Chapter 12

12

brOOKE

I was so sure that Jonah was the most incredible thing up here on Wolfe Mountain. Then I discovered the joy of genuine grandma-made vanilla raspberry tarts with cinnamon nutmeg pastry.

I'm kidding. He's still in the lead by miles. However, my world view of desserts has been turned on its head.

We finish up our sandwiches and eat another tart each, both of us practically moaning in bliss.

"I know people say not to compare food to sex," Jonah says with a grin and a few crumbs on his lip, "But daaamn ."

"I was thinking the same thing! We're both terrible."

"Correction. Terrible and filled with raspberry goodness."

"Definitely the best kind of terrible." I stand up and clear away the containers and napkins, enjoying the way Jonah bites his tongue and lets me. I'm moving around much more freely today, but am still being careful.

He pulls out his laptop and opens a map of the area, pointing out some of the scenic areas that are closest to Old Hemlock Valley. I know that he doesn't want me to go very far, but up here on the mountain, with all these winding roads, every town is at least half an hour away.

In particular, I notice a scenic abandoned village with a little chapel just this side of Pinesley. If I went there, then into the town proper to see the square and their church, I could have quite a bit of material.

Jonah is assuming that I'm going to go sketch there in person. But I could just as easily take a bunch of reference photos and get back here by the time he's finished, and then do the sketches anytime.

"Lots of options," I say brightly, making a few notes.

"Please fill up at Valley Gas before you leave town."

"Will do. And my phone's at one hundred percent, so that's fine too."

He still looks concerned, but it's hard to tell exactly how concerned. I guess that's the sort of thing that comes with time – which really makes it hit home that Jonah and I have known each other less than a week.

Part of me kind of loves that he's so overprotective, but at the same time I'm really going to have to figure out where he draws those lines and decide if they're ultimately too close for comfort.

Jonah fills up a coffee thermos for me, then tucks a water bottle into my bag and walks me to the car. "I know I'm being fussy," he says, hugging me carefully so as not to hurt my rib. "But you don't know the mountain. Things can get rough out there. I just want you to be prepared. Please don't hesitate to call with any questions. Okay?"

"Okay. But I'm good. I promise."

"Great. Have fun." He gives me a kiss that I feel all the way down my thighs. Perhaps he's hinting what could be in store for me again tonight.

I have to admit, this electric physical connection between us definitely makes me feel closer to him. I still don't want to rush anything. Although, when I think about it, I don't know what the natural course for these sorts of things is supposed to be…but I would assume it takes time to find a balance.

It's confusing.

Jonah must have called ahead, because when I get to the gas station, there's a big bruiser of a guy standing out front to welcome me. "Hey there, Brooke. I'll fill it up with premium, and make sure your windshield is nice and clean."

His jacket where it's stretched across his huge chest announces his name as Carson. Geez – are all the men around here jacked like bodybuilders?

Then he won't let me pay, insisting that it's already been taken care of.

As I drive off, my foot is a little heavier than it should be on the gas. Grr . Once again, is that caring or controlling? I mean, making sure I have enough gas for a drive is a sweet gesture. It's a nice thing that a husband would do for a wife. But… We're not there yet. Not even close. So… Is it too much? Is he overdoing it a little? I can't decide.

The winding drive around the mountain is delightfully tranquil — trees and rugged chunks of rocks, the odd squirrel racing across the road. The abandoned chapel outside of Pinesley is crumbling terribly, which makes for some amazing reference shots. The stone texture is incredible, as rough-hewn and rugged as the mountain itself.

I get to Pinesley around one-thirty, which only gives me about thirty minutes to take photos. I decide to text Jonah when I'm only fifteen minutes away from his clinic.

I park just outside of the town square at a public lot across from the church. The square itself is cobblestone, but the dirt or sand is missing from between the rocks, and nobody has done any landscaping in quite a while. Some of the flowerbeds are still interesting, though, with chipped antique planters.

I take a whole bunch of photos, losing all track of time. There's a path that leads to a laneway, with a perfectly curved split cedar fence that I can use in some future illustration. Since I don't know the trail, I don't go very far, but I do stop to take photos of a family of chipmunks before turning back.

Then I look around at this street more carefully. The entire town seems to be kind of…falling down. As if nobody's bothering to look after it.

Walking slowly, I take photos of interesting details until I'm at the chipped sidewalk in front of the old church I read about.

It's not aging beautifully. It looks like…a crack-house. One of the stained glass windows at the side has been boarded up, with graffiti sprayed all over the plywood. Smashed beer bottles lie strewn around the entrance. The large stone urns that once held flowers have long since been kicked over, one of them shattered right through the center.

One of the front windows is wedged half-open with a board, and the rotting front door is slightly ajar, hanging askew on its hinges.

My thumb keeps tapping my phone, taking more photos. Even if this place is a decrepit dump, I might be able to use the references at some point. I can always tidy things up as little when I sketch it.

I look down to check the last few photos to make sure they're bright enough. When my chin lifts, I'm staring directly at two guys in filthy jeans and faded, baggy t-shirts. They're unnaturally thin, with hollow eyes that definitely suggest an overuse of a variety of illicit substances.

"Hipster wannabe influencers ain't welcome around here," the taller one in a gray t-shirt chuckles, coming closer.

"Dunno. Maybe she thinks we're movie stars." The guy with the scraggly beard comes closer, his gait uneven.

Backing away slowly, I try a slight smile. "It's an interesting old church." Something that I read once echoes in the back of my mind…that the more you humanize yourself to an attacker, the less inclined they might be to hurt you. I'm not sure what these guys are after, but it's worth a shot. "My grandma loves old churches, so I collect photos of them for her," I lie smoothly.

It's hard to tell how old these guys might be. Late twenties? Early forties? They both have deep tans from being outdoors a lot, but there's no warmth to their skin tone. Almost as if it wants to be gray.

"Aww, a good little grandma's girl," Scraggly Beard drawls, his shirt hitching up as he scratches his belly. "That's sweet."

"She's from out of town – I haven't seen that car before, have you?" Gray Shirt points across the square to where my crappy old station wagon is parked.

They keep approaching me slowly with a nonchalance that is almost sinister.

Glancing around, I realize I probably look like a frightened rabbit. There's nobody else out here on the streets, even though it's the middle of the day. Even though they don't look very strong, there's still two of them, and no way could I fight them off. Plus, there's an entire uneven cobblestone square between me and my car.

My knees knock as I take another step backward.

Right now, this frightened little rabbit wishes that she had her Wolfe.