“And,” he continued, his eyes brightening with the memory, “I complained the whole way. Every root, every rock, I swore he was trying to kill me.” He chuckled, shaking his head at himself. “I wanted to turn back about ten times, but Grandpa just kept walking. Wouldn’t even look at me. And then we got there, and for the first time I saw why. It was as if we’d stepped into another world. I remember thinking, ‘This is why he didn’t stop. This is why he kept pushing.’ It was like this hidden paradise in the middle of nowhere.”
Something tugged in my chest as I pictured him—gangly and frustrated, standing in front of something wild and beautiful, learning that some things were worth the fight to get there.
“And then,” Dean added, his grin widening, “I twisted my ankle on the way back to the lodge. Made it about a mile before I couldn’t go any farther. I thought Grandpa was going to be disappointed—I hated to let anyone down—but he just picked me up, threw me over his shoulder, and carried me the whole way—and we never spoke of it again.”
I smiled softly, realizing how special their relationship had been from the very start. “He sounds like a wonderful man,” I said gently.
Dean’s gaze dropped to the ground ahead of us, his voice softening in a way that made my heart ache. “He is. When everything else fell apart, he was the one thing that never moved.”
We walked in silence for a while after that, the trail narrowing as the sound of rushing water began to rise through the trees. But I carried the image of that boy with me—the one who had tripped and stumbled, and then been carried by a man who’d helped raise him.
The rush of water grew louder with every step, a steady roar threading through the air until it swallowed the quiet between us. Dean glanced back once, a knowing look in his eyes, before pushing aside a curtain of low branches.
And then we were there.
The forest opened into a hidden clearing, and the world seemed to fall away. A sheet of water poured from a jagged rise of rock, crashing down into a wide pool of water in front of us. Mist hung in the air, catching the sunlight and painting rainbows. And the sound—God, the sound—was so powerful and alive. The air was cooler here, damp and fresh, wrapping around my skin like a second breath.
I stopped dead, my mouth parting. “Dean… it’s beautiful.”
His lips curved faintly, but he didn’t look at the falls. He looked at me. “First time I saw it, I thought it was magic. A part of me still does.”
He set the paper sack down on a flat boulder and sat, gesturing for me to join him. I lowered myself beside him, stealing glances at the boy I could almost see layered beneath the man—the eleven-year-old with skinned knees and stubborn pride, standing here for the first time, watching the water crash down as though it came from the heavens.
Dean leaned back on his hands, the mist dampening his hair at the edges. “Grandpa told me once that places like this are anchors. You find them young, and you carry them your whole life. And when the world gets too heavy… you come back. You let it remind you that some things are still bigger than you.”
I swallowed hard, my chest aching. It wasn’t just a story. I could hear the truth stitched into his voice—the weight of what this place meant to him.
The roar of the falls sent vibrations through my body, and for a while we just sat there, shoulder to shoulder, watching the water crash and churn and rise again.
Then Dean moved. He tugged his shirt over his head in one smooth pull and dropped it carelessly onto the rock.
My brows shot up. “What are you doing?”
He stood, grinning in a way that made him look younger, freer. “What do you think?” And before I could blink, he kicked off his shoes, stripped down to his boxers, and waded into the lake.
Before long he dove in, surfacing a moment later, close to the base of the falls, slicking his dark hair back, and called out to me. “Come on! You didn’t hike all the way just to sit on a rock, did you?”
I laughed at his expression, though my pulse was racing. He looked so at ease, like the entire lake belonged to him. And God help me, I wanted to belong there, too.
Before I had time to talk myself out of it, I slipped out of my dress, folded it carefully beside his shirt, and waded into the water wearing only my bra and panties. The shock of the cold stole my breath, but then his voice carried across the water—warm, teasing, urging me forward. “Come on!”
So I dove.
The water swallowed me whole, and when I surfaced, he was already there waiting, grinning like a fool. His hands caught my waist, steadying me in the current, and the laugh that tore from my throat was half joy, half disbelief.
We drifted closer to the falls, the current nudging us toward the curtain until the roar deafened everything else. Mist clung to our skin, cool against the lingering heat of the sun, beads of water catching in my hair, sliding down my cheeks.
Dean’s hand skimmed along my side, steadying me as the water churned near the drop. His eyes caught mine, the blue-gray light around us shifting with the spray, and for a breathless second the world slowed.
The sound of the falls became a living heartbeat, pounding through my chest. The air tasted sharp with minerals, damp and wild, but all I could feel was the closeness of him.
Then he leaned in, slow enough that I knew he was giving me the chance to turn away—slow enough to make my pulse trip over itself. His forehead brushed mine, mist settling between us, and when his lips finally covered mine, everything else vanished.
The cold of the water didn’t matter. The noise didn’t matter. It was just him. His mouth on mine, coaxing, steady, stealing the breath from my lungs until I didn’t know if it was the current or the kiss that left me weightless.
His hand slid lower, anchoring at my hip, drawing me flush against him as the current swirled and I felt his erection press against me. Then his kiss grew deeper, hungrier, and my fingers dug into his shoulders, desperate to hold on to the heat of him.
The falls thundered around us, but it was his pulse I felt hammering against mine. Every movement, every brush of his lips, every slip of his hand against wet skin sent sparks down my spine. Then he pulled away, just far enough to look at me. Droplets clung to his lashes, running down the line of his jaw. He was so handsome just the sight of him made me feel feral inside.
