And now, as all good candidates went, she was out of my life. On her way to see a friend in Seattle, and staunchly non-committed.
Just like JJ and I had been once.
“I'm a mover,” she'd explained with a wide, unapologetic grin that betrayed white teeth around her spiraling black hair. “I get itchy feet after just a few weeks, you know? But I figure I want to meet people as I head around. Want to see the world and all the people in it. A dating app is a great way to do it.”
To my surprise, I wasn't as disappointed as I'd expected. Just as I wasn't as heartsick over seeing Lizbeth today as I thought I'd be. Tonight, I was more pained seeing their happiness together rather than her response to JJ instead of me.
It felt like . . . something.
The porch light was still on—I always forgot to turn it off—when I reached for the doorknob, then stopped. It wouldn't twist open.
Locked?
Blinking, I tried again.
Definitely locked.
Had I locked it on my way out? No. I didn't even lock it when I went out of town because who would come here? But it was definitely locked. Startled, I reached into my coat pocket to pull out my keys, letting out a breath of relief that I still had a house key on here.
When the door swung open, I stopped a second time.
A pile of short, golden hair spilled across the end of my couch. Stella. A blanket appeared to be snuggled up over her shoulder. Although a movie flickered across the TV, she was clearly missing all of it. My eyebrow lifted. Ah, one of Lizbeth's romances. She bought way too much of that garbage.
I quietly shut the door as I puzzled out what had happened, then felt a stab of concern. She'd locked herself in my house. Had she heard from Joshua? Had that jerk of a boss called again? No, she had no phone, which we also had to fix. We'd get her a line under my family's plan. He couldn't trace that. Before I charged in there to demand answers, I forced myself to cool down. Waking her up wouldn't change anything.
And I definitely didn't mind that she came here.
My keys were silent as I pushed them back in my coat to keep them from rattling, and peeled it off. Stella didn't even stir as I carefully built the fire back up to warm up the chill in the air. Wind huffed by outside, bringing in a pile of clouds that could spritz overnight.
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
