Chapter 1: Daisy
The "Welcome to Hollow Peak" sign looked the same as it did eight years ago. Faded green paint. Chipped gold lettering. A hole in the corner that nobody had ever bothered to fix.
Some things never changed.
I wished I could say the same about myself.
The windows of my Toyota were down, mountain air filling the car with pine and dust. I'd driven six hours with the radio off, letting the silence sit with me. Hoping it will start to heal me.
Hollow Peak. Population 3,247. The kind of town where everyone knew your business before you did, and where the mountains held you close whether you wanted them to or not.
I loved the mountains, but I hadn't wanted to come back.
But when your engagement implodes, your savings account hits double digits, and your ex's new girlfriend moves into the apartment you picked out together, your options get thin.
Cal had offered without me asking. That was the thing about my uncle. He never pushed or pried. He'd heard the short version on the phone, the one where I said "it didn't work out" and he said "come home."
Now here I was. Twenty-eight years old. Broke. Exhausted. Driving back to the one place I swore I'd never return to.
Temporary, I reminded myself.A few months only. Work at the clinic, save money and get my head straight. Leave before the snow hit and the roads got bad.
Leave before anyone figured out how badly I'd failed.
The town unfolded around me as I drove down Main Street. Three blocks of brick and timber storefronts, hanging flower baskets, tourists in hiking boots wandering between shops. The Switchback Café still had the same red awning. Timberline Tavern still had the same neon sign buzzing in the window, even though it was two in the afternoon.
I passed Vega's Auto, the new art gallery, the old bookstore that apparently hadn't changed in a decade. Everything looked smaller than I remembered. Softer. Like a photograph left too long in the sun.
My chest tightened.
I kept driving.
Cal's cabin sat at the edge of town, where the pavement gave way to gravel and the trees pressed close. It was a solid A-frame with a wide front porch, a stone chimney, and a view of the mountains that made your throat ache if you looked too long.
His truck was in the driveway. He was on the porch before I even cut the engine, coffee mug in hand, wearing the same flannel he had for years.
I climbed out of the car and stretched, my back cracking from the drive.
"You look like hell," Cal said.
"Missed you too."
He almost smiled as he came down the steps and pulled me into a hug that smelled like cedar and coffee, the same way he'd smelled my whole life. I let myself sink into it for a second longer than I should have.
"Long drive?" he asked, pulling back.
"Long year."
He nodded but didn't push. Cal was good at that, at letting silence do the work. He grabbed my suitcase from the trunk and headed inside.
The cabin was warm and clean, tidier than I expected. A fire crackled in the woodstove. The kitchen smelled like something had been baked recently. Cinnamon, maybe. He'd probably stopped by Mae's.
"Guest room's ready," he said, setting my suitcase by the stairs. "Fresh sheets. Towels in the bathroom. Fridge is stocked."
"Cal, you didn't have to."
"You're family." He said it like that ended the conversation. It did. "Lila's expecting you Monday at the clinic. She's down a nurse and happy for the help."
"I talked to her last week. She seems great."