Page 25 of Breaking Through

I read the words she'd written.Look for the places where time has softened the edges. Don't try to make them sharp again. Some weathering tells its own story.

My fingers traced her sketches—delicate studies of waves and light, mathematical measurements of wall sections, and miniature portraits of people who'd stopped to watch her work. She'd captured everything, including the sunlight angles against the shelter's walls at different times of day.

I impulsively shoved my hand in my pocket, reaching for my phone. I had a planned meeting with Wade, but I didn't know whether I could wait to share the news.

He'd understood the shelter murals the way I did. I'd seen it in how he looked at them and the way his hands moved when he talked about Gran's techniques.

And if my heart beat faster at the thought of seeing him again and watching his eyes light up when he studied Gran's notes... well, that was just professional enthusiasm.

Yeah, keep telling yourself that.I carefully gathered the journals. My fingers still tingled where they'd brushed against Wade's body during yesterday's kiss, and I knew I was fooling precisely no one about my motivations.

My phone buzzed—a text from Parker:

Where are you? The whiteboard misses you. Also, that permanent marker incident needs to be addressed.

I groaned, remembering the disaster from the previous evening. I'd been so distracted thinking about Wade that I'd grabbed the wrong marker for Parker's expensive whiteboard.My attempt at sharing social media mockups was now a permanent part of his office decor.

At least it was a good layout.

The composition is lovely. Really ties the room together. Also, you're paying for a new whiteboard.

I'll throw in some of those fancy dry-erase markers you like.

Make it the ones with the cushioned grips and we'll call it even. But seriously, you okay? You've been scattered since yesterday.

I stared at the message, unsure how to respond. Truth was probably best.

Found some of Gran's old journals, and I needed a retreat. It's her notes about the storm shelter restoration.

Perfect excuse to see Ranger McGrumpy again. Though based on Maya's gossip, you might not need an excuse anymore...

Heat flooded my cheeks.

I have no idea what you're talking about.

Sure you don't. That's why Tom had to redirect three hikers yesterday morning because someone was "busy with park documentation." ??

I'm turning my phone off now.

Use protection! Preferably not permanent markers!

I shoved my phone into my pocket, but I couldn't stop myself from smiling. I could trust Parker to find humor in my crisis of propriety. Though crisis was probably too strong of a word for something that had felt so right, despite all the reasons it shouldn't have.

***

When I arrived, the ranger station looked the same as the day before, and my pulse quickened as I approached. Wade's truck sat in its usual spot, forest green paint dusty from trail work. I clutched Gran's journals like a shield, with their leather covers warm and smooth against my palms.

"Hello?" My voice echoed in the front office. "Wade?"

Footsteps approached—heavy boots. Each step sent vibrations through the old floorboards. He appeared in his office doorway, and my jaw dropped as I looked at him. He wore his uniform shirt stretched taut across his muscular chest with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It revealed corded forearms dusted with dark hair.

"Holden." He only said my name, but how he said it made my skin tingle. His eyes darted to my lips before meeting my gaze, and I knew he was remembering, too.

I held up the journals. "Found something you might want to see."

He stepped back, inviting me into his office. Electricity crackled between us. I settled into the chair across from his desk, spreading out Gran's notebooks.

"These are Isabella's restoration notes," I explained, proud that my voice stayed steady. "Everything she executed in the shelter, including all her techniques and observations."

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