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"I'm so tired of being afraid," I whispered against his chest. "Of looking over my shoulder. Of wondering if every stranger is him. Of not knowing who I can trust."

"I know," he murmured, his hand stroking my hair. "But you're not alone anymore."

I pulled back slightly, searching his face. "You're not mad that I lied to you?"

"You didn't lie. You just didn't tell me everything." His touch was gentle as he wiped away a tear. "And considering we've known each other all of three days, I can hardly hold that against you."

The absurdity of our situation washed over me—how quickly we'd gone from strangers to lovers, how I was sitting in his living room wearing only his t-shirt while confessing my darkest fears. A laugh bubbled up, slightly hysterical.

"What?" he asked, a smile tugging at his lips.

"This is all so... much," I said, gesturing between us. "Three days ago, you were rescuing me from my own boating incompetence, and now I'm crying on your shoulder half-naked after mind-blowing sex, confessing about my stalker."

His smile widened. "When you put it that way, it does sound a little unorthodox."

"A little?" I scoffed, but I was smiling too.

Noah's expression grew serious again. "About this Preston Barrett. If he really has figured out you're in Montana, we need to take precautions."

"What kind of precautions?"

"First, I need to alert Sheriff Callahan. He should know there's a potential security concern."

I nodded, relieved that Noah wasn't suggesting a full public announcement.

"Second, we need to make your cabin more secure. Better locks, motion-sensor lights. I've got some security equipment at the station I can bring over."

"Is that really necessary?" The idea of turning my peaceful retreat into a fortress made my heart sink.

"It's precautionary," Noah assured me. "Hope Peak is small, Didi. A stranger would stand out here, especially during tourist season when we're already on high alert. But better safe than sorry."

"Okay," I agreed, still not loving the idea but trusting his judgment.

"Third," he continued, his tone softening, "I think you should consider staying here until the Fourth is over."

This surprised me. "Here? With you?"

"It's more secure than your cabin. Central location, better visibility, and..." He hesitated, a rare moment of uncertainty. "I'd feel better knowing you were safe."

The protectiveness in his voice warmed something deep inside me. It had been so long since anyone had truly looked out for me—not because they wanted something, but simply because they cared.

"I don't want to impose," I said, echoing my words from last night.

"It's not an imposition," he replied, echoing his response. "Besides, I like having you here."

The simple honesty of his statement caught me off guard. "I like being here," I confessed. "But I also don't want to let this situation control my life. I came to Hope Peak to find some peace, do a little work, not to hide in your cabin—as pleasant as that might be."

Noah considered this, respect in his eyes. "Fair enough. How about a compromise? We secure your cabin today, and you decide where you feel most comfortable staying. No pressure either way."

"I can work with that," I agreed, relieved that he wasn't insisting on taking over.

"There's one more thing," he said, reaching for his phone. "The resort just sent out notifications about the Fourth of July celebration. Fireworks over the lake, barbecue, live music—the whole small-town America experience."

I glanced at the email he showed me, detailing the festivities planned for the holiday. Under normal circumstances, it would have sounded wonderful.

"You should go," Noah said, watching my reaction carefully.

"I don't know if that's a good idea," I hedged. "Large crowds, public setting..."

"I'll be with you," he countered. "And every officer in Hope Peak will be on duty—except me, ironically, since Callahan ordered me to take the day off. It's actually one of the safest places you could be."

I bit my lip, considering. The thought of missing the celebration—of letting fear keep me locked away while life continued without me—left a bitter taste in my mouth. Wasn't that why I'd fled to the mountains in the first place? Not just to hide, but to reclaim some semblance of normalcy?

"Plus," Noah added, a mischievous glint in his eye, "I've been told I clean up pretty well for celebrations. I even own a shirt without a single hole in it."

That startled a laugh out of me. "The mountain man in his formal attire? Now that I have to see."

"It's a rare sight," he assured me with mock seriousness. "Like spotting Bigfoot, but slightly better dressed."

"Well, consider me convinced," I said, making my decision. "Okay. Fourth of July celebration it is."

Noah's smile was worth any lingering anxiety. "Good. It wouldn't be the same without you."

The simple statement affected me more deeply than it should have. In only a few short days, Noah Sterling had become someone whose opinion mattered to me, whose smile I craved, whose presence made me feel both sheltered and exhilarated.

We spent the next hour discussing practical matters—when to speak with Callahan, what security measures to implement, how to maintain vigilance without succumbing to paranoia. Noah addressed each topic thoughtfully, never dismissing my concerns but never feeding my fears either.

"You're good at this," I observed as he made a list of supplies needed for my cabin's security upgrades.

"It's my job," he replied simply.

"No, I mean the balance. Taking it seriously without making me feel helpless or hysterical. You'd be surprised how many people can't manage that."

He looked up from his notes, blue eyes steady on mine. "You're neither helpless nor hysterical, Didi. You're a woman dealing with a difficult situation with remarkable grace."

His words washed over me like a balm. For months, I'd carried not just the fear of my stalker but the weight of others' reactions—the station manager's barely concealed implication that my "provocative" on-air personality had invited this attention, the police officer who'd suggested I "tone down" my social media presence, even Jamie's well-intentioned but sometimes smothering concern.

Noah saw me differently—not as a victim to be pitied or protected, not as someone who'd brought this on herself, but as a capable person facing a challenge. The distinction meant more than I could express.

By mid-morning, we'd formulated a plan. Noah would speak with Callahan while I returned to my cabin to work. We'd meet for lunch, after which Noah would help install additional security measures. Simple, practical steps that made me feel proactive rather than paranoid.

"I should get dressed," I said, reluctantly standing from the couch. "I have a radio show to prep for tonight."

Noah rose with me, his hand finding the small of my back in a touch that was becoming familiar. "I'll drive you back to your cabin."

"It's a five-minute walk," I pointed out.

"Humor me," he said, the slight tension in his jaw betraying his concern.

I relented, touched by his protectiveness even as I reminded myself not to become dependent on it. "Okay, but I'm borrowing your shower first."

His eyes darkened. "Need any help in there?"

The heat in his gaze momentarily banished all thoughts of stalkers and security measures. "Absolutely," I replied, taking his hand and leading him toward the bathroom. "I might need a very thorough washing."

We were nearly an hour late leaving his cabin.

***

Back in my own space, with Noah's promise to return with security equipment from the station, I tried to focus on work. My makeshift studio was exactly as I'd left it, but sitting before the microphone felt different now. I wasn't just going through the motions.

I recorded segments for both my radio show and the podcast side project, my professional voice returning with surprising ease—that particular cadence and tone that had become my trademark.

The words flowed naturally, my thoughts clearer than they'd been in weeks.

Perhaps unburdening myself to Noah had lifted a weight I hadn't fully recognized.

After finalizing the audio files and sending them to Jamie, I stood at my kitchen window, gazing out at the lake.

The water sparkled under the midday sun, boats dotting the surface as tourists enjoyed the perfect summer day.

It was exactly the peaceful scene I'd envisioned when planning my retreat to Hope Peak.

Except now, that peace felt threatened. Not just by the possibility that Preston Barrett might find me, but by the complicated emotions Noah Sterling had awakened.

I'd come to Hope Peak to hide, to lick my wounds, to rebuild my sense of safety.

I hadn't planned on meeting someone who made me feel alive again, who made me want things I'd convinced myself I didn't need.

What would happen when this was over? When Preston was caught, when my sabbatical ended, when I had to return to Chicago and my real life? Noah was rooted here—his job, his home, his entire identity bound up in Hope Peak and its community. I had a career in Chicago, a life I'd built over years.

And yet.

The thought of saying goodbye to Noah, of reducing what we'd shared to a vacation fling or a pleasant memory, created an ache in my chest I wasn't prepared for. Three days of connection that felt more genuine than three years with my ex-fiancé.

I was falling for him. The realization settled over me like a familiar blanket, as if I'd known it all along but only now allowed myself to acknowledge it.

Beyond the physical attraction, beyond the protection he offered, I was falling for Noah Sterling—his quiet strength, his dry humor, the way he looked at me as if truly seeing me.

"This wasn't the plan," I whispered to the empty cabin.

But it was better than any plan I could have made. Finding Noah was what I needed, not just to feel safe again, but to remember how it felt to be truly alive.

With that thought warming me from within, I turned from the window and began preparing for his return. For the first time since ChicagoNightOwl's first unsettling message, I wasn't just hiding. I was beginning to find myself again.