“Did Amelia open up this early for you?” I ask in surprise.

“No, I bought them last night before she closed up shop. I had to wrestle a couple of tourists for them, though. They wanted the last cinnamon rolls. I wanted them too. Let’s say it was touch and go for a while, but I won.”

I laugh and realize how easy this feels. No studying, no pressure, no weird tension. Just us, talking and joking like we’ve been friends forever.

Which, honestly, is great, but also the weirdest thing ever. I never thought I’d see the day when we’d become friends.

A gentle breeze picks up, rustling the pine needles above us and sending ripples across the lake. Clouds drift across the sky, creating patterns of light and shadow on the water.

“This is beautiful,” I say without thinking.

“Yeah?” Sawyer sounds pleased. “No regrets about having to go out the door?”

“None at all. I’m even tolerating your company,” I say with a wink.

I take a bite of cinnamon roll and close my eyes, savoring it. When I open them, Sawyer is watching me with an expression I can’t quite read.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing. You just… You look happy. Relaxed.”

“I am. This is wonderful.”

“I’m glad.”

The clouds thicken slightly, casting the ruins in softer light. I pull out my phone again to capture the way the shadows fall across the old stone chimney.

“Can I get one of you by the cabin?” I ask impulsively.

Sawyer looks surprised but moves over to lean against the remaining wall. He looks completely natural there, like he belongs in this wild, historic place.

I snap a few photos, then hesitate. “Could you… Um, would you take one of me?”

“Of course.”

He takes my phone, and I suddenly feel extremely self-conscious as I move to where he was standing. But when he says, “Perfect,” and I hear the camera click, I realize I’m smiling. A real smile, not the polite one I use for work.

“Now both of us,” I say, surprising myself again.

Sawyer raises his eyebrows. “You want a selfie? With me?”

“Don’t let it go to your head. It’s just proof we were here together. You know, for when something happens to me and they need to find the culprit.”

He puts a hand on his heart, feigning shock. “You think I brought you here to kill you?”

“Well, you did bring me to an isolated location. It’s a classic set-up.”

“Wow, you figured out my master plan. Lure the cute historian to a remote lake with pastries, then get rid of her.”

Cute. The word hits me like a warm wave, and I resist the urge to touch my hair or check if I have cinnamon roll crumbs on my face. When was the last time someone called me cute? And meant it?

Sawyer comes over and stands beside me, holding the phone out at arm’s length. I can feel the warmth of his body along my side, and smell that combination of soap and pine that’s becoming familiar.

“Say ‘ghost cabin,’” he says.

“That’s terrible.”

“Say it anyway.”