Page 12

finn

. . .

The morning mist clings to the pine trees like secrets I’ve been keeping from Hazel for years.

I adjust my backpack straps and glance over at her as she studies the trail map, her chestnut hair catching the dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy above us.

She’s wearing that old Boston University sweatshirt I’ve seen a hundred times, but somehow, it looks different here in Acadia—like she’s bridging the gap between the girl who left for the city and the woman who came home to chase her dreams.

“So, tour guide,” she says, folding the map with a grin that makes my chest tighten, “where exactly are you taking me on this grand adventure?”

I point toward the winding path that disappears into the forest. “Great Head Trail. It’s got everything—ocean views, rocky cliffs, and just enough challenge to make you appreciate the ice cream we’re definitely getting afterward.”

“Is that your professional opinion, Dr. Morgan?” Her eyes sparkle with that familiar mischief that’s been undoing me since we were kids.

“Absolutely. I’ve done extensive research on the ice cream-to-hiking ratio.” I start walking, listening to her laugh behind me. “Trust me, I’m very thorough in my scientific methods.”

The trail begins easily enough, with soft earth beneath our feet and the distant sound of waves calling from somewhere beyond the trees.

But I know what’s coming—the steep climbs, the scrambling over granite ledges, the moments where I’ll instinctively reach out to steady her even though she’s perfectly capable of handling herself.

“You know,” Hazel says, falling into step beside me, “I forgot how quiet it gets out here. In Boston, there’s always something—sirens, construction, people shouting into their phones. Even Starlight may have its moments of chaos.”

“Miss it?” I ask though I’m not sure I want to hear the answer.

She’s quiet for a moment, and I can practically hear her thinking. “Parts of it. But not the noise.” She kicks at a loose stone. “I missed this. The way the air actually smells like something other than exhaust and coffee.”

The trail starts to climb, and I watch her navigate the rocky sections with the same determination she’s always had.

When we were twelve, and she decided to build a treehouse in her backyard, she spent three weeks researching construction techniques and measuring the lumber.

When she was seventeen and wanted to learn guitar, she practiced until her fingertips were raw.

Now she’s back home, turning her childhood dream into reality, and I’m trying not to think about how proud I am of her.

“Finn.” Her voice is slightly breathless from the climb. “Can I ask you something?”

My heart does something stupid. “Always.”

“Do you ever wonder what would have happened if things had been different? If I’d never left, or if you’d come to Boston, or...” She trails off, but the question hangs in the air between us like morning fog.

I stop walking and turn to face her, this woman who’s been the center of my universe for as long as I can remember.

The honest answer is that I think about it every single day.

But standing here, with the forest wrapped around us and her hazel eyes searching mine, I realize maybe the question isn’t what could have been.

“I did. But maybe this is how things were supposed to unfold.”

“Do you really believe that?” Hazel’s eyes find mine.

I nod. “Yes. We were inevitable. There was no way I would walk through life without you. I would have found a way to make this happen.” I lift her hand to my lips and breathe in the scent of her skin.

“Inevitable,” she repeats, and something shifts in her expression. The word hangs between us like a promise.

We continue climbing, the trail growing steeper. I instinctively reach for Hazel's hand when we approach a particularly rocky section, and she takes it without hesitation. Her palm fits against mine like it always has.

“Almost there,” I tell her as we navigate the final stretch. “The view is worth it.”

When we finally break through the tree line, the ocean spreads before us in endless blue, crashing against the cliffs below.

The overlook is deserted—just us and the vastness of the Atlantic.

Hazel’s breath catches, and I watch her face instead of the view, memorizing the way wonder transforms her features.

“This is incredible,” she whispers, moving closer to the edge.

I follow, standing beside her as the wind whips around us. My heart hammers against my ribs, and it has nothing to do with the hike.

“I’ve been thinking,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel.

“A dangerous pastime,” she teases, eyes still on the horizon.

“I’m going to marry you someday, Hazel Brown.”

It’s not a question. Not even really a proposal. Just a statement of fact, as sure as the tide below us or the sun above.

She doesn’t look surprised. Doesn’t pull away. Instead, a slow smile spreads across her face, and she turns to me with those eyes that have always seen right through me.

“I know,” she says simply.

Two words. That’s all it takes to realign my universe.

“You know?” I echo, unable to keep the wonder from my voice.

“I’ve always known,” she admits, her fingers tightening around mine. “Even when I was trying to convince myself otherwise. Even when I was in Boston, telling myself I was building a different life.” She laughs softly. “It’s why I came home.”

I pull her closer, one hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from her face. “And here I thought it was for the ice cream shop.”

“Well, that too.” Her smile turns playful. “A girl needs career goals separate from her inevitable husband.”

The word ‘husband’ in her mouth sends electricity down my spine. I lean my forehead against hers, breathing in the scent of her shampoo mingled with pine and salt air.

“So what now?” she asks, her voice barely audible above the crashing waves.

“Now we finish this hike,” I say, “get that ice cream I scientifically determined we’ll need, and start figuring out the rest. No rush. We’ve got time.”

She nods against my forehead. “We’ve always had time. That’s the thing about inevitable—it happens exactly when it’s supposed to.”

I kiss her then, with the ocean stretching endlessly before us and our future unfolding just as infinitely. And in that moment, I understand that some things are worth waiting for—worth crossing oceans for, worth coming home for.

Hazel Brown was always going to be my home, no matter how many miles or years stretched between us.

And now, finally, we both know it.