Page 24 of Atonement Trail
“Turn it over,” Dylan said.
On the back, in Patrick’s script: The treasure isn’t the ring. It’s the reaching for it together. Next: Look for us where we said goodbye.
Aidan’s face changed. “The cemetery. She’s buried at Mountain View. That’s where the next clue must be.”
The weight of it settled over them. Patrick had crafted a journey from life to death and back to life again, each clue revealing not just location but truth.
“Next Saturday?” Dylan asked gently.
“Next Saturday.”
They stood in the ruins, afternoon light slanting through trees. The moment stretched between them, heavy with everything unsaid.
“Dylan,” Aidan said, her name a question and answer both.
She turned to face him, finding him closer than expected, close enough to see gold flecks in green eyes, close enough to feel warmth in the cool air.
“This stopped being about business,” he said quietly. “Tuesday, in the empty building, watching you see your future—I realized I want to be part of it. Not just as your partner. As more.”
“Aidan—”
“I know it’s complicated. I know we work together. I know there are a thousand reasons this is a bad idea.” His hand came up to her face, fingertips barely grazing her cheek. “But standing here, where my grandparents started their life together with nothing but hope and stubbornness, I can’t pretend I don’t feel this.”
Dylan’s heart was attempting escape through her throat. Five years of watchful distance, and here they stood in ruins that had witnessed the beginning of a love that lasted sixty years.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she whispered.
“Neither do I. But maybe we can figure it out together.”
The kiss was inevitable as sunrise—soft at first, cautious, then deeper as years of suppressed want demanded recognition. His hands framed her face like she was breakable and precious. Her hands found his chest, feeling his racing heart match hers.
When they pulled apart, breathless, the forest held its silence like approval.
“So,” Dylan managed. “That happened.”
“That definitely happened.” His smile was crooked, uncertain, perfect. “Regrets?”
“Ask me when we’re not standing in ruins in the middle of nowhere with your mother’s emergency flares in our backpack.”
They laughed, and it broke the tension without destroying the connection. They hiked back down together, hands occasionally brushing, occasionally holding, learning this new rhythm between them.
By the time they reached their vehicles, the sun was painting the sky in watercolors, and Dylan felt fundamentally changed, like something frozen had finally begun to thaw.
“Monday’s going to be interesting,” Aidan said.
“We’re adults. We’re professionals. We can handle it.”
“Right. While the entire town watches and speculates and my mother starts planning our wedding.”
“She wouldn’t—” Dylan stopped at his expression. “She would.”
“She’s probably already chosen flowers.”
They stood by their vehicles, neither ready to leave this bubble where kissing in ruins made perfect sense.
“Next Saturday,” Aidan said. “The cemetery. We’ll find the next clue.”
“And then?”
