Her smile turned slow, wicked. “Who said we had to make it to the library?”
Joe let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-pain. “You’re killing me.”
“And you like it.”
He kissed her once more—shorter, a promise instead of a plunge—then made himself step back, hands falling to his sides like that was a normal thing to do when his body was still vibrating with her.
Krista exhaled and smoothed her hair with trembling fingers, then looked out at the town again. She glanced back. “Okay, fine. Let’s go to the library.”
Joe followed, jaw tight, trying to pretend he wasn’t already counting the hours until he could have her somewhere with a locked door.
A short while later, they slipped past the stacks, the floor creaking beneath their steps, and reached the small back room markedArchives. The light was dimmer here, filtered through high windows and drifting dust motes. Old ledgers lined onewall; bound newspapers were stacked neatly by year along another. A lone microfilm machine hummed in the corner.
Krista trailed her fingers along the spines of the old volumes. “I used to come here as a kid. Grandma would drop me off for story hour, and I’d sneak back here. The old stuff felt like treasure.”
Joe smiled faintly, rolling up his sleeves. “Still does.”
He tried to focus—on Isabel, on the mystery—but his mind kept circling back to the taste of Krista’s lips, the warmth of her skin, the way she’d moved against him like she fit there.
He reminded himself why he didn’t do this. He didn’t get involved, not anymore. He wasn’t staying. His life fit into a backpack. People like Krista deserved roots, permanence—things he didn’t have to offer.
But that didn’t stop him from wanting her.
“Okay,” he said, snapping himself back to the present. “What year did your great-grandmother go missing?”
“1946,” Krista answered.
Joe loaded the microfilm reel. The machine whirred softly as black-and-white headlines flickered across the screen—fundraisers, fishing tournaments, weddings. Then one stopped him cold.
“Krista,” he said quietly. “I think I’ve got something.”
She leaned over his shoulder, her perfume faintly floral, warm. He pointed to the faded headline:Local Bride Vanishes—Search Underway At Bear Lake
Krista’s hand flew to her mouth as he read aloud:
“Miss Isabel Arroyo, 20, of Maple Falls, disappeared yesterday evening following a dinner celebrating her upcoming marriage to Peter Callahan. The young woman was last seen walking near Bear Lake at dusk. Local authorities have launched a search. Mr. Callahan, her fiancé, has expressed hope that she will be found safely.”
Krista murmured, “Peter Callahan. We have a last name.”
Joe sat back, studying the page. “So, she didn’t marry him. Maybe she ran away instead?”
“Because of Jonah.” Krista nodded.
“Could be.” He looked at her, watching the thoughts flicker behind her eyes. “If she was in love with someone else, and her family was forcing the match…”
“She ran,” Krista said softly. “She must have.”
The hum of the machine filled the room. Joe leaned back, hands on his knees. “The last diary entry said she had to choose—duty or desire. Maybe she chose him.”
Krista nodded, still staring at the screen. “But then what happened? Because my great-grandfather’s name is definitely not Jonah.”
“Families bury things,” Joe said quietly.
Krista looked down at her phone, opening the photo of Isabel’s diary. “Then I guess I better see what I can uncover.”
She smiled faintly, but something deeper flickered in her eyes. They were unraveling a secret love story, chasing ghosts—but all Joe could think about was the living, breathing woman beside him.
Would they uncover a happy ending for Isabel? And was he ready to face their own story’s end?
