and deep down, I know I never will.
In my mind, I’m searching for the same high I get ridge running. The wind tearing at my face, the heart pounding exertion from the sheer thrill of it. I want a reckless, intoxicating love that courses through my veins. One that feels like defiance.
Like I’m breaking the rules.
Something so vast and dizzying that the air tastes sharper, fresher. Like when I’m running and in the adrenaline-fueled madness it’s only me and the ridge. No fear, no hesitation—just the raw wild pulsing of living on the edge.
That’s how I want falling in love to feel. Though, I may just be setting myself up for a long life alone. In my experience, I’m not sure that kind of love exists.
“Your mom’s appointment is more important. I totally get it,” Morgan says, placing a few plastic bags on the floorboards.
My throat tightens. I hate being the reason she’s upset.
“It was interesting seeing you at the diner last Saturday.”
