5. Holden

Chapter five

Holden

R ain hammered against the boathouse windows, with each wind gust driving water in sheets against the glass. I shook out my messenger bag as I climbed the creaky stairs to Parker's loft office. It was an incomplete morning without my ritual of three photos, but the weather was too rough even for my optimistic outlook. Lake Michigan throwing a temper tantrum wasn't the kind of beauty I could adequately capture. Perhaps I'd have to do a few indoor shots.

"You look like a half-drowned puppy," Parker called from his desk nest. He'd built a fort out of laptops and coffee mugs. When his face finally appeared, his sandy hair was more disheveled than usual. "I was starting to wonder whether you'd brave the weather."

"I tried staring it down first thing this morning." I reached up and ran a hand through my damp hair. "Made it halfway to the state park before turning around. The waves were crashing hard against the boulders just north of town, and water surged across the road. I figured even Wade wouldn't be swimming in that."

"Ah-ha!" Parker pointed at me. "So you were hoping for another sunrise encounter?"

"I was hoping to get my usual three photos," I protested, but the heat in my cheeks betrayed me. "Besides, those waves looked powerful enough to sweep away a cruise ship, let alone one handsome park ranger." I winced as soon as the words left my mouth. They were unintentional.

"'Handsome,' he says." Parker's grin widened. "Just like that, so casual. As if the whole town hasn't noticed you lighting up every time someone mentions his name."

I sighed. "After that, I decided I'd better show up here. I figured you'd send out a search party if I didn't appear."

"More like I'd send Sarah with coffee to your house along with strict instructions to extract every detail about yesterday morning's beach encounter." His hazel eyes sparkled with mischief. "Which, by the way, she's already told me about. Three times."

Heat crept up my neck. "Does anyone in this town actually work, or do they just spend time passing around gossip like trading cards?"

"Both, obviously." Parker spun in his chair, nearly knocking over one of his precariously balanced computers. "But you can't blame us. It's been ages since we had a. fresh romance to talk about. Now, show me the photo everyone's talking about."

I hesitated, one hand on my bag. "It's not—I mean, it wasn't meant to be—"

"Holden…" Parker's voice softened. "The whole town knows Wade Forrester hasn't let anyone in close to him since he arrived three years ago. Then, you show up with your sunshine smile and a camera, and suddenly, he's rising out of the lake like a brooding romance novel hero. That's pure Blue Harbor magic."

Sighing, I pulled out my journal and extracted the Polaroid. Parker practically snatched it from my hands, studying it with the intensity he usually reserved for analyzing blog metrics with Cole.

"Oh." The single syllable held volumes. "Oh, Holden. This is..."

"Just a lucky shot," I finished, trying to sound casual.

"No." Parker handed the photo back with surprising gentleness. "This is art. You captured something raw here; look at how the mist softens everything except his eyes. They're so clear, so present. I've never seen Wade look so... seen."

Thunder rattled the windows, underscoring his words. I tucked the photo away, trying to ignore how my fingers trembled slightly. "Speaking of seeing things, Grandpa mentioned something about murals in an old storm shelter. Something about Gran helping restore them?"

Parker sat forward so quickly that he nearly toppled his laptop fort. "Yes! Isabella's lake scenes! I can't believe I forgot about those while planning the Hidden Places series." He dove into one of his paper piles and came up with a green notebook in his hands. "The original artist nearly died in a storm, then painted what he saw. Your grandmother helped restore them in the seventies and added her own touches. They're incredible—or they were. I doubt anybody's maintained them since."

"Since Gran died," I finished quietly.

"Yeah." Parker's smile faltered for a moment, then returned with renewed determination. "But that's exactly why we need to document them now. Preserve that piece of Blue Harbor history and your family's connection to it. We should check them out once this storm passes."

"Assuming they survive the storm." I glanced at the rain-lashed windows. "Though I suppose the point of a storm shelter is to withstand this kind of weather. Checking on how it comes through the wind and rain could be worth a photo or three, and yeah, I guess I'd have to set that up with Wade."

"Before we get completely derailed by your love life…" Parker turned back to his laptop. "What do you think about the heritage boats series mockup?"

I grabbed a chair, opened my laptop, and pulled up the draft on my screen. I'd spent the last week designing social media templates showcasing the vintage wooden boats still docked in Blue Harbor Marina. The images balanced historical photos against current ones, with space for Parker's stories about each vessel.

"I played with the layout." While Parker looked over my shoulder, I clicked through the slides. "See how the before and after shots mirror each other? I also added this subtle wave pattern to the background. It matches the blog's aesthetic while lending a distinct identity to the series."

Parker leaned over my shoulder, studying the design. "That's exactly what I was hoping for but couldn't articulate. How'd you do that thing with the fonts?"

"Paired a classic serif with something more modern. The contrast works like the old-versus-new photos." I pointed to specific elements. "Also added some hand-drawn illustrations that echo the original boat blueprints we found in the maritime museum archives."

"God, I love your brain." Parker shook his head in admiration. "When you first moved here, I just wanted someone to help streamline our announcements. Instead, I got a full-service creative director who actually gets what makes Blue Harbor special."

"Speaking of special... " I clicked another window. "I started mapping out how this could expand beyond social media. What if we did a physical installation during the Heritage Days Festival? It might have interactive displays where people can scan QR codes to see the boats' histories."

"Yes!" Parker's whole body seemed to vibrate with possibility, as it always did when he caught the scent of a good story. "We could work with the marina to set up viewing stations along the dock. Maybe even get some of the boat owners to—" He stopped mid-sentence, a familiar glint in his eye. You know who we'd need permission from for the dock installations?"

I groaned, already seeing where this was going. "Let me guess, the park service?"

"Specifically, a certain grumpy ranger who oversees waterfront permit applications." Parker's grin was downright wicked. "What wonderful timing."

"You're impossible." Still, I couldn't stop myself from smiling. "Can we focus on one project at a time? The storm shelter murals first, and then we can worry about Heritage Days."

"Fine, fine. I'm just saying the universe keeps creating these opportunities for you two to cross paths. It's looking less and less like a coincidence."

I sighed. "So Mother Nature decided to hurl a mega-storm at Blue Harbor just to introduce me to Wade?"

"Something like that." Parker checked his phone. "Speaking of weather, Cole just texted. He's grabbed us a booth at Joe's. Says we shouldn't waste a perfectly good storm watching it through dirty windows."

On the way to Joe's, we walked a gauntlet of horizontal rain and wind that seemed determined to test Newton's laws of motion. We arrived looking like we'd gone swimming fully clothed, but the diner's warmth wrapped around us like a hug—the scent of coffee and grilling burgers mixed with the peculiar ozone smell that intense storms always carried.

Cole waved from our usual booth, looking annoyingly dry and put-together. He chuckled as we squelched toward him, leaving puddles on the worn linoleum. A waitress darted past with a mop, eyes rolling as she snickered.

I pulled out my phone, checking for messages from Maria. She'd promised to stay with Grandpa through the storm, but low barometric pressure increased the stress on his lungs.

"I ordered you both hot coffee." Cole slid over to make room for Parker. "And before you ask—yes, Holden, I made sure they know you want the vanilla syrup."

"You're a lifesaver." I collapsed onto the opposite bench, peeling off my soaked jacket. "Though I'm starting to think Sarah's got the whole town trained in my coffee preferences."

My phone buzzed—a text from Maria:

"Clark's oxygen levels are good. Stop worrying."

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."

"And if you happen to need a certain park ranger's permission to photograph them?" Parker's eyes twinkled.

"Then I'll cross that bridge when I come to it." I sipped my coffee, letting its warmth spread through me. "One step at a time."

"You know," Cole said as our coffee cups hit empty, "from a purely business perspective, the park content has been great for the blog's engagement."

Lightning flickered outside, briefly turning the diner windows into mirrors. In that flash, I caught my own reflection. My cheeks flushed, and my hair dried in waves that would misbehave later.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"The pieces about Michigami State Park resonate with readers." Cole pulled out his tablet, ever the data-driven business manager. "That story about the new accessible trails? Second most-read post this year. People care about the park, even if they don't always notice the work that goes into maintaining it."

Parker explained. "That's because Holden captures it differently. Remember that photo series about the morning fog on the trails? The comments were full of people saying they'd never seen the park that way before."

Cole nodded. "It's interesting—the park's become this heart of the community, but most people only see the surface. They don't realize how much thought and care goes into keeping it both wild and accessible."

"While being staffed by exceptionally dedicated rangers." Parker smirked slightly at me.

I felt my cheeks warm. "Can we maybe not discuss the park staff while looking at your blog metrics?"

"Hey, the numbers don't lie." Cole turned his tablet so I could see. "Your social media posts about the park's programs and conservation efforts get fantastic engagement. People respond to authenticity, Holden. The way you capture the park, and the way you tell its stories—it's different from the usual tourist snapshots."

"That's because Holden sees the heart of things." Parker reached for Cole's hand. "It's why I hired him."

"It's why you hired him for the social media position," Cole corrected. "But he's become essential to Tales of Blue Harbor because he understands what makes this place special. Just like the park staff does, even if they show it differently."

I stirred the remains of my coffee, watching the liquid swirl. "Some of them barely interact with the public at all."

Thunder rumbled outside, and I found myself wondering what other stories the park held, waiting to be discovered and shared.

"Just... don't give up too easily on those park stories." Cole's voice sounded wistful. "Sometimes people need someone to see the beauty in what they do, even through the morning mist."

I shook my head. "You're getting poetic for a business manager."

"It's the storm. Makes everyone philosophical." Cole glanced out at the rain. "Particularly those on a search for beauty."

"I haven't even decided if I'm trying to find anything."

Parker snorted. "Right. That's why you drove halfway to the state park in a hurricane this morning."

"It's not a hurricane anymore." I corrected him. "Just the remnants of—" I stopped at their knowing looks. "Okay, fine. Maybe I'm a little invested."

"A little." Cole repeated the crucial words. "Like the park is a little important to this town."

The lunch crowd started to filter in, shaking off umbrellas and stomping wet boots. The growing buzz of conversation mixed with the storm's constant drumming, but our booth was like its own island, protected by coffee steam and shared secrets.

Thunder rolled again, somewhat softer now, almost contemplative. Like the storm was settling in for a long conversation with the lake.

My phone lit up with another text from Maria:

"Still good here. He's napping."

I thought about Wade out there in the storm, doing what rangers do best—protecting, preserving, and keeping others safe. But who made sure the guardians were looked after? Who watched over the watchmen?