Every head turned.
A man stood on the edge of the firelight, tall and still, camera hanging from one hand. The shadows painted him in gold and smoke. His dark hair fell across his brow, and his eyes—God, his eyes—were so dark they seemed to swallow the stars.
Heat unfurled in her chest, deep and startling. She should have been embarrassed about the spill. But all she could think about was the way his presence tilted the night. Like gravity had chosen a new direction and it was pulling her directly toward him.
Kit broke the silence, her grin lighting up her face. “Oh! You came!”
He stepped closer, voice smooth and quiet. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle anyone.”
Krista found her voice. Barely. “Liar,” she said, smiling at the stranger.
He crouched to help, pulling a folded napkin from the table and dabbing at the spill. “Here, let me.”
“It’s fine,” she said quickly, though her cheeks were burning as his hand brushed her knee.
“Everyone,” Kit said, sounding far too pleased with herself, “this is Joe Valerio. He’s new in town—a travel journalist stayingat the campground. We met earlier at the bakery, and I invited him to join us tonight.”
Krista swallowed. “The campground?”
“Her grandparents’ place,” Zoe supplied.
Joe glanced up, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “Then you must be Krista. Zoe told me all about you. And your grandparents are wonderful.”
His gaze lifted properly, meeting hers. There was amusement there, but something steadier beneath it. Like he was memorizing her reaction with an assessing calmness.
The fire popped, sparks rising. Krista’s pulse thrummed in her ears, the air hot and charged.
It was as if the whole world stopped spinning and was holding its breath.
Even then, Krista knew she would remember this moment for the rest of her life. She also knew that it had come at exactly the wrong time.
This was supposed to be the summer when she would follow her head, not her heart. The season she made the sensible choice. Let go of her dream. Do what needed to be done.
But as she looked at him standing in the firelight, her heart surged anyway—wild and undeniable. With a sudden, sinking certainty, Krista knew that if she followed its call, her life would change in ways she hadn’t planned for at all.
So, what was she supposed to do with a feeling like this?
TWO
JOE
Tuesday
Joe wasn’t used to being the center of anything. He’d built a life out of staying just outside the frame, the quiet observer behind the camera. All the best travel journalists were. You watched, you waited, you learned to breathe in rhythm with the world until it forgot you were there.
But then he saw her. The Queen Bee.
Krista. Her face golden in the firelight, a story spilling from her soft lips. Something about the tilt of her chin, the wild curls framing her heart-shaped face, made him forget everything he’d planned about fading into the background. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. And he could sense, from the barely concealed smirks of her friends, that they had noticed.
He sat on a wicker couch, a cold drink in his hand. The glass sweated against his palm, leaving a circle of moisture on his jeans. Across from him, a group of women talked over one another in the easy way only old friends could. Their voices rose and fell like music.
Even now his fingers itched for his camera. Hewanted to capture the effortless camaraderie that spoke of years of friendship. But most of all, he wanted to capture her.
“So, Joe, what brings you to Maple Falls exactly?” asked the redhead—Madison, he thought.
“Work,” he said. “Originally, covering the Local Blooms project, the garden for veterans and children.”
Zoe, the town’s florist, raised her glass with a smile. “Thanks again.”
