Page 14 of Dare to Fall
“What about her sister?”
“Agnes Collins still lives here in Cinnamon Creek. Stick around long enough, you might meet her. She’s a riot.”
I consider telling him what Fred said about the rafting company always needing help, but the last thing I want to do is fall back into old patterns. Ones where we talk about travelingthe world together, taking odds jobs in all our favorite places, and never staying in any one place long. Because let’s face it, what are the odds that he’llreallybe in Cinnamon Creek next summer?
“What are you going to do with a cabin, Tucker?”
“Live in it.”
“For how long?”
“Forever.”
I laugh at what I’m most certain is a joke, following Tucker back toward Bertha. I’m itching to take some scenic photos and take a direct path to my waterproof bag to retrieve my phone. “You trying to establish a home base or something?”
“I know this might come as a shock to you, but I’m putting down roots. Real ones.”
“Why now?”
“It’s time.”
I reach for my bag, unzipping it. “What changed?”
“My dad.”
“He’s not here, is he?” I snap my attention to Tucker, feeling an overprotectiveness rise to the surface. I was one of the few who knew what Tucker actually went through growing up. How awful his father was to him. How that piece of shit gambled away the college fund his grandparents left him. Maybe joining the military had less to do with me, and more to do with that situation.
All except the leaving without saying goodbye part.
“My dad’s dead.”
“Since when?”
“Since July.”
“I’m sorry?—”
“Don’t be. I’m not.”
“Is that how you got the money to buy Bertha and this plot of land?”
“Nope.”
“Oh, I should’ve known there wouldn’t be any money from that. Sorry, I didn’t mean to assume anything.” I reach into my bag, pushing around my wallet, lodge room key, sunglasses, and snacks. But there’s no trace of a phone. “Shit.”
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“My phone. It’s missing.” I look back in the direction we came, dreading the inevitable walk back toward the river to find it. It’s at least a mile, maybe a little farther if it fell out near the water. The sun will likely dip behind the mountains within the hour. Though I’m no stranger to braving it in nature, I’m not excited about a chilly walk in the dark.
“Of course you left it,” Tucker says, a statement, not a question.
“I didn’t mean to.”
“Maybe it’s a sign,” he adds.
“For what?”
“That you need to disconnect more.”
