Page 87 of Only Mine
He purrs in response, utterly unconcerned with boundaries or social media contracts or the fact that I keep looking out my window toward the road that leads to Saint’s restaurant.
I check my phone, and there are already five comments on the new post. My thumb hovers over the notification, but I force myselfnotto read them. Not yet.
Baby steps, like Brenda said.
The apartment above Cornerstone Books is exactly what I needed. Cozy, private, with tall windows that catch the setting sun.
Marcus charges me a laughably low rent, and the location lets me pretend I’m establishing a routine. Coffee from Libby Jude’s. Fresh produce from the farmers’ market. Afternoon walks along Main Street, where I nod at shopkeepers who’ve started recognizing me.
Five days of this new normal. Five days since I left the guesthouse.
Five days without seeing either Saint or Ivy.
That part hurts most of all. I’ve caught myself reaching for my phone a dozen times to text Saint and ask how she’s doing with Erin. Is she still fighting the transition? Is she painting trees? Has she convinced anyone to get her a ferret yet?
But what would I even say?Hey, just checking if your daughter still misses me as much as I miss her. Oh, and how’s that qualified nanny working out after our meaningless hookup?
“This is pathetic,” I mutter, setting my phone down.
Ralph meows in agreement.
I need to get out of this apartment and do something productive besides filming myself arranging throw pillows.
Falcon Haven is full of picturesque spots I haven’t explored yet. The gazebo in the town square. The covered bridge just outside of town. The nature trail that winds along the creek. Perfect backdrops for casual, non-threatening content that won’t trigger my anxiety or breach any contracts.
I throw on a blue sweater and my most comfortable pair of ripped jeans, grab my phone, and head downstairs. The bookstore is quiet this morning, just Marcus reorganizing a display and one elderly customer browsing the mystery section.
“Morning, Wrenley,” Marcus calls. “Ralph abandon his post again?”
“Afraid so. He’s claimed my bed as his new territory.”
Marcus chuckles. “Let me know if he becomes a nuisance.”
“Never,” I promise, pausing at the door. “Hey, is there a walking trail nearby? Something scenic but not too strenuous?”
“Maple Creek Trail starts about three blocks east. Can’t miss it. Beautiful this time of year.”
“Thanks, Marcus.” I duck out the door and head east, exhaling in a way that would make my online yoga instructor proud when the cool autumn air kisses my cheeks.
This is good for me. It’s exactly why I came to Falcon Haven in the first place. Saint was just a … an interlude. A sexy one. An irresistible one.
Anunobtainableone.
The trail appears exactly where Marcus said it would, marked by a weathered wooden sign. Fallen leaves crunch beneath my sneakers as I follow the winding path deeper intothe woods. The canopy above shifts from green to gold to fiery red, creating a kaleidoscope effect when sunlight filters through.
Perfect for content. I lift my phone, framing a shot of the tunnel of trees ahead, then add a voice-over about finding peace in nature. It sounds almost convincing, even to me.
I’m twenty minutes into the hike when I reach a small wooden bridge spanning Maple Creek. The water below rushes over smooth stones, creating a soothing soundtrack. I lean against the railing, my muscles relaxing for the first time in days.
My phone buzzes. Brenda again, this time with a screenshot of my latest post’s engagement numbers. They’re climbing, but nowhere near what they used to be. The message below reads:Good start. Ready to show your face yet?
I ignore it, slipping the phone back into my pocket.
Farther down the trail, I find a small clearing with a fallen log. I position my phone on a nearby stump, setting the timer for a long-range shot of me looking contemplatively into the distance.
The camera clicks three times before I hear footsteps on the trail behind me.
I turn, expecting to see another hiker, but my breath catches when I spot a familiar small figure in purple boots picking her way carefully over the roots.
