My phone buzzed and I gave my head a subtle shake, chasing away my reminiscing. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know who it was from, despite our six-hour time difference.
I glanced at the screen, just in case I was proven wrong and, of course, I wasn’t.
Kristoff: Can’t you stay put for a bit?
I rolled my eyes.
Me: If you don’t stop stalking me, I’m going to turn that app off and block you.
I agreed to give my cousin access to my location, but he was really taking it a step too far. I was a grown-ass woman and certainly didn’t need him babysitting me.
Kristoff: I’m just checking on you. That’s different from stalking. I stalk my children.
Me: That’s some serious invasion of privacy.
Not that I would admit I fully supported him stalking Sienna.
Me: I’m about to get in the car. No more texting. I’m staying in Albania, but there’s so much of the country to see. You better get used to me moving around. Stop harassing me or I’ll tell your wife.
That’ll teach him. I smiled smugly as I slid my phone into my purse. There was one minor fault I did find in Albania: they drove like goddamn maniacs.
I pushed open the heavy, timber door of the Valbona River Hotel and breathed in the fresh air.
This place felt like a mirage.
It was too quiet and too beautiful here, a stark contrast to my alert and on-edge mental state, but it was definitely doing me some good.
The inn was secluded, tucked deep into the Albanian Alps. After the accident and the near-constant feeling of being watched, I welcomed the absence of that feeling.
It was only the beginning of June, yet every media outlet insisted the Albanian coast was baking under summer heat. I looked forward to experiencing it for myself, though I felt no urgency to rush there. For now, the air around me was crisp and clean, scented with pine and cool river stone.
Everything about the place worked to quiet the lingering angst of the past year. The stillness, the clarity, the sense of distance from things that happened back home. I had no doubt anymore that leaving the States had been the right choice, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so at ease.
I focused on something simple, like my white polka-dot dress fluttering in the breeze and the sunlight glancing off the hood of my rented SUV parked at the far edge of the lot.
I chose that parking spot deliberately for its easy exit. It’d become a habit to seek out available escape strategies.
A cool gust of wind swept through the valley, brushing my cheeks and snapping my dress upward.
“Whoa,” I muttered, clutching the hem.
“Thank you for staying with us, Dr. Baldwin.” The concierge’s voice startled me, and I whirled around to find him approaching with my key and a polite smile. “Your bags have been loaded into your vehicle.”
“Thank you,” I retorted evenly, accepting it with the friendly and carefree smile I’d been working to perfect.
I resumed walking down the path toward the lot, my sandals clicking against stone.
I was thousands of miles away from the States and I hadn’t uttered a single word to anyone about what had happened, but sometimes my mind wasn’t kind to me. My thoughts found a way to slide back to the bridge and the moment my life split cleanly in two. I didn’t even have a patient load to occupy my mind anymore.
I shook my head, chasing those glooming, persistent thoughts back across the ocean, when I froze ten feet from my car.
Wrapped around a wooden post beside the parking lot was a thin, greenish snake, and I was certain it was watching me, ready to attack.
The sharp, panicked scream tore out of me before I could stop it.
Instinct took over. I spun, lost a sandal, and launched myself at the nearest solid structure without looking.
It turned out not to be a lamppost, but a man. A very tall, very solid, very real man.
