Page 1 of Breaking Through

Chapter one

Holden

Through my viewfinder, Lake Michigan was dreamy and mystical, a monochromatic blend of pale gray and silver. Wisps of early morning mist danced on the surface. I adjusted the focus of my Polaroid, framing a perfect shot of hazy emptiness—

The surface of the water broke.

A man rose from the lake, like Poseidon emerging from his sub-aquatic domain. The water cascaded off his broad shoulders. His entire body, including the muscular chest, was a classical sculpture come to life. My finger froze on the shutter while I watched. He moved like an ancient deity rising up to take the reins of the morning.

Black swim trunks clung to his hips. Dark hair dusted his chest and formed a trail that disappeared beneath the waistband. When he reached up, he pushed his thick black hair back and off his forehead, completely unaware of me. I fought to take a breath.

Click.

I couldn't resist, but I jumped when the shutter's sound broke the morning's silence. The stranger's head immediately turned toward me, and we locked eyes across the stretch of water and sand.

From a distance, there was wildness in his eyes. They were gray, the color of storm clouds. He adjusted his trunks and took a step forward.

Time stopped. He was coming toward me. My world narrowed down to the sound of splashing water around his feet.

I nearly dropped the fresh Polaroid image as the camera spit it out. Heat crept up into my cheeks, surely turning them a guilty shade of red.

Every step the man took was graceful. The gentle waves parted before him. I remained rooted to my spot on the beach, unable to move a muscle.

When he came close, within two steps, the scents of lake water and pine enveloped me. "Morning," he grunted as he abruptly turned to the right. His voice was rough and low in register.

I managed little more than a squeaky acknowledgment. "H… hi."Smooth first impression, Holden.

Without another word, he continued on and then took another turn toward the beach parking lot. As I watched him from behind, I wasn't sure I'd ever seen a more handsome man outside of a movie screen.

Glancing down, I saw the Polaroid slowly coming into focus. It was like my memory solidifying before my eyes. Relieved that the moment wasn't a figment of my overactive imagination, I stared at the striking physique.

The photo was a pale imitation of the real thing, but it strongly hinted at the powerful vision I'd witnessed.

I shook my head and spoke out loud to an empty beach. "Way to go. You should have had Parker at your side. He wouldhave known what to say, or at least how to make a proper introduction."

My hands were still trembling as I slipped the photo into my messenger bag, next to the other two shots I'd taken—a great blue heron at the moment of taking off into the mist drifting above the sand, and a soft-focus silhouette of the old lighthouse rising against a pewter sky.

Three photos every morning, rain or shine. That was my ritual, my promise to myself and to Parker.

"Find the extraordinary in the ordinary," Parker had said when he'd first handed me the camera, his eyes twinkling with characteristic enthusiasm.

Well, there was nothing ordinary about what I'd just seen, and my racing pulse proved it. Usually, the dawn shoots centered me. They helped me settle into my groove before putting together the day's social media content to promoteTales of Blue Harbor, Parker's wildly successful blog.

Twenty minutes north of town, this stretch of Lake Michigan shoreline was a favorite spot. It was state park property and a place where I could bask in the quiet once the tourists were gone for the season.

Today's silence had been shattered by a beautiful vision.

I glanced down the beach toward the parking lot, but the mysterious swimmer was long gone. Only his footprints remained in the wet sand. The gentle waves were already erasing them. If it weren't for the Polaroid in my bag, I might have convinced myself I'd imagined the whole thing.

While I drove the lakefront road, memories of my arrival in Blue Harbor months earlier flooded back into my mind. It was mid-spring and the crabapples were in bloom.

I was still pinching myself over the good fortune of finding the job working with Parker on promotion of his blog. It gave mean opportunity to build my resume while caring for my ailing grandfather.

The weather was stunningly beautiful for my first day at work. The cloudless sky was a deep blue, and gentle waves rolled in from the lake, a far cry from my current misty gray morning.

When I stood outside the converted boathouse Parker used for his office, I didn't know what to expect. The peeling blue paint and weathered roof shingles echoed the timeworn charm of Blue Harbor itself.

I inhaled deeply and pulled the door open. The hinges creaked loudly. Anyone inside would know I'd arrived.

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