Real laughter. Stupid and breathless and soaked to the skin. For one perfect moment, we're not a firestorm of history andtension—we're just Noah and Riley, splashing through summer like no time has passed.
Noah rakes a hand through his wet hair, sending droplets flying. "I need to change before the evening events." He nods toward the path. "Rain check on the tour?"
"Of course." Disappointment flickers through me.
"But..." He hesitates, then continues. "I could show you Lookout Point afterward? They're building a new observation deck—good material for your article."
"I'd like that." The words come out softer than intended.
His smile—warm, genuine, achingly familiar—does dangerous things to my resolve. "Meet me at the north trailhead at six."
The afternoon sun begins its descent toward the western peaks as I pick my way along the familiar trail to Lookout Point. After returning to Mabel's to change into dry clothes, I spent several hours gathering more material at the festival and interviewing local business owners and tourists alike.
Now, dressed in jeans and a light sweater, notebook tucked in my back pocket, I ascend the winding path through pine and aspen groves. The scent of wildflowers and sun-warmed earth rises around me, carrying memories of countless summer hikes.
Noah waits at the bend where the trail opens to reveal the spectacular view that gives Lookout Point its name. He's changed into dry clothes as well—faded jeans and a flannel shirt with rolled sleeves that reveal tanned forearms. His hair has dried in those unruly waves I once knew by heart.
"You came." He sounds almost surprised.
"I said I would." I join him at the wooden railing that marks the viewpoint's edge. "Wow. I'd forgotten how beautiful it is up here."
Below us, Angel's Peak spreads like a picture postcard—charming buildings nestled in the valley, Alpine Lakeshimmering in the late afternoon light, and beyond, mountains stretching to the horizon in waves of purple and blue.
"Best view in the county." Noah leans against the railing beside me, close enough that I catch the scent of his soap. "The new observation deck will extend another fifteen feet, with interpretive signs about the local ecosystem and history."
"Smart tourism development. Enhances the experience without compromising the natural setting."
Noah glances at me, one eyebrow raised. "That's very professional of you."
"I am a professional." I pull out my notebook, jotting down details about the observation deck project.
"Right." He pushes off from the railing. "This way. I want to show you where they're breaking ground."
I follow him along a narrower path that branches from the main viewpoint. The trail ends at a natural stone outcropping that extends farther over the valley.
"Careful." Noah offers his hand to help me navigate the uneven surface. "It's stable, but the footing can be tricky."
I hesitate, then place my hand in his. The simple contact sends warmth spiraling up my arm. His fingers close around mine, steady and sure, as he guides me to the edge.
"They'll anchor the deck into the bedrock here." He points with his free hand. "Glass panels along the sides for unobstructed views. Maybe even a small wedding venue eventually."
I try to focus on his words, making appropriate noises of interest, but I'm distracted by the fact that he hasn't released my hand.
The setting sun bathes everything in golden light, turning Noah's profile to burnished bronze as he gestures toward various landmarks. He's so at ease here, so connected to thisplace and its future. I find myself envying that certainty, that sense of belonging.
"You really love it here," I observe.
"Is that so hard to believe?" He turns to face me fully.
"No. I just..." I withdraw my hand from his, suddenly needing the distance. "I remember how you used to talk about leaving. Seeing the world."
"People change." His gaze is steady, assessing. "Dreams change."
"Yes." I look back toward the valley, where festival lights begin to glow as dusk approaches. "They do."
Silence stretches between us, filled with unspoken words and shared history. The breeze picks up, carrying the scent of pine and the distant sound of music from the festival below.
"Do you ever think about it?" Noah asks suddenly. "About us? What might have been if..."
