The mystery wasn’t just a distraction for her; it was a thread back to Isabel, to the reckless, romantic parts of herself Krista rarely let surface. The ones that were hungry for more than responsibility.
Every time Krista read the pages, Joe saw her shoulders relax and her features soften. It was almost as if Isabel was reaching out to Krista, telling her that it was okay to want things for herself, too.
If Joe could help her, even for just one day, he’d give her that. Besides, Krista photographing the local cuisine for Swap Day Four could wait a bit. She’d have plenty of time while he was working at the Hideaway later.
They met Zoe and Jackson at a trailhead that morning, farther outside town. The gravel road gave way to packed dirt and tall pines towering overhead.
“Promise you’re not dragging us into a bear den?” Krista asked.
“If we see a bear, it’ll be more scared of you than you are of it,” Jackson said. “Probably.”
“I’ve never seen one here. But there’s a reason they call this place Bear Lake,” Zoe added, falling into step beside Krista. “Did you tell Joe the legend?”
“Legend? I don’t think even I know it,” Krista confessed. Then again, she didn’t read much local history. There was always too much to do.
“Oh, then allow me to do the honors. Jackson and I read about it while searching for the Moonlight Kiss,” Zoe explained.
“You see,” she went on, brushing a low branch out of the way, “a long time ago there was a girl from town who fell in love with a man who worked the lake. Depending on who you ask, he was a logger, a fisherman, or a guide.”
They followed the narrow trail as it curved downhill, pine needles soft underfoot. Joe watched Krista out of the corner of his eye. She was listening, even if she was scanning the trees for bears.
“They used to sneak up to a cave above the water,” Zoe continued. “Their spot. This little hidden pocket of rock where nobody could find them. Then one fall, a storm rolled in. He went out on the lake to help someone—again, the details change with every version—and he never came back. The story says the lake kept him.”
Krista slowed just enough that their shoulders nearlybrushed. Her hand found Joe’s like it belonged there, fingers sliding between his, warm and sure.
“The girl kept going back to the cave,” Zoe said quietly. “Month after month, sitting there like maybe he’d walk out of the trees. And that’s when the bear started showing up. A big black one that would stand between her and the water and just…watch. Never attacked, never came closer than the tree line. Just kept showing up whenever she did.”
Krista shivered, and Joe’s thumb stroked the back of her hand.
“People in town decided the bear was the lake giving her a piece of him back,” Zoe said with a small shrug. “That some part of him had found its way into this stubborn, watchful thing that wouldn’t leave her alone. So they started calling it Bear Lake.”
Krista huffed out a breath that was almost a laugh, but she didn’t let go. “Maple Falls. Turning grief into tourism since 1890.”
“Hey, we’re nothing if not resourceful,” Zoe said. “Anyway, the legend part is simple. If you see the black bear at Bear Lake, it means love’s around the corner. And if you see it when you’re with someone…” She glanced over her shoulder at Jackson, then back at them. “You’re supposed to be with that person. That’s the one you’ll weather every storm with.”
They walked in silence for a few beats; the only sounds were the crunch of earth under their boots, a chickadee calling somewhere overhead, and Frankie, marching ahead with his chest puffed out, ten pounds of pure overconfidence marching toward the woods.
They started up the trail, the air cooler under the canopy. Pine needles softened their steps. Sunlight came in thin, bright stripes, flickering across Krista’s bare legs as she walked in front of him. She’d thrown on another pair of cutoff shorts and a soft green T-shirt, her curls wrangled into aponytail.
He tried to think about anything other than wishing he could have some more private time with her.
The path narrowed, forcing them into a line: Jackson in front, Zoe just behind him, then Krista, then Joe.
“Nearly at the overhang I told you about,” Jackson called back. “It feeds into one of the creeks that runs toward the lake.”
“‘Water that sings,’” Zoe said. “We thought it might be a contender.”
Krista’s hand went automatically to the strap of her backpack, where Isabel’s diary was tucked safe inside. Joe saw the motion. He’d started to notice all her small tells—the way she chewed her lip when she worried, the way she often traced lines with her fingers.
The sound of water grew louder as they climbed a final short rise. Then the trees opened to a small clearing.
The waterfall wasn’t huge. It was more of a wide spill of water pouring over a mossy rock ledge, falling into a clear pool before slipping away between stones. Ferns clustered along the banks. The rock overhang above them curved out just enough to create a shallow shelter, the stone damp and cool beneath a lace of moss.
It was beautiful. Wild in a quiet way. The air here felt a few degrees cooler, the spray faint on his arms. The water’s voice was a constant rush, a steady hush instead of separate notes.
“Okay, wow,” Krista breathed.
Joe watched her take it in, her eyes shining, the tension in her shoulders easing.
