Page 12 of Breaking Through

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

"Sarah's got the whole town trained in everything." Cole tapped his fingers on the Formica table. "Speaking of which..."

"Not you, too." I groaned, but it had little edge to it. Cole had a way of making even uncomfortable conversations feel safe.

"Hey, when my husband texts me that Blue Harbor's most eligible newcomer captured a sunrise photo of our most mysterious resident, I'm allowed to be curious." He paused as our coffee arrived, steam curling up like the morning's mist. "Especially when said resident hasn't let anyone close since he arrived."

I wrapped my hands around the warm mug, letting the heat seep into my fingers. "It wasn't planned. I was just doing my usual morning shots, and he... appeared. Like something from a dream."

"Or a nightmare, depending on who you ask." Cole rubbed his chin. "Wade's got a reputation for being..."

"Gruff?" I supplied. "Antisocial? A human thundercloud?"

The overhead fan clicked steadily, barely stirring the humid air. I traced a finger through the condensation on the window beside our booth, aware of the storm's constant presence even as we talked.

"Let me tell you a story." Cole warmed his hands around his coffee mug. "Last winter, right after that big February storm, Wade caught some high school kids trying to sled down the closed trails at Michigami. Instead of kicking them out, he spent an hour building them a safer run near the visitor center. He showed them the proper technique and explained momentum and snow conditions—full ranger mode."

"That doesn't sound very grumpy."

"Oh, wait for it." Cole's eyes danced. The next day, their parents came to thank him. They brought him homemade cookies and everything. Wade took one look at the plate and said, 'Next time your kids ignore safety warnings, I'm sending all of them home.' He turned around and walked straight into the woods.

Parker chuckled. "The story I heard is the cookies were amazing, too. He left them in the ranger station break room with a note that just said 'No.'"

"The thing is…" Cole's voice softened. "He didn't upset the kids. They still talk about him like he's some winter wizard. Under all that gruffness, he cared enough to teach them and keep them safe. That's Wade—doing the right thing while pretending it physically pains him to interact with other humans."

I found myself smiling, imagining Wade trudging through the snow to build a sled run, probably muttering under his breath the whole time. "So he's not actually antisocial, he just plays it on TV?"

"He's like one of those hard candies with the soft center," Cole mused. "The trick is getting past the hard shell without cracking a tooth."

Parker joined in. "I was going to say he's more like a porcupine. All prickly on the outside, but—"

"Can we stop comparing him to candy and wildlife?" I chuckled softly.

"I was going to finish my sentence with the word hurt." Parker's voice held no judgment, just quiet understanding. "That fire in Chicago left more than physical scars. Sometimes, the deepest wounds are the ones you can't see in a photograph."

Thunder cracked overhead, making the diner's windows rattle. The lights flickered once, twice, then steadied. My hand instinctively went to my phone. If the power went out at Grandpa's house, the backup battery for his oxygen machine would only last eight hours. I typed in a quick message.

Cole's vocal tone deepened. "I was going to say that he's not going to be easy to reach. Although, I've seen how he looks at you when you're not watching."

My heart stuttered. "What do you mean?"

"He notices you, Holden. Has all summer. The way you help Mrs. Johnson with her groceries. How you sit with Mr. Peterson when he gets confused about where he is. The little kindnesses you scatter around town like breadcrumbs."

"That's just... being decent."

"In a world that often isn't." Cole leaned forward. "To someone who's seen the worst of humanity—who's carried people out of burning buildings and probably lost some along the way—that kind of consistent goodness stands out."

Parker, who'd been uncharacteristically quiet, suddenly sat up straighter. "That's it!"

"What's it?" I asked, startled by his outburst.

"The murals. The storm shelter. It's perfect!" His hands drew pictures in the air as he spoke. "Think about it. Isabella's gentle scenes balance Marcus Chen's stormy ones. Beauty and power. Light and dark. It's like a metaphor for—"

Cole interrupted gently. "Parker, maybe let Holden figure out his own metaphors."

Outside, the storm intensified, rain so heavy it was nearly impossible to see the world beyond the windows. Wade was probably working somewhere out there, making sure everyone was safe. I bit my lip.

Finally, I spoke up again. "The murals first. Once the weather clears, I want to see what Gran helped create and understand that piece of her I never knew."

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