Still camped out like vultures hungry for a scandalous headline.
Principal Hargrove stands tall near the entrance, arms folded, glaring them down like he’s a bouncer at a nightclub. No one dares to cross the street.
Once the last of my students waves goodbye, I slink back inside and find Logan peeking out the blinds.
“Ready for the grand escape?” I ask.
He nods, and we sneak through the back of the school—the same way he came in.
We tiptoe past the cafeteria dumpsters, round the building, and make it halfway across the parking lot before someone shouts, “There they are!”
“Run!” Logan yells.
We take off, sprinting across the pavement like fugitives. I pass him up with ease.
“Why are you so fast?” he calls from behind me.
“I coach recess!” I yell, hitting the unlock button on my key fob. “It’s basically the Olympics for elementary teachers!”
We dive into my Golf, and the tires screech as I peel out of the lot. The adrenaline pumping through my system feels like electricity, making every sensation sharper.
What a rush!
Once we’re clear of the chaos, Logan laughs breathlessly. “I didn’t know you had it in you, Lang.”
I keep my eyes on the road, pulse pounding. “We can’t go home. Not yet. They might follow us.”
He leans back in his seat, turning to me. “You know this town better than I do. Any ideas where we should go?”
I glance at him, then at the road ahead. Only one place comes to mind. Somewhere I’ve never taken anyone with me before, not even Andy. “I know a spot.”
Chapter 13
We drive into the late afternoon, winding through the quieter, dustier roads that hug the outskirts of Maplewood Springs. As the pavement fades to gravel, and the gravel eventually gives way to packed earth, the weight of the day slowly begins to melt off my shoulders. I look in the rearview mirror. No headlights. No tailgating vans. No looming cameras. Out here, it’s just us and the serenity of the forest.
We’ve lost them.
Thank goodness. My heartbeat finally slows to something resembling normal human rhythm rather than the frantic beating of a hummingbird’s wings.
I steal a glance at Logan, who seems enchanted by the towering mountains surrounding us. He’s like a kid experiencing the great outdoors for the first time, ogling the terrain with curious eyes. Leaving shortly after high school, he probably hadn’t had the proper opportunity to explore our beautiful little town and its surroundings.
“Where exactly are we headed?” Logan asks, rolling down his window to let the crisp mountain air rush in. “Or is this the part where you reveal you’re actually a serial killer who lures pop stars into the wilderness?”
“If I were a serial killer, I’d pick a victim people would actually miss.”
His hand flies to his chest. “Wow. That’s cold.”
“You’ll survive.”
By the time we reach the foot of the Ouachita Mountains, the sun is low and golden. I pull the car into a small, unmarked nook—a dirt patch framed by overgrown shrubs and crooked trees. There are no signs, no trail markers. Just nature and the ever-present chirping of birds and crackling of trees.
Logan steps out and stretches his arms wide. “Seriously though, where exactly are we going?”
I shut my car door and sling my purse over my shoulder. “You’ll see.”
“So mysterious. I like it.” His smile seems real, not that practiced camera-ready grin I’ve seen plastered across billboards and magazines.
He follows me as I lead him down a narrow path that only locals—or maybe just me—would know. A few minutes in, the forest opens to a small clearing. There, nestled in a soft, leafy hollow, is my favorite place in the entire world: a hidden hot spring surrounded by budding maple trees.
