11. Aaron

11

AARON

“You brought your camera,” I point out a couple of days later on the trail. Jack hadn’t shown up yesterday morning, and I couldn’t help thinking it was because of what happened in his studio the night before. The pain on his face when discussing his family. I felt shitty for bringing it up and even texted him an apology.

He’d only replied: No worries.

I almost asked June the following morning at breakfast before considering how much of a mistake that would’ve been. No matter how open and friendly she seems.

“Why does that surprise you?”

“Because you haven’t yet, not that I’ve seen.”

“You’ve only been here for a handful of days. How could you possibly know what I’ve?—”

I lift my hands in surrender. “You’re right. I overstepped.”

Jack is acting like nothing’s happened between us, and I’m fine with that, but damn, is he hard to read. In some ways, I can understand why. I’m not a local and will be leaving again, so why make the effort? I can ask myself the same question, but I can’t seem to stop wanting to see this man and talk to him more.

Halfway up the trail, we pause for a water break, and I watch as he aims the camera at the bright orange orb just appearing over the summit. I can’t stop watching him. Marveling at what a natural he is. I can picture him working for one of those nature magazines. Except for the travel. Jack seems too rooted here to ever leave.

“No way a place this beautiful is cursed,” I mutter to myself. Though the man at the tourist stand on Main Street might disagree. I could’ve sworn I spotted frog and whale pins as well as postcards that read a blessing and a curse .

“Another visit to Spellbound?”

“How did you know?” I stopped in Beth’s shop to thank her for the tea and crystal. I’ll admit I’m also just plain curious about her and her so-called gift. It’s fascinating, even if I’m still not sure I believe any of it. She seems genuine enough, though, and that’s what gives me pause. There seems to be an underlying melancholy to her otherwise cheery and welcoming demeanor, which tells me she believes everything she says about a person and the town’s energy. Almost like she’s the heartbeat of Aqua Vista, whether anyone wants to admit it or not.

He hitches a shoulder. “Lucky guess. Anything more insightful this time?”

“Apparently, I’ve got daddy issues.” That’s not really what she said, but I obviously took it to heart because I’ve been thinking about it ever since.

He bursts out laughing. “Sorry, I just… You do have a thing for?—”

“Being manhandled?” I wink. “True. So she wasn’t that far off.”

“Still doesn’t mean anything,” he mutters as we start moving up the trail again. “Tell me why—I mean about your dad.”

“My parents had a tumultuous relationship. They would argue, and it would upset me, so I’d go off to my dad’s woodshop and try to blot out the sound.”

“Is that how you developed your passion for restoration—by working with your hands?”

“Probably.” I think about holding the sandpaper and how the sound of it against wood would bring me comfort. “Making something good out of the bad.”

“I get that.” His gaze drifts toward the ocean. “So what happened with your parents?”

“Dad eventually left us, and Mom was heartbroken, though she was better off.”

“Did he ever…put his hands on her?”

“No, nothing like that.” Though the fighting certainly took an emotional toll. “Just never agreed on anything.”

“Maybe they just didn’t know how to talk to each other.” His eyes get this faraway look in them. “I wonder how many relationships fail because of that.”

“Well, there is a fifty percent divorce rate in this country.”

He nods. “Words hurt and can make the relationship unrepairable.”

I study him. “Yeah, I hear you on that. You can’t take back words.”

His tone holds a hint of anger as he lobs, “You certainly can’t.”

“Are you speaking from experience?”

“Maybe.” He averts his eyes. “I just appreciate honesty. Unless it’s brutal honesty for the sake of hurting someone.”

It sounds like he’s talking about more than just my situation. “Was it that way with your parents?”

“No, they were almost too perfect.” He laughs humorlessly. “Made me not even want to pursue any sort of relationship if it wasn’t as good as theirs.”

“So you’re holding out for the perfect man?” I tease.

He smirks. “Not exactly. Maybe I was at one time, but I’m good alone.”

A gloominess accompanies his response, but I don’t call him on it.

My thoughts wander to my mom. Would she enjoy Aqua Vista? Not the hiking, due to her asthma, but the vibe and fresh air. She’s never seemed quite the same after Dad walked out when I was in high school. He’s remarried and has a whole other family now, but she’s hardly dated since then. At least she has friends and work to keep her occupied, but I still feel guilty when too much time has gone by between phone calls or visits.

We continue on the hike, chatting here and there about the weather and the town in general—like how Aqua Vista is elevated nearly one hundred and fifty feet, giving it the backdrop of the mountains of the Big Sur region. Fascinating stuff, and Jack certainly knows his history as he schools me about the gold rush and hippie commune settlements in the early 1900s that some of the older generations were brought up in. Including Beth, which tracks more than the whole witchcraft narrative, though from what I’ve read, it’s all Mother Nature related, which sounds more progressive than anything else.

Jack clenches his jaw whenever Beth is mentioned, and I wonder if he also believes she’s brought on some sort of curse. Apparently, Spellbound was previously owned by her bohemian grandmother, so when the witchcraft narrative began, some old-timers hoped it would keep people away, while others leaned into it by cashing in on the idea, like the man selling souvenirs. So strange to think someone could be so liked and disliked at the same time, but in the end, it’s not for me to decipher.

I want to ask who hurt him, but after how he acted the other night, I decide to hold back. I’ll keep things light, seeing as we’ll be parting ways again soon enough.

My cell buzzes with a text from Rocco, but I ignore it for now. He’s trying to talk me into asking Jack about selling again. He’s convinced it can somehow still happen. But that’s Rocco. Not many people say no to him.

When we get back to the parking area, I’m bummed that our time together is over. Just as I’m trying to think of a way to spend time with him again, he turns to me. “Are you interested in seeing more of the sights around here?”

“Absolutely. Why do you ask?”

“I thought I’d take a drive and shoot more photos. Want to tag along? Unless you have plans.”

“The only plan I have is to annoy a grouchy service station owner by asking nosy questions.”

He grins, the first full one I’ve seen this morning. “We can take my truck. It’s about a thirty-minute drive out of town.”

“Sounds good.” I hop into the passenger side, wondering what prompted him to ask. Maybe in a roundabout way, it’s him admitting he enjoys my company too.

I almost ask if he’s taken the day off, but he’s the owner and can do what he wants. Though this doesn’t feel like a spur-of-the-moment decision.

“Where are we going?” I ask as we drive toward the highway.

“How about I surprise you?”

“Oooh, mysterious.” That definitely tracks for Jack McCoy.