Chapter 1: Afternoon Pickup
The air in the cabin was thick with the scent of pine resin and damp wool. Nicole dropped her duffel bag onto the rough-hewn quilt of the double bed, the springs groaning in protest. Through the thin wall, she could hear the rush of water from the shower in their tiny bathroom, David already washing off the long drive.
Her fingers traced the knotty wood of the bedpost. Safe. Stable. Predictable. The three words thudded in her chest like a familiar, slow-tempo song. David was all of those things. She loved him for it. Most days.
A sharp knock at the cabin door made her jump.
“Nic? You guys decent?” Larry’s voice, warm and easy, came through the wood.
She tightened the towel around her chest, the damp ends of her long hair dripping onto her shoulders. David must have left the door unlocked. “Just a sec!”
The towel was a problem. It was one of the thin, scratchy ones provided by the retreat, and it seemed to have shrunk since the last time she’d used it. She clutched it closed with one hand and opened the door with the other.
Larry stood on the porch, a ceramic mug steaming in his hand. He was backlit by the late afternoon sun filtering through the fir trees, turning his blonde hair into a fuzzy halo. He’d already changed into a worn grey sweatshirt and jeans.
“Hey. Made some coffee. Thought you might want a cup before we—” His sentence dissolved. His eyes, which had been fixed on her face, dipped. It was just a flicker, a microsecond of downward motion, but it landed on the straining terrycloth where her breasts were barely contained. He snapped his gaze back up, a faint pink creeping up his neck. “Uh. Before we all head down to the lake.”
Nicole didn’t adjust the towel. She felt a reckless current surge through her, a disconnect from the woman who folded David’s socks and made spreadsheets for fun. The cool cabin air raised goosebumps on her exposed collarbones.
“David’s in the shower,” she said, her voice quieter than she intended.
“Right. I can… I can just leave this for him.” Larry held out the mug, his smile stiff.
“No, it’s okay. I’ll take it.” She reached for the mug, her fingers brushing his. A simple static shock, nothing more. He let go as if burned. She took the mug, the heat seeping into her palms. “Thanks, Larry. That’s really thoughtful.”
“No problem. Always travel with my own grinder. Sarah laughs at me.” He was rambling, shoving his hands into his pockets. His eyes were fixed determinedly on a point just over her left shoulder.
Nicole leaned her shoulder against the doorframe. The movement made the towel’s precarious grip even more tenuous. She saw his jaw tighten. “I’m so happy we’re all here,” she said, deliberately slowing her words. “This trip. Together.”
Finally, his eyes met hers. The easy charm was gone, replaced by a startling intensity. The blue of his irises seemed darker here in the shadowed porch. He wasn’t smiling anymore. He was just looking, his breath a faint, visible cloud in the cool air between them. She could hear the faint, rhythmic thump of the shower through the wall, a timer counting down.
“Yeah,” he said, the word rough. “Me too.”
For a long moment, neither of them moved. The forest around them was silent, holding its breath. The moment stretched, thin and taut as a wire. He was close enough that she could smell the coffee on his breath, and beneath it, the clean, sharp scent of his soap.
The shower stopped.
The sudden silence was a guillotine.
Larry blinked, taking a full step back, the casual mask sliding back into place with an almost audible click. “Okay, well. I’ll make another pot for David. Just send him over.”
“I will.”
He gave a short nod, already turning away. “Great. See you in a few.”
She watched him walk the ten feet to his own cabin, his shoulders squared against the cold. He didn’t look back.
Nicole closed the door softly, her back against the cool wood. The bathroom door creaked open, and a plume of steam billowed out, carrying the smell of David’s citrus body wash.
“Was someone at the door?” David asked, rubbing his hair with a towel. He looked comfortable, at home in the cramped space.
“Just Larry,” Nicole said, lifting the mug. “Bringing coffee.”
“Oh, nice.” David smiled, a genuine, warm smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “He’s a good guy.”
Nicole brought the mug to her lips and took a sip. The coffee was perfect, rich and dark, exactly how she liked it. Larry had known that. She looked over the rim at David, her sweet, reliable David, and felt a confusing twist of affection and guilt.
“Yeah,” she whispered, the ceramic hot against her lip. “He is.”
Outside, the wind picked up, sighing through the pines. The feeling in her chest wasn’t peace. It was a low, resonant hum, like a plucked string, vibrating long after the sound should have faded. She took another sip, the heat spreading through her, feeling it all the way down to her suddenly unsteady fingertips. It was just coffee. It was just a look.
But the air in the cabin felt different now, charged and thin, as if she’d opened the door to a colder, sharper season. She set the mug down on the dresser, her reflection in the dark window a pale, wide-eyed ghost looking back at her. The flush on her skin wasn't from the steam. It was a fever from the inside.