Page 33 of Reunited with the Hometown Hero
"Coffee?” I eye the travel mug in his cupholder. “Please tell me that's for me."
He hands it over, his fingers brushing mine in a brief contact that feels anything but accidental. "Black, one sugar. Some habits are hard to break."
The fact that he remembers how I take my coffee after all this time does something warm and dangerous to my insides. I take a fortifying sip, using the mug to hide whatever my face might reveal.
"So where are we going?" I ask as he navigates the empty streets.
"Angel Falls. It's about three miles up the eastern ridge—a tributary of Alpine Lake that most tourists never see." He glances over, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I figured a hidden gem would make good material for your article's heart.'"
My surprise must show, because he adds, "Small town, remember? Word gets around when the visiting journalist needs more emotional depth in her story."
I should be annoyed at the invasion of privacy, but there's something almost comforting about the familiar dynamics of a place where everyone knows everyone's business. Chicago can sometimes feel anonymous to the point of isolation.
"And you appointed yourself my emotional tour guide?" I raise an eyebrow, fighting a smile.
"Who better?" He turns onto a dirt road that winds up the mountainside. "I've been told I'm practically fluent in emotions these days."
I snort. "Please. You used to deflect every serious conversation with sex."
His mouth curves, just enough to be dangerous. "Can you blame me? The sex was worth it."
My cheeks flush, heat prickling under my skin.
He glances sideways, voice quieter now. "People change, Bennett. Ten years is a long time."
We lapse into comfortable silence as the SUV climbs higher, the road narrowing until Noah finally pulls into a small clearing marked with a weathered wooden sign: ANGEL FALLS TRAIL - EXPERIENCED HIKERS ONLY.
The air outside is crisp with early morning mountain chill and the scent of pine. Noah retrieves a backpack from the rear of the vehicle, slinging it over one shoulder.
"Hope you're hungry." He produces a paper bag from Margie's. "Breakfast burritos. Protein for the hike."
My stomach growls in response. We perch on a large boulder at the trailhead to eat, watching the sunrise paint the valley in shades of gold and pink. It's painfully beautiful, the kind of moment that reminds me why people choose to build their lives in places like this despite the economic challenges.
"The trail gets steep in sections," Noah explains between bites. "But the payoff is worth it. The falls feed into a pool that's this impossible shade of blue. Gram always said it's where the sky comes down to swim."
The image is unexpectedly poetic. "Your grandmother is quite a woman."
"She likes you." Noah gathers our trash, tucking it into a side pocket of his backpack. "Which is no small feat. Gram doesn't suffer fools or approve of many of my choices."
"Am I one of your choices she approves of or disapproves of?"
His eyes meet mine, suddenly serious. "I think she's reserving judgment this time around."
The implication that there might be a "this time around" hangs between us as we begin our ascent along the narrow trail. Noah takes the lead, setting a pace that's challenging but not grueling. I follow a few steps behind, trying not to notice how his shoulders move beneath his jacket or the confident way he navigates the terrain.
The trail climbs steadily through stands of aspen and pine, occasionally opening to reveal breathtaking views of the valley below. Angel's Peak looks different from this vantage point—more cohesive, less a collection of buildings and streets than a natural part of the landscape, nestled into the mountainside as if it grew there.
"How many rescue calls do you get on this trail?" I ask as we pause for water at a particularly scenic overlook.
"More than we should." Noah caps his water bottle, gazing out over the valley. Usually, inexperienced hikers underestimate the mountain. The weather changes fast up here. People get caught unprepared."
"Like that missing hiker call you got at Lookout Point?"
He nods, expression growing more serious. "Family of four, in that case. Took a wrong turn as it was getting dark. We found them around midnight, cold and scared but otherwise okay." A shadow crosses his face. "Not all searches end that well."
"Tell me." The journalist in me recognizes a story, but it's more than that. I want to understand this version of Noah, the man who carries the responsibility for others' lives on his shoulders.
He hesitates, then sighs. "Three years ago, spring thaw. A solo hiker went out despite warnings about unstable conditions. When he didn't check in, his wife called it in." Noah's gaze turns distant. "We searched for thirty-six hours straight. Found him pinned under a rock slide, still alive but with severe hypothermia and crush injuries."
