Joe met her gaze. “You have my word.”
And he meant it. Even as the reporter in him stirred, the man in him wanted to protect that spark in her eyes.
As Krista turned to clean the coffee machine, Joe looked around. The lake shimmered beyond the deck, sunlight catching on ripples like natural diamonds. Somewhere out on the water, a loon called out, greeting the day.
Closer, there were two mugs on the counter, still half-full, the honey jar glinting gold in the light, the breeze stirring the hanging vines.
A story was taking shape here; he could feel it. Not the kindhe’d planned to write, not the glossy travel piece Marcus was expecting. This one was personal. It was the kind that could change the person telling it.
Krista began to hum along with the song on the radio, soft and easy, and Joe felt something take root in his chest.
They took their coffees and sat over on the outdoor couch, overlooking the water. It was easy to slip into conversation. They talked some more about his travels, sharing places they’d like to go, Rome being a top destination on both of their bucket lists.
“To see the Trevi Fountain? Oh man, chef’s kiss!” Krista said with a laugh.
They hit on the heavier topics too, the foster homes he remembered the most. The people who showed up in his life when he needed them the most.
She in turn talked about her fish-out-of-water childhood. What it was like always wanting a different life than the one your parents had planned out for you, and the fallout when she’d run away to Maple Falls.
“I almost didn’t do it, you know,” she said.
“Move here?” Joe questioned.
Krista nodded. “I hated the thought of abandoning my sister, Robyn. But she surprised me. She didn’t resent me for escaping, and she wanted the Ivy League life. Can you imagine?” Krista had tried to laugh it off, but Joe could feel the heavier emotion there, the feelings of guilt that still weighed her down.
That morning something shifted inside Joe.
He’d stopped believing in destiny a long time ago. Somewhere between all the moves, the empty apartments, and the kind of childhood that taught you not to wait for miracles.
But here he was in Maple Falls, drawn to a woman with golden-brown curls, a freckle-scattered nose, and bright hazeleyes. He didn’t just want some photographs to remember her by.
He wanted her—God, he wanted her—wanted the taste of honey on her mouth, wanted her laughter turning into a gasp when he lifted her onto that bar top and stepped between her knees.
He was falling fast, and he couldn’t help but wonder if destiny hadn’t stopped believing inhim.
SEVEN
KRISTA
Wednesday, Two Days Before the Summer Swap
The drive around the lake shimmered in the midday sun, the air thick with pine and sun-warmed water. The road curved through stands of birch and oak, sunlight dancing over the windshield. Krista kept her hands steady on the wheel, gripping them a little too tight, as if that small act of control could somehow hold back the rest of her life. She needed Joe to see more of her world for the swap—but the next step, visiting her grandmother, carried a private weight that she didn’t feel ready to share.
By the time the community park came into view, Krista’s stomach had started to protest. She looked at the clock, saw it was past noon, and made an executive decision, swinging into the lot. “We’re grabbing food,” she announced, like it was all part of the lesson plan.
“Where are we going?” Joe searched out the window.
“Trust me, it’s a Maple Falls summer must-have.”
“Now you really have me intrigued.”
They stopped by the food truck parked near the pavilion.The food truck smelled like everything good in the world, filling the air with smoke and the rich tang of barbecue sauce. The guy at the window handed over two pulled pork sandwiches wrapped in red-and-white paper, the buns soft, the meat piled so high it was spilling out the sides. The sandwiches were topped with smoky barbecue sauce and tangy coleslaw. They added two crinkly bags of chips—still warm from sitting in the sun—and cold sodas fresh out of the cooler.
They took everything to a picnic table shaded under tall oaks and settled in. Krista was about to dive in when Joe took out his camera, organizing the food on the table.
“I thought people just did that on Instagram.” Krista laughed, watching him style the table and take photos, resting the camera on the table before shooting from above.
“You’d be surprised how many food shots I take. The magazines love them, and it really gives you a feel for the town. In fact, I’ll need a few more throughout the week.”
