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He studies me a moment, then looks down. “My parents’ story don’t end happy, I’m sad to say. They passed when I was still a child. I ended up here with granddad ’til he went, too.”

The way he looks out into the smattering of clouds makes something twist in my chest. “I’m so sorry, Chester.”

Chester waves my sympathy away. “Now listen, if it weren’t for the very particular course of events that occurred, I wouldn’t know this big ole galoot, and I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of meeting you neither.”

I turn to follow his gaze and find Griffin standing in the doorway. How long has he been standing there?

“Everything all right over here?” he grumbles.

“I think so,” I say.

It’s then I notice he’s got a little ceramic pot in his hand. Somehow, amid all the chaos of that first night in the diner, Griffin remembered my weird thing about toast and honey.

“Not to interrupt your life story,” Griffin says to Chester, handing me the little pot, “but I still don’t believe you came here to tell us about your undying love for your hens.”

“You’re right,” he says, holding up a finger. “I’m not sure how I forgot. Too much distraction over here.”

With that, I get my second wink of the day, this one from Chester.

I’m spoiled.

“I came to see if Sasha wants to come see my swimming hole.”

“Um,” I say, my mouth half-stuffed with toast.

“That’s not an in-your-end-o,” Chester assures me. “There aren’t too many swimming days left in the summer, and I thought maybe you all could use some stress relief.”

Now I’m trying hard not to laugh. But we haven’t done anything in nature since I’ve been here. I think Griffin’s worried I’m going to break in the great outdoors or something.

“You know what?” I say. “That’s exactly what I’d like to do.”

CHAPTER19

Sasha

Half an hour later, the three of us—the motliest crew there ever was—are hiking through the late summer. Mid-morning sun shimmers down through the last of the green leaves.

Chester’s singing a tune in front of me, and Griffin’s footsteps crunch a reassuring beat behind me. I think if I could just stay like this, I might be the happiest I’ve ever been.

Then the rush of water sounds as we crest a small hill, and when we emerge from the trees a moment later, my jaw drops. Not a twenty-minute hike up and over the hill behind Chester and Griffin’s place is a spot that looks like some kind of tropical lagoon.

I suck in a breath. “Are you serious?” A small waterfall plummets off a rise up ahead onto a rock, which drains into an oval-shaped crevasse filled with crystal clear water. The water funnels into a babbling brook on the other side, just to our left, winding its way through the woods. Trees rise up on all sides, casting dappled shade onto the space, except for an area to our right where the sun shines brightly onto a giant flat rock perfect for sunbathing.

“Ain’t it beautiful?” Chester says. He hefts himself down on a thigh-high rock off to the side of the water, breathing hard.

Concern ripples through me. “Do you need some water?”

He waves me away. It’s then I notice his forearm—he’s got his sleeve rolled up, and a long ripple of scars covers the top of his pale, scrawny arm.

“I’m fine. Just need a minute to catch my breath.”

Chester sees me staring and chuckles, pulling his sleeve down. “Fell in a fire pit years ago. Damn near turned into a roasted hot dog.”

He breathes in on a wheeze.

I glance at Griffin, who’s eyeing Chester carefully.

Griffin pulls out the water bottle he stuffed in a backpack along with our towels and holds it out to the older man. “Drink.”