Cal stepped inside.
Her space was lived-in. Mismatched furniture and overflowing bookshelves and plants on every windowsill. A reading nook by the front window that looked well-used,cushions dented from years of occupation. Her grandmother’s portrait hung above the fireplace—an older woman with Dahlia’s eyes and a knowing smile.
Marzipan appeared from the shadows, fixing Cal with a suspicious golden stare.
“I’m not here to cause trouble.”
The cat’s tail swished.Jury’s still out,the gesture seemed to say.
Cal found the kitchen, started the coffee, and tried not to notice how much her apartment smelled like her. His bear wanted to roll in it. Wanted to saturate himself in her scent until he couldn’t tell where he ended and she began.
Down,he told his animal.We’re helping her. That’s all.
His bear didn’t dignify that with a response.
NINETEEN
CAL
The drive up the mountain was quiet.
Dawn was breaking in slow increments—the sky shifting from black to indigo to the first pale gold at the horizon. Dahlia sat in the passenger seat with a travel mug clutched in her hands, still soft with sleep, watching the trees roll past.
She’d dressed practically—jeans, a soft flannel shirt, boots that had seen actual use. Her hair was braided, the tail of it falling over one shoulder. No makeup. No artifice. Just her.
Cal kept his eyes on the winding road and tried not to stare.
“You really couldn’t sleep?” Her voice broke the silence, curious rather than accusing.
“No.”
“Because of what I said yesterday.”
Cal’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Partly.”
“I shouldn’t have?—”
“You should have.” He glanced at her, then back to the road. “You weren’t wrong. About any of it.”
She was silent for a moment. “That doesn’t mean I had to say it like that. Sharp words are easy. Kindness takes more effort.”
“Maybe I needed sharp.” The admission surprised him as much as it seemed to surprise her. “Nobody’s talked to me like that in... I don’t know how long. Everyone in my life either wants something from me or works for me. Neither group tells me uncomfortable truths.”
“That sounds lonely.”
Cal didn’t answer. The road curved, climbing higher into the mountains. The trees gave way to open meadows, wildflowers beginning to show color in the pre-dawn light.
“It is,” he said finally. “Lonely. I didn’t realize how much until I came back here.”
Dahlia turned to look at him. He could feel her attention pressing against him, deliberate and focused.
“Then I’m glad you came back.”
Simple words. They shouldn’t have affected him the way they did—shouldn’t have made his ribs tighten, shouldn’t have made his bear stir with hope.
He pulled off onto a gravel road marked by faded signs. The meadows opened up around them, dotted with painted hive boxes in patterns that followed ley line flows. Dozens of them, arranged in clusters, humming with quiet life even in the early morning.
“Oh.” Dahlia’s voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s beautiful.”
