Electra shook off the unease and focused on creating order in her new kitchen. The cabin was larger than she’d expected, with an open floor plan that connected the kitchen to a cozy living area dominated by a stone fireplace. Large windows offered breathtaking views of the surrounding forest, though the approaching darkness made the trees look more ominous than welcoming.
“You know,” Gerri continued, pulling out a bottle opener and examining it with theatrical interest, “isolation has a way of stripping away pretense. Out here, you can’t hide behind the noise and distractions of city life. You’re forced to confront who you really are.”
“That’s the point,” Electra replied, though doubt crept into her voice. “I need the quiet to write. To find my inspiration again.”
“Oh, I think you’ll find plenty of inspiration here.” Gerri’s eyes practically glowed with mischief. “Sometimes the museappears in the most unexpected forms. A hot sheriff, for instance.”
“Gerri—“
“I’m just saying, dear, that fresh starts often come with fresh... opportunities.” The older woman’s knowing look made Electra want to hide behind the cabinet door. “And Sheriff Hale struck me as a man with excellent instincts.”
Excellent instincts.The words sent an unexpected shiver through Electra’s body.
“I’m not looking for a love connection,” Electra said firmly.
“Of course not, dear. But that doesn’t mean fate doesn’t have other ideas.”
They unpacked boxes in a companionable rhythm for a while, Gerri offering helpful tips about living off-grid—how to prime the water pump, where to find the circuit breaker, among other things. Her knowledge seemed surprisingly comprehensive for someone who supposedly lived in the city.
“The wildness here has its own rhythm,” Gerri said as she folded the empty boxes. “It takes some getting used to, but once you surrender to it...” She trailed off with a secretive smile. “Well, you might find it changes you in ways you never expected.”
Surrender.Another loaded word that made Electra’s chest tighten with anxiety.
“I should call for my ride,” Gerri announced, pulling out her phone. “My job here is done.”
Electra wanted to ask what exactly that job had been, but Gerri was already dialing. Within minutes, she’d arranged for someone named Marcus to pick her up at the end of the drive.
“You’ll be all right here tonight?” Gerri asked, gathering her designer purse and smoothing her pantsuit. “It can feel overwhelming at first, being so far from everything you know.”
Electra looked around the cabin—at the rustic furniture, the stone fireplace, the windows that revealed nothing but endless darkness beyond. Doubt crept in like cold air through a crack in the foundation.
What if I made a mistake? What if this doesn’t work?
“I’ll be fine,” she said, injecting confidence she didn’t feel into her voice. “This is exactly what I need.”
“Yes,” Gerri agreed, her eyes flashing with that strange golden light again. “I believe it is.”
The sound of a car horn echoed from the direction of the road. Gerri moved toward the door with surprising grace for someone in heels, then paused on the threshold.
“Good luck, dear. Though something tells me that you won’t need it.”
Then she was gone, leaving Electra alone in the mountain cabin for the first time.
The silence wrapped around Electra, pressing against her ears until she could hear her own heartbeat. The darkness beyond the windows seemed impenetrable, a wall of black that made the cabin feel like a tiny island in an endless sea of wilderness.
What have I done?
The doubt crept in again, making her wrap her arms around herself. Three months of creative paralysis, and she’d thought changing her location would magically fix everything. Now she stood in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, more isolated than she’d ever been, with nothing but her laptop and the crushing weight of expectation.
Her gaze drifted to the far wall where the movers had positioned her desk beneath the large picture window. The familiar sight of her workspace—the sleek black surface, her ergonomic chair, the small lamp she’d used for late-night writingsessions—called to her like a siren song. Even in the dim light, it looked inviting, almost taunting.
Go on. Try to write something. Anything.
She’d avoided that desk for weeks back in Hartford, walking past it like it might bite her. But here, in this strange new environment, something stirred in her chest. Not quite inspiration, but curiosity. A whisper of possibility.
Electra retrieved her laptop bag from beside the couch and pulled out her computer, the weight familiar in her hands. She also grabbed her leather notebook—the one Cosette had given her years ago, worn soft from use—and her favorite pen. Old habits, even when the words refused to come.
Settling into the chair, she positioned the laptop on the desk and opened it, the screen’s blue glow casting shadows across her face. But instead of staring at the blank document that had mocked her for months, her attention wandered to the window. The moon hung full and luminous above the treeline, casting silver light across the forest canopy. Ancient pines stretched toward the sky like cathedral spires, their branches swaying in a breeze she couldn’t feel from inside the cabin.
