Runaway

by Katie Cross

  Once the fire started rolling, I sat on the floor and leaned my back against the end of the couch while I logged back into the Hearts on Fire app to type Shanti a quick thank you. Two more potential dates—what a weird way to look at people in the world—had sent messages, but I ignored them for now.

  After I sent it, I glanced back to Stella.

  With her eyes closed, her face slack, she seemed younger, somehow. How old was she, anyway? I pegged her at 28. Her lips were slightly parted, her fingers curled beneath her left cheek, which she laid on. In the firelight, her highlights glimmered in different tones of blonde and brown. A lock of hair had fallen across her forehead and I had to stifle the urge to tuck it away.

  My chest tightened.

  The date with Shanti had been fun, but finding Stella asleep on my couch looking so peaceful was better. With a sigh, I answered some text messages from Mom, who had, of course, heard about Stella somehow—I blamed Lizbeth—and wanted all the details. Dad asked about a fishing trip. Camilo responded to my question about his painting career, which had crashed in a fiery plume of hatred when he couldn't hack watercolor. I crossed him off my mental list of potential candidates and sighed. For a while, I'd forgotten about our project to get the cabin rented.

  While I skimmed through my messages, answering all of them, the room filled with warmth again. Eventually, after I sent off a few more messages to people that I knew needed a mountain escape (even if they didn't realize it themselves), Stella stirred.

  I kept my gaze on my phone and waited for her to see me first. She'd wake up any second now and—

  “Oh!”

  Her gasp brought her almost off the couch. She bolted up, hazy with sleep, an adorable red mark on her left cheek from where she’d rested it on her knuckles. The blanket fell off her shoulders, and I realized it wasn't a blanket, but one of my zippered sweatshirts.

  Stella blinked several times.

  “Mark?”

  “Hey.”

  “I'm . . .” She licked her lips as her eyes darted around, still a bit wild. They calmed as the pieces must have clicked back into place. “Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't . . . I mean . . .”

  “Is everything okay?”

  She rubbed a hand over her eyes, then collapsed back against the couch with a groan. “Yes, it's fine. I just . . . I . . .”

  She mumbled something I couldn't make out.

  “You what?”

  She sighed almost violently. “I got scared.”

  The back of my neck prickled. “Scared?” I asked quietly.

  “Joshua emailed me.” She covered her face with her hands. “But even before that, I was freaked out. It sounds so silly now but sitting out there alone in that cabin was . . . I don't know. Scary. I'm not used to the mountains and surely not by myself. It's such a small cabin that you can hear every single sound outside.”

  Understanding flooded me then.

  “The mountain lion?”

  She nodded, still hidden under her fingers.

  “I don't blame you,” I said. “That cat is a bit too bold. I'd be nervous too.”

  She peered at me from between split fingers. “You're just saying that.”

  I shook my head. “No. I'd be freaked out too if I didn't grow up here and live here full time. You get used to it after a while, but it's scary at first. A healthy respect isn't a bad thing.”

  Seeming relieved, she dropped her hands from her face. “I guess I felt safer in here. Sorry I sort of went all Goldilocks on you.”

  That drew a laugh out of me. How perfect—she was goldilocks. “Nah, not a big deal. I'm glad you came. You're definitely safe from the kitty in your cabin, but I can see how it wouldn't feel that way. There's a lot less noise in here.”

  She blinked away the last of sleep. Her eyes focused a bit more, but still drooped as she fought off a yawn.

  “What did Joshua say?”

  An instant scowl marred her face. “Just . . . a stupid email. The feds must be processing something because all the claims I put through were rejected. I think it's made him suspicious. I don't want to talk about him. How was your date?” she asked sleepily.

  I shrugged. “Good. I mean . . . fun. I'll never see her again but it was worth the drive and the time.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Shanti just wanted someone to have dinner with on her way through here. Wasn't ever meant to be something.”

  “Oh.”

  She seemed to process that, but the last thing I wanted to talk to her about was my dating life.

  “How long have you been home?” she asked with a light color on her cheeks.

  “A few minutes. Wanted to get the fire warmed up so you didn't freeze, and before I went to bed.” I paused. “Why don't you stay here tonight?”

  She struggled against another yawn. “Really?”

  “Of course. It's cold out there. You can take my bed or stay where you are.”

  “Here,” she said quickly. “I'm not going to take your bed from you, but thank you for the offer.”

  I snorted. “Probably wise. Who knows what it smells like.”

  An amused smile threatened her lips. I stretched my arms over my head, my stomach still bursting with a delicious chorizo burrito and the memory of Spanish rice. A little color rose on her cheeks, but she yawned before I could make sense of it.

  “This,” she murmured as she snuggled in deeper, “is perfect. Thank you, Mark, for being . . . my friend.”

  I dashed up the stairs, grabbed my best pillow and favorite blanket, and brought them back down. She snuggled into them with a grateful little sigh, another garbled thanks, and fell asleep seconds later.

  With a warm chuckle, I checked the fire, loaded one last log inside to smolder, flicked the light off, and climbed the stairs.

  But it wasn't where I wanted to be.

  “ToasterTarts, SugarFlakes, and homemade french toast, but I only have one egg, so it'll be more like . . . toast. That's what I can offer you for breakfast here at Mark's HomeBnB. Can you see why Adventura might be lost?”

  Stella's lips twitched.

  We stood in front of my small fridge and stared at the less-than-desirable contents with mutual disappointment. She still had a blanket wrapped all the way around her, her hair adorably tousled and eyes still sleepy. Sunlight streamed in through the windows and warmed my bare feet. Outside a brisk wind blew, scuttling leaves across the dirt. In the distance, a deer and her yearling grazed by, oblivious to the nip in the breeze.

  I tried not to think about how nice it was not to wake up alone in this cabin. To hear the shuffle of life moving around. The smell of coffee drifting up the ladder to wake me. There were a lot of reasons that I wanted to get that cabin rented, but the top of the list was closer proximity to Stella.

  “Can we . . .”

  She stopped herself. I lifted my eyebrows and scratched at an itch along my side.

  “Can we?”

  “Could we go into Jackson City? Isn't there a small diner somewhere or something? I'd like to try something different. We could talk about what Lizbeth said yesterday about her updates. We only have five days left of the seven days.”

  “Are you okay with that?”

  She nodded firmly.

  The idea of going anywhere with her sounded great to me, even with the pall of a five-day countdown hanging over us. Actually, civilization is what we needed. More networking was in order now that Camilo had backed out as a possibility. Overnight, a couple friends had responded to my text messages with interest, but nothing definite. I flicked the fridge door shut with my wrist, gratified that she hadn't scampered back to her place the moment sunshine hit the sky.

  “Of course,” I said. “Get some clothes on, girl. Let's get us some literally heart-stopping American diner breakfast.”

  15

  Stella

  The decision to get out of Adventura had been, possibly, too impulsive on my part. My life wasn't a Loveline movie, and I did need to grab a few
things, bars of dark chocolate to stash in my cabin included, but the thought of civilization wasn't as easy as it used to be. Even though I wasn't in apparent danger from Joshua, I didn't feel safe amongst unknown people in general.

  With Mark though, it all felt so normal.

  And right now, I desperately needed to feel normal.

  My biggest fears used to be whether or not I'd get an account summarized in time, or whether Joshua would push me into a leadership position I didn't feel ready for, but always rose to the occasion to complete.

  Now I feared mountain lions and boredom. My life had fallen apart, taking my personal company down in a blaze of sparks, and I had nowhere to turn except my only remaining client.

  Who was Mark Bailey?

  The guy that once thought a giant carousel in the middle of his small mountain town would be a massive success and bring in tourists. The world in which I found myself just felt too weird sometimes.

  Besides, Mark had played my unexpected presence in his house off so easily last night. I wanted to take him to breakfast as a sort of thank you. And not at all because he'd had warmth in his voice when he spoke about Shanti. Or that he was on his phone all the time and I couldn't help but imagine all the girls he must be texting and maybe, just maybe, I wanted to be on this side of the situation for once.

  Now, with the quiet muffle of people around us, I was glad we came. Mark, who of course knew the hostess, had given his charming smile and finagled us a spot in the back corner. Being able to see the traffic zipping by on the highway outside the diner gave me a reassuring feeling.

  “Thanks.” I peered at him over the top of my menu. “This is great.”

  His smile widened. He wore a pair of jeans and a long-sleeve black shirt that stretched taut across his shoulders. He'd trimmed the beard again. Instead of curls off his chin, it contoured his face now. Would he have the same facial structure as his brother? Because if he did, he'd be devastating. Which seemed almost impossible because I couldn't imagine him any more attractive than I found him right now.

  The waitress came with an extra big smile for Mark, took our orders, and left us in the quiet booth with a little wink he didn't seem to notice.

  “What did Lizbeth have to say?” I asked.

  His expression momentarily darkened. “Just that there are a few more approval steps I'd forgotten about before we can list it on HomeBnB. We have to have some tax and licensure things to file for in the State. She's already getting them going.”

  “Wow. She's a dream.”

  A weird half-shrug/awkward grimace came next. “It's better for everyone if I don't attend to those details. Lizbeth is happy to do it.”

  “Are you paying her? Because we'll need to—”

  “Not yet. She was happy to help get it listed without pay. She's family.”

  As if that explained everything.

  My immediate rebuttal surfaced: that's not sustainable. He couldn't just rely on family members to run his company without getting paid. They'd get frustrated and leave eventually, or not do great work. Although Lizbeth didn't strike me as the type, and this was a one-time deal.

  So I stayed quiet.

  Grandma had always been loving and supportive. For the burden she'd been left when my parents died, she rose to the challenge without fear. But age had taken most of her family away from her. Siblings. Friends. Her husband died a year before I was born. My father, her son, had been her only child. Now she was a spritely old woman living her best life in a retirement home and we supported each other.

  But there had been no one else for us to fall back on.

  No safety net like Mark's. No one outside of neighbors and friends that we could truly fall back on if we were in danger of losing our house, or something. The way Mark was letting me fall on him.

  Did he know how lucky he was to have them?

  “When is your next date?” I asked before the ensuing silence felt burdened. Then I grabbed my water, stirring the clinking ice cubes with my straw to have something to do with my hands. He laughed, then shook his head.

  “Nothing lined up.”

  “Oh.”

  “Are you surprised?”

  I shrugged. “You seemed to be pretty active in the dating world.”

  “Sometimes. It ebbs and flows.”

  “Does it ever stick?”

  “Nah.” He shook his head, but there was a flicker that accompanied it. “Not really. It's been years since I've had anything steady, and even that lasted maybe two months. I've only been really online dating for the last couple of months.”

  My head tilted to the side, unable to comprehend that a man like Mark didn't have girls lining up to date him. Sure, he wasn't perfect, and some of his quirks were absolutely maddening, but wasn't that everyone?

  “You said your parents were divorced. What happened there?”

  He leaned back against the booth and I wondered if I'd plunged too deep, too fast. The topic didn't trigger an immediate emotion on his face, and I wondered if that was a tell for him. If Mark was anything, he was expressive. So I let the question ride without pulling it back.

  “Classic fall-in-love, fall-back-out kind of story.” He spoke dispassionately enough that I wondered if repeating the story had become rote. Still, there was an undercurrent of something there. Shock, maybe. Lingering disbelief. I'd felt that way for years after my parents died. Shouldn't divorce be mourned as well?

  “Mom and Dad grew apart and should have ended it sooner than they did. Finally, when Dad was preparing to retire, they realized they couldn't live together. So they split up.”

  “I'm sorry.”

  “Me too.” He nodded. “It sucked. I'm the oldest and closest to my Mom. We're a lot alike in some ways, where JJ is more like my Dad. I spent a lot of time just supporting her through it. She's better now. Not quite so . . .”

  “Needy?”

  His lips twitched. “For lack of a better word, yes.”

  “And how long have you been in love with Lizbeth?”

  He sucked in a sharp, sudden breath, his eyes a puzzle of shock. By sheer determination, I held his intensely questioning gaze. The question had been a calculated risk because I could be way off base and embarrass both of us. He may not be in love with her.

  Except for the sudden paleness of his face gave him away.

  “That obvious?” he croaked.

  “Only to me, I think.”

  Mark studied me, jaw tense, for so long that I regretted asking. Did he hate me for noticing? Was he frustrated with me? So many emotions seemed to show on his face that I didn't even want to move.

  “Months.” His nostrils flared. He balled up the straw wrapper and rolled it between his thumb and index finger. He paused, as if thinking, then shook his head. “I don't . . . I know I fell for her. I can't say I'm in love with her because, to be honest, I'm not sure I know what it feels like.”

  “To be in love?”

  “Yeah.”

  Our gazes met. For a tangled moment, my heart raced. There was heartbreak there. Sadness. The charming layers of Mark Bailey slid away for a moment before a half-smile shoved them back to where he must keep them hidden.

  “Me either,” I said.

  His eyebrows rose halfway to his hairline. “What?”

  I swallowed with a small chuckle that was more a nervous tick than amusement. “I think . . . I think I sort of lost myself after college. And in the losing, I forgot to live and date and . . . love. There have been plenty of boyfriends, but not real love. Crushes. Attraction. Flirtation. It all ended before it became too serious and happy. But I just . . . I guess I've put it off.”

  “What has been more important?”

  Genuine curiosity filled his eyes now, and I felt something welling in my chest. Something hot and thick and oily and heavy. It looked like my parents and grated, twisted metal and the quiet of Grandma's house. For a second, I felt sucked into a vortex where I couldn't breathe and I felt like a small five-year-old trying to make
sense of the pieces of her life again.

  The waitress reappeared with our plates, breaking the sudden sense of falling apart that had washed over me. One piece at a time, I pulled myself together. Syrupy huckleberry pancakes waited for me, a glob of butter melting over their golden tops. A massive omelet with four types of cheese sat in front of him. While he murmured thank you, I had a centering sip of cold water.

  Before another word could be spoken, Mark's phone jangled on the table. The name Lizbeth flashed across the screen and he brightened, a finger held up. “This should be about the cabin.”

  With a nod, I gestured for him to take it, then shoved a bite of pancake in my mouth so I couldn't say a word. He stood and slipped out of our booth. The moment he was gone, I slumped down, closed my eyes, and shook off the weird moment. My thoughts were scattered and incomplete.

  What had that been about?

  Whatever it was, I had a tingly-not-so-good feeling that it was inextricably linked to the fact that my life wasn't as happy as I'd thought it had been. My life had been routine the past few years. Sheltered. Quiet. Lonely. While that seemed a small mimicry of the world Grandma had gifted me, the bright chaos of living with Mark made me realize that for me, down that unchanging path, there wasn't joy. Never had been.

  Mark appeared again from outside as I poked and prodded at my pancake for several minutes, suddenly not that hungry. He stopped walking, then brightened as he cried out, “Hey! Seiko!”

  The sound of laughing, a back slap or two, followed instead. I looked up to see him speaking with a woman not far away. The sounds of the diner made it hard to hear individual words, but I caught snippets of music and practice and tour. Five minutes later, the sudden appearance of Mark with his arm around the petite girl with jet black hair and thin eyes drew my gaze up. She had black leather pants and a bright pink top. The tips of her hair were an electric blue.

  “Stella,” Mark said. “This is my friend Seiko.”

  Seiko smiled and stuck out a hand with a skull and crossbones ring on the middle finger. “Nice to meet you,” she said in a lyrical voice.