I don’t know.
I walk aimlessly down Main Street, needing movement to process the overwhelming swirl of emotions. I find myself at Margie's Bakery, drawn by the promise of comfort food and the normalcy of everyday commerce.
The bell jingles cheerfully as I enter. The sweet, buttery scent envelops me like a hug, momentarily soothing my agitation.
"Riley, dear." The voice that greets me isn't Margie's, but Eleanor Morgan's. Noah's grandmother sits at a corner table, a cup of tea and a half-eaten scone before her. "What perfect timing. Join me, won't you?"
It feels like a setup, but refusing would be rude and conspicuous. I smile and slide into the chair across from her, ordering coffee when Margie approaches with raised eyebrows and poorly concealed curiosity.
"Lovely festival yesterday, wasn't it?" Eleanor stirs her tea with deliberate precision. "I heard you participated quite enthusiastically in the boat race."
Heat creeps up my neck. "Not my finest athletic moment."
"Nonsense. You provided the most entertainment that event has seen in years." Her smile is sly. "My grandson certainly seemed to enjoy the rescue operation."
I take a fortifying sip of the coffee Margie delivers with suspicious speed. "Mrs. Morgan?—"
"Eleanor, please. Or Gram, as most call me."
"Eleanor." I try again. "I appreciate your friendliness, but if you're here to defend Noah?—"
"Defend him?" She laughs, a surprisingly rich sound from such a diminutive woman. "Good heavens, no. That boy can fight his own battles. Always could."
"Then...?"
"I simply thought you might like to hear some stories that wouldn't make it into your official interviews." She pats my hand. "About the real Noah. The one behind the uniform and the titles."
Against my better judgment, I'm intrigued. "What kind of stories?"
Eleanor's eyes twinkle. "Did you know he turned down the Colorado Wilderness Rescue Team three years ago? Most prestigious mountain rescue unit in the Rockies. Doubled salary, career advancement, the works."
"Why would he do that?" The question escapes before I can stop it.
"They wanted him to run their training program. Design their protocols." Pride suffuses her voice. "But it would have meant leaving Angel's Peak at a crucial time. It was before Lucas Reid returned and took back The Haven from the resort corporation managing it. They were threatening to pull out, and businesses were struggling."
She leans forward, voice dropping conspiratorially. "So instead, he started our own mountain rescue certification program. Got state and federal recognition. Now, other departments send their peoplehereto train withhim."
As she speaks, Eleanor paints a picture of a man I'm only beginning to understand—one who channels his considerable talents into building something lasting, who sees potential where others see limitations, and who chooses commitment over convenience time and again.
"He never does anything halfway," she continues. "Gets that from his grandfather. Whether it's installing my new waterheater or designing the county's emergency response system—full heart, full effort."
The unspoken implication hangs between us: including loving me, all those years ago.
My phone buzzes, mercifully interrupting the increasingly uncomfortable conversation. My editor's name flashes on the screen.
"I'm sorry, I need to take this." I stand, genuinely relieved for the escape. "Thank you for the company, Eleanor."
"Anytime, dear." Her smile suggests she knows exactly the effect her words have had. "I have a feeling we'll be seeing more of each other."
I step outside to take the call, leaning against the bakery's outer wall. "Lisa, hi."
"Riley! How's mountain life treating you?" My editor's voice crackles with her usual energy. "Got your preliminary notes this morning."
"And?"
"Good bones. Great economic angle, solid understanding of the tourism strategy." She pauses. "But it's missing a heart. The human element. Who are these people beyond their business titles? What drives them to stay and rebuild rather than leave for easier opportunities?"
The irony of this feedback, given my conversations with Noah and Eleanor, is not lost on me.
