“Strange. These shouldn’t be blooming this time of year. We’ve got at least a couple of months, right?” Zoe moved some brush back to look at them closer.
“If you say so, Flower Girl. I’ll defer to your plant wisdom,” Jackson replied.
Her eyes lit with interest, and she brushed a fingertip near a bud without touching it. “Maybe it’s a sign?” she teased, though her voice held more wonder than humor.
“Could be,” Jackson allowed, though honestly, the only magic he saw was in Zoe’s eyes.
They pressed on, the trail narrowing until Zoe had to fall in right behind him. He cleared branches as they went; the rhythmic swing of his arm and the steady crunch of their boots was like a cadence. Occasionally, her hand would brush his shoulder when she steadied herself on a slope, and each time it sent a jolt through him.
By the time the trail wound back toward the creek, the sun was slipping lower, gilding the water in soft, golden light. No bloom, no secret garden. Not yet. Just them, and the quiet.
Jackson paused at the edge of the stream, lowering his pack to the ground. Zoe came up beside him, her cheeks still flushed from the hike, her smile wide and easy. She looked so happy out here in the wild, and his chest tightened at the light in her eyes.
He thought about bringing up the other night. But Jackson didn’t know what else to say that hadn’t already been said. Some things were best left in the past.
Zoe lifted her chin, her gaze snagging on something farther upriver. “Huh. Do you see that?”
He followed her gaze. The hill on the opposite bank was darkened in shadow, but something about the slope caught hisattention. It was a faint outline of what looked like stacked stones, maybe the remnants of an old wall or foundation.
Zoe stepped closer to the edge of the water, careful on the slick rocks. “I’ve seen that before,” she murmured. “There was a resting spot on the map, right in the bend of the river.”
Jackson steadied her elbow instinctively. “You’re saying that’s the spot?”
“I don’t know,” she said, her voice soft but certain. “But it looks like it. That ridge lines up.” She exhaled, excitement flickering in her eyes. “This could be somewhere the Moonlight Kiss used to grow.”
He glanced across the water again. The current was fast here, the creek swollen from recent rain, the far bank too steep to cross safely before nightfall. The sky had already started to dim, clouds gathering the colors of dusk.
“There’s no bridge,” he said quietly. “And the current’s strong enough to take us both off our feet. We’d better come back when we can find a better way across.”
Zoe frowned, reluctant. “But what if?—”
“Zoe,” he said gently, “it’ll still be there another day.”
She met his gaze, lips pressed tight, and nodded. “You’re right. I just…I want to know what’s waiting over there.”
He smiled faintly. “You and me both.”
They stood there for a moment longer, the creek murmuring between them and the mystery just out of reach. Then Jackson slung his pack over his shoulder and tipped his chin toward the trail. “Come on. We’ve got a long hike back, and I’d rather not test how well you can navigate by starlight.”
Zoe rolled her eyes but fell into step beside him. “For the record, I’m excellent at navigating by the stars.”
“Sure you are,” he teased, offering her his hand as they started up the path.
As they climbed, the forest darkened around them, the smell of pine and damp earth rising with the cool air. Behind them, the sound of the creek faded, but not before Zoe glanced back one last time at that distant patch of hillside, glowing faintly in the twilight.
Whatever was hidden there would have to wait just a little longer.
TWENTY-ONE
ZOE
Saturday, March 15th
The next morning dawned bright and clear, the kind of spring day locals waited all season for. The annual Walleye Weekend was in full swing by the time Zoe and Jackson made their way toward the lakeside community park.
Named after the fish that filled Bear Lake each spring, the festival had started decades ago as a friendly fishing derby. These days, it was less about the catch and more about the celebration. Locals still cast their lines at dawn, but most people came for the food stalls, the live music, and the excuse to linger outside after a long winter.
From where Zoe stood, she could see the shimmer of Bear Lake just beyond the park’s edge, sunlight dancing across the rippling surface. Boats dotted the water, their engines humming softly as fishermen cast their lines for walleye. On the far shore, Krista’s Hot Honey Hideaway would soon be buzzing with life when she opened for the summer. Zoe loved hanging with her friends there after a long day, lights strung above them, soft music pouring out of the loudspeakers, the scent of spiced honey cocktails wafting on the breeze.
