Page 175 of Distress Signal

Thankfully, through therapy, the talking kind for Lainey and the physical kind for Lane, both were coming back stronger than ever.

Did I think Lainey taking off to the other side of the world to bealonewas a bit insane? Of course. But I was in no position to judge the way people coped and healed.

Lane, on the other hand, was staying put in Dusk Valley—and found himself with a houseguest to boot, one who was uninvited but doing a hell of a job at making sure he doesn’t push himself too hard.

The GPS directed me down a dirt road, entirely shaded by a leafy green canopy, the sun dappling the windshield as we passed through.

“Your destination is on your left.”

The lane was nondescript and cut through more trees, but I knew from photos online that we’d soon break free from the cover into unobstructed and soaring mountain views.

As we did, Reagan gasped.

“It’s like a little fairy cottage!” she squealed, smacking my arm excitedly. I grinned at her as I pulled to a stop in the little gravel lot out front.

Perched near the edge of a cliff, the cabin did give fairycore vibes.

I wanted to punch myself for even knowing what “fairycore” meant.

The walls were dark-stained logs, the red tin roof domed, making it look more like the cap of a mushroom than a traditional log cabin. The trim and door were painted a burnt umberthat blended in with the fall foliage and made me feel as though we’d stumbled onto the Smurf’s village.

We’d visited Aria in Nashville—where, unsurprisingly, she was thriving—and it took some time to convince Reagan to extend our trip. After all the uncertainty we’d recently faced, and how unsettled she’d felt all summer, I thought it mostly had to do with wanting to get home and establish a routine. To start building her business up in Idaho, to settle into our day-to-day lives.

But looking at her now, the sense of awe and wonder shining in her eyes as she stood in the front yard of the cottage and spun in a slow circle, taking it all in, I knew she was glad she’d agreed to stay.

“This is…magical.”

“Only the best for my girl,” I said with a wink.

I gave Reagan the key, an old-fashioned brass thing with a decorative bow, and she ran ahead of me while I collected the first load of our things.

Despite the logs and rich, walnut stain on the exterior, the inside was dry-walled and painted a creamy white, the floors a gorgeous birch hardwood, brightening the entire space. The entire backside of the living and kitchen was windows with a sliding door that went out to a deck overlooking the valley below and mountains beyond.

Bypassing Reagan’s inspection of the welcome basket on the butcher block counter, I carried our luggage to the bedroom, which was situated on the opposite side of the kitchen, offering the same views and private access to the deck.

The bed was decorated in rose petals at my request, a bouquet of them sitting in a vase on the chest at the foot of it.

Walking back into the kitchen, I stepped up behind Reagan and pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder, the skin exposed where the sleeve of her sweater slipped down.

“What’ve we got here?” I asked, indicating the basket.

Reagan tilted her head so our eyes met, a small smirk playing on her lips. “As if you don’t know.”

“I may have made a few requests,” I conceded, eyeing the bar of her favorite chocolate, the beer—notan IPA—from a local brewery, and some homemade self-care products, including bubble bath.

She moved out of the circle of my arms, heading for the refrigerator. When she opened the freezer, I found not one, not two, butthreebottles of tequila chilling—one for every night we’d be staying here.

Reagan raised a brow. “You wanna play, soldier?”

“Maybe later,” I said, instead reaching for the bottle of red wine waiting on the counter. I searched through the cabinets until I located two stemless glasses, then the drawers until I found an opener. I gave us each a healthy pour and pulled my girl out to the deck.

We’d arrived in time to watch the sunset, stepping outside right as golden hour hit, burnishing everything around us in a vibrant glow.

“Gorgeous,” she breathed.

“The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” I agreed.

I wasn’t talking about the scenery, and when Reagan caught me staring at her, a blush bled into her cheeks. I simply slung my arm around her shoulders and pulled her into my side.

Looking out across the vista, the stillness at the summit broken only by our soft breaths and nearby wildlife, I couldn’t remember a time when I’d been happier.

“I don’t think I could live anywhere but in the mountains,” I told Reagan.

She tilted her head to look up at me. “Me either.” Her gaze shifted out over the hills and valleys below us, the peaks in the distance. “But not these ones.”

I grinned, easily understanding her meaning. The Smokies were gorgeous, but they weren’t home.

“No,” I agreed. “Not these ones.”