Chapter Text
There’s a single sentence on the page. One sentence.
The rocks here feel like they’re holding their breath.
Which, okay, is a fine start. Good, even. Good enough to be the opening of something that will linger with Mel for days. Langdon’s writing is like that, usually. It pulls her out there into the wilderness with him.
The problem, Mel thinks, is that that was all he’d written. Just the one sentence, hanging there alone in a google doc as if he had written it half-asleep in the middle of the night and forgotten to come back to it.
She checks the file history for the third time. No changes in the last ten days. No tracked edits, no second paragraph. No deleted attempts or saved drafts or frantic 3 a.m. revisions. Just that one line, and the date he last touched it.
He’s been posting Instagram stories like clockwork, though. Misty trailheads at dawn, stove-top coffee beside a river, a series of videos where he answered questions from his DMs as he duct-taped the loose soles on his boots. There’d been a selfie last night, sunburnt and grinning beside some hulking Pacific Northwest monolith, followed by a short video from his point of view, his voice behind the camera telling some other climber to “hurry up before my knees give out.” She’d replayed that one more than once. Just to hear his voice. Just to be sure he sounded like himself.
It’s been a long time since Langdon missed a deadline. At least two years. It used to be quite a big issue around the office, Langdon turning his stuff in late. When Mel first started working at The Backpacker, he was introduced to her as ‘the liability’. The same qualities that made him an excellent wilderness adventure columnist made him a shitty colleague. He was curious and excitable, and he would become so lost in the nature that he wouldn’t keep track of time.
Robby would have to harass him for his drafts. Langdon would always end up turning in something incredible, but it was always, always late. Robby said it was like pulling teeth, but the work always came in eventually, and the work was worth it.
That was before Adamson retired, Robby became editor-in-chief, and Mel got bumped up to content editor.
After that, Langdon started turning things in on time. He’d email her drafts with subject lines like “Don’t hate me” and “For your bleeding red pen” and “Help! Tell me why this sucks?”
Eventually, he started writing straight into a shared Google Drive folder, a private space just for the two of them. Langdon Drafts → Mel Edits. He said it felt easier this way, not like turning something in to be graded, more like having a conversation.
Mel appreciates the quiet intimacy of that, the way she can open a doc and find him there, halfway through a sentence, cursor blinking. Sometimes he leaves her notes in the margins, unrelated to the piece - little asides like “Saw a chinchilla today that I swear, I SWEAR looked exactly like Whitaker,” or “Don’t you dare cut the sentence about the trout. That was a perfect trout.”
It’s her favorite part of the job, this strange, long-distance collaboration with Langdon. Even when he’s on another continent entirely it still feels like he’s right there beside her, shoulder to shoulder, reading over her notes and making quiet, stubborn little edits of his own.
Her notes aren’t always critiques. Often, they’re simply encouragements. She always lets him know when she finds something in his work particularly striking. The very first time she’d notated a paragraph with “Not bad, Langdon,” he told her was going to print it out and keep it folded up in the front pocket of his favorite backpack.
She’d believed him at the time.
Because the worst part, the part making her stomach twist all slow and sour, is that maybe this sudden regression isn’t about Langdon at all. Maybe, on some level, it’s about her. Maybe they don’t have the connection that she thought they did. Maybe he doesn’t care as much about what she thinks as she wants to believe.
She doesn’t need him to hang off her every word, or even like her all that much. That’s not the point. But there was a certain kind of pulse to the way they worked together. It was messy, intuitive, a kind of shorthand that made the job fun. She thought they’d built that together, thought that maybe it meant something.
Now, with nothing but silence on his end and a nearly empty Google Doc blinking back at her, she’s starting to wonder if that was all just projection. He’s a pretty charismatic guy, maybe he’s just good at making people feel singular when it suits him. Maybe he’s not actually interested in her thoughts at all.
She isn’t familiar with pursuing his attention. She’s gotten used to it coming easy. The way he listens to her, the way his voice changes when he says her name. He’ll argue with Robby, ignore the rotating cast of interns, snark back and forth with Yolanda, but with Mel, he slows down. He makes an effort. He’ll call to ask what she thinks about a sentence he hasn’t even written yet, just the shape of it in his head. He likes to hear her talk through edits out loud, even when they’re minor, even when she knows he already agrees with her.
Of course it doesn’t mean anything. They’re colleagues, just two professionals doing their jobs. But still, there is something about the way he looks at her on those too-rare days he’s in the office that makes it easy to believe she holds some quiet piece of him he doesn’t offer to anyone else. That she has earned it, and that she can keep it.
Or, that’s all how it used to feel, anyway.
Now she’s sitting here in her office in Pittsburgh while he’s on a mountain in Washington, and he’s three days past deadline.
She glances at her phone. No missed calls. No texts. The last time he’d responded was two days ago, when she pushed him for a rough timeline. He sent back:
Still working on it. Thanks for being patient.
And that was it. Full stop.
Mel sighs and leans back in her chair, arms crossed. She stares up at the ceiling tiles, at the cracks that branch out from the old water stain above her desk, and lets her eyes lose focus.
He always used to answer her calls, even when he wasn’t answering anyone else’s.
She’d call while he was out in the field, and he’d pick up breathless, like he’d run uphill just to catch the ring. Sometimes he sounded drunk on the air out there - winded, a little sun-stupid but happy. Once he answered whispering, said he was watching a mother bear and her cubs from a tree stand and wasn’t supposed to be talking but “I had a feeling it was you.”
He used to call her, too. He always had a question for her. Questions about sentence structure, sure, but also about music. About the weather in Pittsburgh. About her sister, Becca, and their aerobics routine. About the weird dreams he had out there in the woods, “What do you think that means, Mel?"
He told her once that she was the only editor who didn’t try to wring the wild out of him. She liked that. She would have told him to reuse the phrase in a column if she wasn’t selfish enough to keep it for herself.
So now, the silence feels pointed. Particularly with his regular instagram posts that confirm both his safety and internet connection, it feels like she’s getting ghosted.
Her inbox pings. A Slack notification pops up. Someone in graphics wants to know if there’s going to be an image set for Langdon’s column or if they should just reuse stock photography.
Mel closes the message without replying.
She reopens the Google Doc. The rocks are still holding their breath, and so is she.
Becca’s supported living center always reminds Mel a little bit of college. She’s balancing two cafeteria trays and trying to weave past a slow-moving game of balloon volleyball to get to her seat. Becca’s already at their usual table by the window, crumbling a saltine cracker into dust. She looks up, grins, and signs finally with one hand before digging into her grilled cheese.
Mel sits across from her and tugs her phone out of her coat pocket just long enough to glance at the screen.
Still nothing.
“Boyfriend?” Becca asks, mouth full.
Mel snorts. “No.”
“You looked like you were checking for a text.” Becca takes a big swig of apple juice, then narrows her eyes like she’s gearing up for a cross-examination. “What’s his name?”
“There’s no boyfriend.”
Becca doesn’t answer. Just keeps chewing, smug as hell. Her eyes flick to Mel’s phone again.
Mel turns it face-down. “It’s work.”
Becca makes a dramatic face. “Oh no. Not work. ”
“Don’t be rude.”
“You’re being rude,” Becca says. “You’re having dinner with me and thinking about your boyfriend.”
“He’s not-” Mel cuts herself off. There’s no point. Becca is usually right about the broad shape of things, even if she can’t nail down the specifics.
She takes a bite of her sandwich instead, chews, swallows. “You ready for Aunt Claire’s?”
Becca gives her a thumbs up. “Paula helped me make a list.”
“Nice, is it color-coded?”
“It’s color-coded,” Becca confirms.
“That’s great, Becs.”
Becca beams. “I’m bringing the big sketchpad and my new watercolors. The shimmery ones.”
Mel nods, more relief than she wants to admit threading through her. “Good. That’s good.” She pushes a few stray tater tots toward Becca. “You sure you’re okay with me not coming the whole time?”
Becca shrugs, casual, but she taps twice on the tabletop - I’m fine in their shared shorthand. “You have your job,” she says, not without a trace of mockery.
Mel smiles, faint and guilty. “I’ll be there the last week.”
“I know.”
They eat in silence for a few minutes, the soft clatter of silverware and background buzz of the dining hall settling into a kind of rhythm. Becca keeps sneaking tater tots off of Mel’s plate like Mel doesn’t see her. Mel keeps letting her.
She glances at her phone again.
Becca catches it. Of course she does.
“He’ll text.”
Mel sighs. “It’s not like that.”
Becca wipes her hands on a napkin, exaggerated and theatrical. “It’s okay. You don’t have to lie to me.”
Mel just shakes her head and laughs, but even Becca’s company can’t quite still the churning in her stomach.
The July issue meeting kicks off with the usual chaos. Someone’s brought donuts, someone else forgot their laptop charger, and Robby’s coffee mug - World’s Okayest Boss - is already half empty and dangerously close to being weaponized.
The staff is gathered around the long, nicked-up conference table that overlooks the Allegheny River. It's a nice morning, light streaming in through the windows, glinting off someone’s aluminum water bottle.
Despite the mid-spring chill still clinging to the windows, everyone’s talking about triple-digit heat waves, Fourth of July road trip guides, and the best ultralight gear for desert trekking. That’s just how the timeline works: while the rest of the world is settling into April, the editorial team is living three months ahead, deep in the logistics of a summer that hasn’t happened yet. Deadlines don’t wait for the weather to catch up.
Mel takes her usual seat at the end, notebook open, pen already uncapped. She doesn’t really need to take notes, it’s mostly updates and Robby’s tangents, but the motion helps. She’s been jittery ever since Becca’s hug goodbye last night.
Robby kicks things off, hands on hips. “Alright, everyone. July issue. It’s our crown jewel, our north star, our cash cow, our-”
“Feral beast we’ve been wrangling for ten years,” Shen says, deadpan, biting into a chocolate donut.
“Exactly.” Robby points at him with mock gravity. “And this is the year we finally tame it. Or at least put it on a leash and teach it to sit.”
There’s a round of tired laughter. Samira slides into the seat next to Mel, nudging her knee under the table in greeting.
Mel murmurs a quiet “Hey” and keeps one eye on the agenda, even though she’s already memorized it.
“Trinity,” Robby says, “you’re up first.”
Trinity sits up straighter, wiping powdered sugar off her black cargo pants. “Yeah, so, my gear roundup is in layout and my ‘Top Ten Emergency Snacks for Type 2 Fun’ piece is with design, but I gotta be honest, Robby. If I have to write one more listicle about dehydrated fruit snacks, I’m gonna walk into the Allegheny with rocks in my pockets.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“I mean, that’s fair,” Yolanda says, and a few people laugh.
“I want real assignments,” Trinity continues. “The fieldwork kind. You’ve got Langdon gallivanting around in the woods with a camp stove and a journal like he’s the second coming of Thoreau, and I’m over here testing beef jerky with tweezers. Let me do something.”
“You want Langdon’s job now?” Samira teases, not unkindly. “Are you gonna start harassing Mel with constant texts and phone calls? I think that’s part of the job description, or at least, I think Langdon thinks it is.”
Mel forces a small smile.
“Mel, I promise you that I am ten times more competent than that man, and I would never harass you. I give you my word,” Trinity quips.
Robby rubs a hand over his face. “Alright, alright, enough. Trinity, we’ll talk about giving you a real field test for September. Maybe a long weekend piece. You’ve earned it.”
Trinity looks smug and satisfied. Samira bumps Mel’s arm again, this time with a little grin that says better tell Langdon to watch his back.
Mel tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, willing her chest to unclench.
“Speaking of… Langdon’s column?” Robby says, directing his attention to Mel now. “Where are we with that?”
Mel hesitates just long enough for it to be noticeable.
“He’s… cutting it close,” she says finally. “But he’s out there. Washington state. Cascade region. He’s working on a piece about solo bouldering. He sent a rough opener, but I’m still waiting on a full draft.”
“Cutting it close? You should have gotten a full draft a week and a half ago. Are we going to need backup?”
Trinity sits up straighter in her chair, looking for all the world like a cat that just spotted its prey.
“He’ll get it in,” Mel says, quickly. “He always does.”
Robby levels her with a look, but he doesn’t press. Just taps a pen against the table and moves on to the next item.
Samira leans over and whispers, “You okay?”
Mel doesn’t answer right away. Just draws a neat little box in the corner of her notebook and shades it in slowly.
“Yeah,” she says. “Just tired.”
Robby catches her elbow as everyone filters out of the conference room.
“Mel. Got a second?”
The way he says it, low and even, makes her stomach tighten. She nods, forces a smile for Samira on the way out, and follows him down the hall to his office.
He shuts the door gently behind them. There’s a copy of Outside on his desk and his mug from yesterday (white, with ‘I write, therefore I am’ in black times new roman), still half-full of cold coffee.
Robby leans against the edge of the desk, arms crossed. “Level with me. What’s going on with Langdon?”
Mel blinks. “I told you in the meeting.”
Robby raises his eyebrows. “You’ve been his point person for over two years now. I’ve seen you get copy out of him when no one else could. So when you say he’s cutting it close, I hear: something’s off.”
Mel hesitates. She crosses her arms, then uncrosses them. Her thumbnail finds the side seam of her jeans.
“He hasn’t written more than a sentence,” she says finally. “One line. That’s it. And that was almost two weeks ago.”
Robby straightens up, jaw tightening. “What has he said about it?”
“Nothing useful. He answers texts, sometimes. Won’t pick up my calls.” She pauses, trying to ignore the way her voice softens. “It’s really not like him.”
Robby nods slowly. He’s quiet for a beat. Then: “Okay. Let me try reaching out.”
“You think he’ll answer?”
“No idea. But if he doesn’t, I need to know soon so we can make contingency plans.” He looks at her sympathetically. “This is the July issue and he’s our biggest draw. If he ghosts completely, it’s not just his reputation on the line.”
Mel stiffens. She knows that. Of course she knows that. “Let me know how it goes. I’ll do what I can.”
“I know you will.”
She slips out of his office before the guilt can settle too deep, before he can see it on her face.
Two hours later, Mel is halfway through re-reading Shen’s final draft about white water rafting when a calendar notification pings in the corner of her screen.
Meeting Invitation: Michael Robinavitch
Subject: Quick Chat – Langdon
Time: 5 minutes from now
Location: Robby’s office
She stares at it for a second, heart starting to press a little harder against her ribs.
It’s not that Robby’s a cryptic guy. If something can be said over text, he says it over text. If it’s good news, he usually knocks on your door with two coffees and a close-lipped little smile. A meeting invitation feels like the opposite of that.
Mel accepts the invite, automatically. Her fingers linger on the trackpad for minutes afterward, still resting there like she might be able to scroll her way into a better version of whatever conversation she’s about to have. One where Robby isn’t about to tell her that Langdon’s ignored his check-in call too, or that they’re pulling the column, or that they’re assigning someone else to replace him altogether.
She pushes her chair back. The floor creaks. Her heart won’t stop its quiet pounding.
The walk to Robby’s office takes less than thirty seconds, but her body feels every step like a countdown. She tries to gird herself. Maybe it’s all fine, actually. Maybe Langdon picked up the phone. Maybe he got his dates wrong, maybe it’s all a big misunderstanding.
She knocks once, opens the door.
Robby glances up from his monitor. “Hey. Come in.”
Caught up in her apprehension, she lets the door swing shut behind her and jumps a little at the banging sound it makes.
“I talked to him,” Robby says, cutting straight to it. “Langdon.”
Mel tries not to show her surprise. “He picked up?”
“Yeah. After two rings.” Robby leans back in his chair, watching her carefully. “He sounded… tired. Rambling a little. Kept talking about the chill out there. Said it was making everything feel quiet.”
That catches at something in her chest. It does sound like Langdon. Not just in tone but in shape. One of his odd, offhanded statements that dresses up his actual meaning and makes it prettier.
Robby exhales slowly through his nose. “I asked if he was okay. He said he was, said it like it didn’t matter either way. Then he asked me what the word was for when the air looks like glass.”
Mel frowns. “What, like a mirage?”
“He meant it metaphorically,” Robby says. “I think.”
They sit in silence for a moment, stewing it over. Then he adds, more gently, “I’ve seen him go through rough patches before, but this feels different. Something’s not connecting.”
“What did he say about his column?” she asks.
“He said it’s coming. But you know as well as I do, he says a lot of things when he’s stuck.”
Mel doesn’t know that, actually. She’s not used to him getting stuck.
Robby rubs a hand over his jaw. “I told him we absolutely need something ready to run by next Friday at the latest or we’d have to bump it. He didn’t argue. He just… went quiet.”
Mel crosses her arms, then uncrosses them. Her brain is already turning over solutions, timelines, flights, the way the file hasn’t been updated in two weeks. The way he won’t answer her calls, but picked up for Robby.
“He’s not going to send it in,” she says finally. “Not without someone in his space, pushing.”
Robby raises an eyebrow. “You volunteering?”
“I could be.” She shifts her weight. “My sister is with our aunt for the next month. I’ve finished everything for the July issue except Langdon’s piece. If someone’s going to go out there, it makes sense for it to be me.”
Robby doesn’t answer right away. He stares at her, considering, then leans forward, elbows braced on the desk.
“What do you think you will accomplish by going to him?”
Mel hesitates. “I don’t know for sure. I just… think he needs the support.”
That lands somewhere between an admission and a gamble.
Robby leans back in his chair, exhaling slowly through his nose. “Support,” he repeats, not mocking, just turning the word over like a coin in his hand. “Okay. So what’s the plan, then? You showing up with a wagging finger and a stern expression? Are you thinking he’s just gonna hand you a finished piece once you make eye contact?”
“I’m not going to ambush him,” Mel says, though she sort of is. “I’ll reach out once I’m in Washington. Feel out where he’s at. If he needs space, I’ll give it. But if he’s spiraling, I want to see him with my own eyes.”
Robby tilts his head. “What, are you planning on camping out with him?”
Mel shrugs, caught. “If I have to.”
“Do you even own a tent?”
“I do,” she says, and then, after a pause: “It’s just very clean.”
That gets a breath of a laugh out of him.
“Alright,” he says. “How long are you thinking?”
“I don’t know how long this will take. I might turn right back around and come home, but I could plan for… three days? Maybe a week? I’ll play it by ear. My schedule’s clear until the August planning meetings, and I can touch base with Ellis to cover my inbox.”
“And are you planning on bringing him back with you?”
That one gives her pause. “If he’s in a place where he can travel, sure. If not, I’ll settle for a finished column and an honest conversation about what comes next.”
Robby nods slowly. He looks down at his calendar, clicks something, and says, “I’ll book your ticket for the first flight out tomorrow. Seattle’s probably your best bet, then you can rent a car and head east from there.”
Mel opens her mouth to thank him, but he waves it off.
“You’re doing us a favor,” he says. “And him too, probably. Just… keep me posted, alright? If things get weird, I want to know.”
“Will do.”
“Go on, then. Go home and pack. I’ll text you the itinerary by the time you hit your driveway.”
Mel nods, already pulling her phone from her pocket.
This is a big leap. She doesn’t care for travel, especially through airports, but she has to do this. She’s going to the Cascades to find Frank Langdon, and to drag him back out from the woods.
The flight is long and blessedly uneventful. Mel spends most of it with her forehead pressed against the window, watching the clouds peel apart into dull blue sky. She tries to read, fails. Tries to draft an email to Robby with a proposed timeline, fails at that too. By the time the wheels hit the tarmac in Seattle, her spine aches and her nerves are frayed.
She rents a Subaru at the airport - something practical and safe with four-wheel drive - and throws her camping equipment in the trunk. The drive east is a slow incline into green: pine-lined roads, brief flickers of sun across her windshield, signs warning of elk and sharp turns and wildfire risk. The Cascade range creeps closer with every hour, jagged and quiet.
By the time she’s close (close in the vague sense of “somewhere in the general region he should theoretically be”) it’s late afternoon. The service bars on her phone are already dipping. She pulls off at a dusty trailhead where a few cars are parked, what looks like a ranger station up the hill, and taps his name on her screen.
It rings twice.
It goes to voicemail.
Mel blinks at her phone, jaw tight. She stares at his contact screen for a second, thinking through her options. Then she exhales through her nose, opens her map app, and drops a pin.
This is where I’m at. Tell me how to get to where you are.
She hesitates, then adds:
I’m not leaving until I see you.
Her phone buzzes almost immediately.
She startles, thumb clumsy on the screen. She was hoping for a text, maybe. At best, a call back. But it’s a FaceTime request.
Langdon.
She accepts it and his face appears, pixelated slightly by the bad signal, but it’s him. Messy hair under a baseball hat, shadows under his eyes, two or three days worth of stubble. He’s wearing a hoodie she’s seen him in a dozen times.
“Mel?” he says like the air’s been knocked out of him. “You’re here?”
Mel squints into the sun. “In the flesh,” she says lightly, an attempt at levity that doesn’t quite stick the landing.
He stares at her, mouth opening like he’s going to say something else, then doesn’t. He just averts his gaze, looking somewhere off in the distance. “Jesus, Mel.”
“You didn’t answer my calls,” she says, voice quieter now. “Or e-mails. You haven’t touched the doc. I’ve been worried.”
He looks down at the ground, his chin tucking in towards his neck. She can briefly see a furrow in his brow before the rim of his hat blocks his face from her completely. “I really never thought you’d come here.”
“Well,” she says. “Surprise.”
He huffs a breath that isn’t quite a laugh. “Okay. Okay - hang tight. I’m actually not that far, maybe two hours. I’ll come to you.”
“Two hours?” she echoes.
“Well, I wasn’t expecting company, was I?” he says, with a faint, crooked smile. “Gotta pack up, hike down. You’re at the ranger station trailhead, right?”
She nods. “Yeah. I dropped you a pin.”
“Good.” He squints at her through the screen again. “You okay to wait?”
“Of course,” she says. “I’ve got snacks. And signal.”
“Right,” he mutters, almost to himself. “Of course you do.” Then louder: “Okay. Just - stay put. Don’t go looking. I’ll find you.”
And then he’s gone.
Mel lowers the phone and lets it rest on her thigh. She cracks the sunroof, rolls the windows down, and leans her seat back. The air smells like pine. A breeze slips through the windows, soft and dry.
Her body finally lets go of something it’s been holding. Just a little. She lets her muscles, tight from travel, relax.
She dozes off, her phone still warm on her thigh.
Mel wakes to the brush of knuckles on her cheekbone.
It’s just the slightest pressure, almost like he’s not really trying to wake her at all.
Her eyes flutter open. Langdon is reaching in from outside of the open window, one hand braced on the car frame, the other still resting gently against her face. His hat is gone, and his hair looks as though he’s been running his fingers through it, sticking up in weird places. His eyes are red-rimmed, like he hasn’t slept much, and there’s a kind of stunned silence between them. Neither of them quite knows what to say now that they’re breathing the same air again.
“You’re here,” he says, voice low. A little hoarse.
Mel shifts upright slowly, blinking the sleep from her eyes. The sun has begun to set, and the sky looks almost like watercolors, hazy streaks of orange and pink and purple. She thinks of Becca, for a moment. It’s beautiful. “Of course.”
Langdon’s lips twitch, almost a smile. His eyes keep moving - over her face, to the car, to the trees behind her - like he’s still trying to make sense of what’s real. He drops his hand from the window and takes a slow, measured step back.
“You’re really here,” he says. “Jesus, Mel. Why?”
Mel opens the door and swings her legs out, but doesn’t stand. The sun’s behind Langdon from this angle, and she squints up at his face, trying to read his expression through the shadow. “I came because I was worried,” she says, simple and honest. “You missed your deadline. You weren’t answering me. And your first sentence was about rocks holding their breath.”
He huffs, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “I didn’t know that was a red flag.”
“Well, it is when it’s the only thing you’ve written in almost two weeks,” she says, finally rising to her feet. “You always send me something, even if it’s garbage, even if you’re drunk or sick or halfway to frostbite.”
“I’m not drunk,” he says quickly. “Or sick.”
She lifts an eyebrow. “You’re definitely not fine.”
“What about Becca? You left her in Pittsburgh?” Langdon asks in what feels like a desperate attempt to change the subject.
“She’s with our Aunt, she’s fine.”
Langdon presses the back of his hand to his forehead, like a Victorian lady with a headache, then lets it fall to his side. “So what’s the plan, then? You fly all the way out here to what? Drag me out by my bootlaces? Supervise me until I cough up a draft?” The words are snarky but there’s no bite to his voice.
“I don’t know,” she admits. “I guess I just wanted to see you. Make sure you’re okay. Help you, if I can.”
He looks down at his boots, scuffing one against the gravel. “It’s not that I haven’t been trying.”
He’s quiet. His words are careful.
“I don’t know,” he adds, shaking his head slightly. “It’s different this time.”
There’s a long pause. The car ticks quietly as the engine cools.
“When was the last time you ate?” she asks, breaking the silence.
Langdon shrugs. “I had an early lunch.” He glances at her, then toward the horizon where the last of the light is draining out of the sky. “There’s a diner a couple miles from here. It’s got this massive moose statue out front. The pancakes are kind of… stupid good.”
“Alright then,” she says, nodding toward the passenger side of the car.
At this, Langdon looks almost relieved. “Hey, let me drive,” he says, suddenly lighter. “You already made it all the way across the country.”
Mel nods, stretching as she steps out of the driver’s seat into the cooling evening air. Langdon takes a step towards the car, towards Mel, and stops there, suddenly too close.
Her shoulder nearly brushes his chest. There’s a brief moment where she looks up and catches the worn-out softness in his face. His mouth is parted like he wants to say something but can’t make the words come.
When his arms come around her, it’s almost like an impulse, the focused, desperate kind of attention you would give to a deep itch that needs to be scratched. It’s not the rushed kind of casual hug that you give to a friendly colleague. It’s an embrace.
Langdon exhales hard against her shoulder, his breath hot through the fabric of her shirt. His hands press flat to her back like he's trying to fit himself around the shape of her, to anchor himself to something solid. She lets her cheek rest briefly against the side of his neck, feels the edge of his stubble, smells the salt on his skin.
When they pull apart, Langdon’s hands linger on her waist for a fleeting moment. He taps her forehead with his, soft and gentle, and so quick that she nearly misses it.
He clears his throat, eyes dropping to the gravel. “Thanks for coming all this way,” he says, voice a little hoarse. “I really am… so happy that you’re here with me.”
Mel just nods, brushing her palms down her jeans again. She needs to steady herself. “Hey, let’s go get those pancakes, yeah?”
He opens the passenger side door for her without saying anything else, waits until she’s in and settled before circling back to the other side and climbing in.
The engine rumbles back to life. They pull onto the narrow road, dusk curling thick, the forest a dark blur around them.
Langdon was right. The pancakes are stupid good. Crispy at the edges, fluffy in the center, soaked with real maple syrup and served with a side of hash browns that taste like they’ve been fried in a full block of butter.
“Okay,” she says finally, pointing at him with her fork. “You were not exaggerating.”
Langdon cracks a smile over his coffee mug. “Told you.”
They eat in companionable silence for a few more minutes, the clink of cutlery soft beneath the low hum of some soft rock song playing overhead. But eventually, Mel glances up, watching him as he tears a strip of pancake and swipes it through syrup. She tries not to focus on how his jaw moves as he pops it into his mouth and chews.
“Langdon,” she says gently, “Can we have a really honest discussion?”
He doesn’t look up. She watches him swallow, clenching and unclenching his jaw.
“Who’s not being honest?” he asks. “I’m just eating pancakes.”
She huffs. “You know what I mean.”
Langdon sighs and leans back against the booth, eyes scanning the window like he’s contemplating darting back off into the woods and out of her sight. “Mel…” He runs a hand through his hair, slow and distracted. “Can we not do this tonight?”
She hesitates. “Do what?”
He gestures vaguely between them. “The mental health check-in thing. I just…” He exhales, lowering his gaze to the tabletop. “It’s been a weird few months for me. I don’t really know how to talk to you about it quite yet, but I also don’t want to make up some bullshit just to get the conversation over with. I promise you I will explain everything. Just give me some time to work it out in my head, please, Mel.”
Mel watches him quietly, taking in the measure of his words, his posture, the slouch of his shoulders.
“Okay,” she says at last. “So what do you want to do?”
He finally meets her gaze for the first time since they sat down. “Spend a few days with me. I want to show you the Cascades,” he says. “I know that you aren’t a camper in the same way I am, but we’ll go at your pace. I’ll keep you safe, and I’ll show you all the best spots. We can hike a little, swim in the lakes, yell into a canyon, maybe. And I’ll write. Having you here, I think that’ll help.”
Mel tilts her head. “You want me to be your on-site editor? Read over your shoulder?”
Langdon grins, not quite sheepish. “Wasn’t that the offer? For you to help me, if you can?”
She leans back with a quiet smile. “That was the offer,” She confirms.
He lifts his coffee in a mock-toast. “So? Deal?”
“Deal.”
Mel lifts her own mug and clinks it softly against his, the tap of the ceramic serving as a handshake. Done deal.
Mel takes a sip, then sets her mug down and wipes her hands on a paper napkin. “You know,” she says, stage-whispering like it’s a secret, “I was kind of hoping for this. All of my camping gear is in the trunk of the Subaru. I brought everything.”
Langdon blinks. “You did?”
She nods. “Tent, sleeping bag, hiking boots. That straw that filters river water and makes it safe to drink. I figured if I was coming all this way, I might as well be ready to meet you where you are.”
Langdon’s expression goes still, eyes pinned on her. She’s certainly getting her fill of eye contact, now. “You packed all that before you even knew if I’d see you?”
Mel shrugs, but there’s a hint of vulnerability behind it. “I had a feeling you would see me. And I wasn’t coming out here to not find you.”
He looks down, then back at her, like he doesn’t quite trust his own face. “This really means a lot to me, Mel.”
She shifts in the booth, glancing out the window. “Anyway, I figured I’d tag along if you'd let me. Maybe help you find the thread again.”
His gaze drifts to the darkness outside. “I’m so excited for that. I really am. But it’s already too late to hike back in tonight. Setting up camp is brutal in the dark, even for me.”
Mel nods. “I figured.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “There’s a motel nearby. Nothing fancy, but clean and the beds aren’t bad. I say we crash there tonight, start fresh in the morning.”
“Two rooms?” she asks.
He looks at Mel and there’s an old something that passes between them. It’s older than today, it’s older than these weird last few weeks. It’s something that has been hanging in the background for a long, long time.
“Yeah,” he says, his voice low and even, serious. “Two rooms.”
Mel nods slowly, taking care that her expression gives nothing away. She looks back down at her plate, slicing the last bite of pancake, though she’s no longer really hungry.
They’ve been dancing around this for years, and she is starting to get tired. Something’s got to give.
But - the thing is that they rarely see each other in person. Maybe four times a year, usually at conferences or all-staff meetings at the office in Pittsburgh. And neither of them had ever done anything about it.
Every time Mel had come close to taking the leap, every time she thought it must be mutual, every time she’d start working herself up to lean in, to lift up on her tip-toes, to reach out and take his face in her hands - he would say something so warmly platonic that she’d feel knocked back. She’d tell herself she imagined it. That she was just misreading kindness. She was getting in her own head, imagining that something friendly was in fact something charged. That quiet, self-correcting voice in her brain always made sure she pulled back before she could be wrong and embarrassed.
And of course, at the beginning there had been the girlfriend, Abby. When Mel was hired at The Backpacker, Langdon was in a serious, long term relationship. She was a wildlife photographer, a graceful, well-educated woman with a sharp eye and an adventurous spirit, the kind of woman that Mel thought made perfect sense for Langdon.
Mel only met her once, but at the time was secretly, shamefully familiar with her instagram account. She really was a talented photographer, and Mel liked her work. She also liked when Abby would post photos of Langdon. They were few and far between, but they were completely, devastatingly gorgeous. Mel liked them because they helped her accept that he was solidly out of reach.
Langdon never talked about Abby much, at least not to Mel, but the gossip around the office was that they were on the verge of an engagement. So Mel, practical and self-contained, had tucked all hope away and resigned herself to keeping her little crush private.
She remembers when they split up, when all of his pictures were suddenly gone from Abby’s instagram. But she never asked him about it, and the news didn’t make its way into the office for months.
Anyway, that was all very early on, before she was his editor, before they were close. Still, those early days had conditioned Mel into keeping a healthy distance, to compartmentalize her feelings for him and her actual relationship with him as much as possible.
But sitting across from him now, even as he’s covered in a layer of dirt and sweat, she can’t quite remember why. She’s historically poor at reading people’s facial expressions, but when he looks at her like this she can’t imagine a world in which he doesn’t care for her, at least a little bit.
She pushes the thought away like always, swallowing the last bite of pancake. “Alright,” she says, brushing crumbs off her fingers. “I could use a night in a real bed after all that travel anyway.”
Langdon smiles, slow and genuine, like it’s the first one he’s meant in weeks. “Come on, then,” he says, voice soft. “Let’s get some sleep.”
The motel room is modest but clean, just like Langdon promised. There’s a faded floral comforter, scratchy beige carpet, and a mass-produced painting of the Cascades hanging on the wall. Mel sets her luggage by the small dresser and flops down on the bed with a sigh. The room is quiet except for the hum of the big, hulking AC unit under the window.
She stretches for her phone and finds a text waiting:
Boss Robby:
You alive? How’s our guy?
Mel thumbs a reply, lying back against the stiff motel pillows.
Yeah, made it. He’s okay. Not great, but not actively spiraling at the moment.
Boss Robby:
You staying?
A few days. I think he needs someone here.
The typing ellipses pop up, pause, disappear, and then:
Boss Robby:
Be safe, okay?
You can come back anytime.
She stares at the message for a second, then types back:
Sure thing. Thanks, Robby.
She puts her phone down on the nightstand, screen glowing briefly before going dark.
A moment later, through the thin drywall, she hears the muted thud of the door closing in the room next to hers. Langdon’s. Her heart gives a small, inexplicable jump. She shifts her weight like she can shake it off.
Then: the soft whine of cheap plumbing.
The shower turns on, and it’s louder than she expects. A hollow rush of water hitting tile. Just water, she reminds herself. Just a person showering after a long day.
Still, she has to stand up and busy her hands with changing clothes to keep her mind off the room next door. She gets into a t-shirt and sweats, she washes her face, she brushes her teeth. None of it helps.
She’s so aware of him. Not just in the shower, but in this new, strange proximity to her. They’ve worked together long enough to develop a deep level of comfort - but that was through emails, calls, editorial notes. When they saw each other in person, they spent at most eight hours in each other’s presence, always surrounded by other people. It was a version of closeness that existed entirely in pieces.
Now they’re here. They are going to spend real time together, alone.
She hadn’t let herself think too much about what it would feel like. She hadn’t wanted to risk building it up in her mind, only to find that maybe the version of Langdon she talks to on the phone is softer, more interesting, more... agreeable than the real man. But he’d looked at her at the diner like she was exactly the person he expected her to be.
She hears the water shut off with a sudden metallic click. For a moment, she just stands there, listening to the muffled sounds that follow. Bare feet on tile, the brief hiss of a towel being tugged off a rack. Langdon’s offbeat rhythm, just there, in the next room.
Eventually there’s a final creak of movement from next door, the springs of a motel mattress croaking under his weight. His bed is on the other side of the wall adjacent from her own, and she thanks the universe for small mercies. For those extra few feet of distance.
Mel gets under the covers. The sheets are a little stiff, but they’re cool, and the pillow holds the shape of her head with surprising gentleness. Her body aches in a tired, satisfied way. She’s surprised by how much tension she feels draining out of her body.
She’s asleep within minutes.
Langdon’s knock comes at 8:00 AM, sharp, cheerful, and with enough force to rattle the cheap painting hanging crooked on the wall.
Mel is already packed and dressed, her hair damp from the world's weakest showerhead, tying her boots on the edge of the bed. When she swings the door open, he’s standing there smiling wide with a paper cup of motel coffee in each hand and a bag full of breakfast sandwiches under his arm.
“Good morning, Mel-in-the-Wild,” he says. “Hope you like your caffeine burnt and metallic.”
Mel laughs, accepting one of the cups. “Luckily, that’s exactly how I make it at home.”
Langdon looks better. Brighter. He’s freshly shaved, his eyes are clear, and yesterday’s exhausted slump is gone.
“Packed?” he asks, already turning toward the car and bouncing a little on the balls of his feet.
“Packed,” Mel confirms. She shoulders her bag and shuts the door behind her.
The Subaru sits beneath a peeling motel sign in the parking lot, Langdon’s gear already stacked up in a neat pile next to the trunk, ready to load. They toss in their bags, and Mel gets a tiny little thrill at the way all of their things are mixed up and nestled together on the floor mat. Langdon makes an exaggerated grunt as he slams the hatch closed.
“Man, you travel light,” he says, casting a fake glare over his shoulder. “What, no espresso machine? No satellite WiFi hub? No inflatable mattress or armchairs?”
“I have dignity,” she replies, crossing her arms. “And a really good sleeping pad.”
Langdon grins at that, and it’s the kind of grin that Mel has no choice but to answer with an open-mouthed smile of her own. He jerks a thumb toward the passenger seat. “Hop in. I’m gonna take you to a trailhead that's about an hour north of here. Way less crowded than the one from yesterday. There’s a spot I know that’s gonna knock your socks off.”
Mel climbs into the passenger seat and fastens her seatbelt. Langdon throws the car into gear and pulls onto the road with a confidence that borders on recklessness but somehow makes her feel more safe, not less. The windows are already down, wind curling into the car and tugging at the loose ends of her jacket.
As they drive, they pass through thick clusters of pine and cedar, entire walls of trees that stretch up over a hundred feet into the air, branches all tangled and enmeshed. Distant mountain peaks rise against the sky, some still dusted in snow despite the thaw of April.
“You weren’t lying,” Mel says as they round a bend and a wide valley stretches below them, bathed in light. “This place is ridiculous.”
Langdon glances over at her, smiling so brightly it could power a solar panel. “Right? I told you. I remember the first time I came to the Cascades, I was like nine or ten on a family vacation, and it already felt like I had been here in a previous life. Or like… I was closer to my calling, or something, I don’t know.”
Mel lets her hand dangle out the window, fingers slicing through the wind. “Oh, this is definitely your calling, Langdon.”
Langdon’s smile softens, his eyes flicking from the road to her and then back again. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I think so too. That’s why I pitched a piece about this place, specifically. I wanted to write this piece here. Like… I knew if I was gonna figure out how to do it right, I needed to be in the Cascades.”
It’s an interesting thing for him to say. His pitch was just about bouldering, nothing particularly unique that he couldn’t write at any other mountain range. Mel glances at him, curious.
“Because… it’s familiar?”
He shakes his head. “Because it’s honest. I always end up here when something big is shifting in my life. College graduation. When I quit my nine to five. After…” He cuts himself off with a shrug and a dry laugh. “Yeah. It’s kind of a reset button. Something about being out here makes me stop bullshitting myself. It’s a place of clarity.”
Mel turns to study him, sunglasses slipping down her nose just enough to let her really look. His profile is cast in morning light, so she can see each line on his face. He doesn’t seem to notice her watching, his focus is on the road, but she can see the way his jaw tenses slightly, the way his hand tightens on the wheel when the wind catches his sleeve just so.
She thinks: What does he need clarity for?
It sticks in her mind in big flashing letters. Is he thinking of moving on from the column? Did he end a relationship that she doesn’t know about? She really only knows bits and pieces of his life - she knows he had a back injury last year that took some time to recover from, she knows that he has siblings spread out all over the east coast that he tries to visit as much as possible, she knows that he desperately wants a dog but worries he can’t give one proper care with his lifestyle - but there are gaps she hasn’t filled in. Big ones.
And if this place is where he comes for clarity, for inspiration, why has he been so stuck?
Mel leans back against the headrest and looks out her window, watches the trees blur past.
“You make it sound like a place of worship,” she eventually says, quietly.
Langdon smiles faintly, the edge of it wry.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Exactly like that.”
They don’t say much after that, Langdon just presses a little harder on the gas like he can’t wait to get them there.
By the time they reach the campsite, Mel’s shirt is sticking to her back and there’s a scratch on her shin she doesn’t remember getting, but none of it matters. A lake appears out of nowhere like a mirage - cool and blue and wide open between the trees, nestled between mountains - and just seeing it makes her feel like maybe the effort of hauling herself up and down the trail was worth it.
Langdon is already a few steps ahead, dropping his gear near a large flat patch of earth beside the water. He turns, walking backward as he grins at her. “So? What do you think?”
They’d parked at an empty trailhead just after nine. Not a single other car in the lot, not even a park ranger’s rig. Langdon had seemed pleased by that, almost smug, as though he had something to do with it. He’d insisted on carrying both his gear and her tent, which left Mel with only her pack. Even with the lighter load, she’d lagged a little behind him on the steeper inclines.
But he never let her fall too far behind. He kept turning back, extending a hand when the trail twisted over slick rock or narrow scrambles. Once, he whipped around and caught her elbow as she started to slip on a patch of moss, steadying her before she knew she was falling, as if on instinct, as if she was a part of him. She’d felt his hand there long after he let go.
And now, finally, they’ve arrived.
The lake is a mirror, ringed with pines and ridgelines. The sky is a clear, cloudless blue. There’s no one else in sight. No boats, no tents, no other hikers. Just the hush of wind in the trees and the faint sound of birdsong.
Mel drops her pack beside Langdon’s and stretches her arms overhead. “Okay,” she breathes. “This is kind of gorgeous.”
Langdon gives her an incredulous look. “Kind of?”
“I’m adjusting my expectations,” she says. “If I admit it’s breathtaking now, what am I supposed to say if it gets better?”
He laughs, crouching down to unzip one of the bags. “Then you’ll just say it got better. But it’s going to be hard getting better than this, I’ll be honest. There’s a reason I wanted us to set up camp here.”
She grins, shaking her head, and looks back out across the water. She understands what Langdon meant about this place. There’s something sacred about it. It feels untouched, like they’re the first humans to ever find it.
Behind her, Langdon starts unpacking. The clink of tent poles. The swish of fabric. The weight of him moving just within reach.
Mel turns around to find him crouched low, one knee pressed into the piney earth, unraveling a tangle of nylon and mesh. His brows are furrowed. His mouth is slightly open, tongue peeking out one side.
“You look like you’re losing,” she says, dropping to her knees beside her own pack.
“I’m winning, thank you,” he mutters. “This tent just doesn’t know it yet.”
Mel snorts, and as they get to work, their years of easy collaboration seem to bleed over. He shows her where to angle the stakes, she helps him to clear out the pinecones from under the footprint before he lays it down. At one point she accidentally elbows him trying to tighten a line and he stumbles sideways into his pack with a theatrical groan.
“Oh no,” she says dryly. “He died. I, however, will survive out here alone.”
He grins up at her from the dirt. “I hope you say something that sweet at my funeral.”
“You think I’d go to your funeral?”
Langdon sits up, brushing pine needles from his shirt. “I know you’d go to my funeral. You’d bring the best eulogy and probably critique the other speakers.”
“I wouldn’t have to critique them,” she says, hammering in the last stake with a rock. “They’d critique themselves when they followed me.”
“See?” He points at her. “This is why I want you in the woods with me. Exactly the right amount of confidence.”
When they finish, their tents stand side by side, angled slightly toward the water, with their boots resting in the grass between them. A light breeze stirs the edge of the treeline, making the nylon ripple like sails.
Mel sits back on her heels and exhales slowly. Langdon stretches out beside her, hands behind his head, staring up at the canopy of leaves and sky.
“This,” he says, “is the good part.”
She glances sideways at him. “You say that like there’s a bad part coming.”
“There’s always a bad part,” he replies. “But I try not to think about it while the good parts are happening.”
Mel doesn’t answer. Just lays back beside him, shoulder brushing his for the briefest second before she shifts a fraction to the right. Still close, though. Certainly closer than they usually are.
Somewhere in the trees above them, a bird calls. A loon or a warbler, something lonely and beautiful. Mel closes her eyes for a moment, and lets the sound of it soak into her bones.
Langdon props himself up on one elbow. “Hey,” he says, voice light and boyish. “You bring a swimsuit?”
Mel turns her head to squint at him. “No. Didn’t think about it.”
He grins, already standing, brushing dirt off his shorts. “That’s fine. I didn’t either.”
She watches, puzzled for half a second, until he’s suddenly kicking off his shoes and shucking off his shorts. And then, as if that weren’t enough, he grabs the hem of his shirt, some soft, sun-faded marathon tee, and peels it off over his head in one smooth motion leaving him in nothing but a dark pair of boxers.
It’s almost casual, almost thoughtless. It makes Mel lose her breath.
Langdon tosses his clothes on the ground next to his tent and starts down toward the lake, his bare back lean and freckled in places she’s never seen before.
“Langdon-”
“What?” he calls over his shoulder, already padding barefoot down toward a tall rock near the lake’s edge. “The water is deep here, we’ve gotta take advantage. This is, like, a spiritual cleanse.”
Before she can muster a real protest, he dives in with a clean, fluid arc. The splash is wide and glittering, disturbing the still surface with a wave that rolls out toward the far shore. His head breaks the surface a moment later, hair slicked back, skin glowing with cold water and sunset. He exhales sharply, laughing. “God, that’s good. Come on. You’ve gotta feel this.”
Mel stays exactly where she is, kneeling on the pine needles with her mouth slightly open and her heart in her throat.
He notices. Treads water, watching her with a slow smile.
“I’ll turn around,” he offers, more gently now. “I promise. Just join me.”
She hesitates, fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt. “You better,” she warns, half under her breath.
Langdon turns, floating away from her. “Not looking,” he says cheerfully. “Total gentleman.”
Mel stands, eyes darting from him to the tree line and back again. Her skin is buzzing, nervous heat tingling up her neck and across her scalp. She peels off her t-shirt, folding it neatly and placing it on a rock by the water’s edge. Her shorts follow. Underneath, just plain black underwear and a sports bra. Nothing fancy. Not that it matters.
It’s not about what she’s wearing. It’s that she’s never been this undressed in front of Langdon in her life.
She walks slowly, barefoot, toward the water. Pebbles press against her feet. Cold air kisses her shoulders and legs. The lake smells like mineral and leaf rot and something older, deeper.
At the shoreline, she pauses.
“You good?” Langdon calls. His voice is soft, no trace of judgement.
“Yeah, just… I’m wading in, I'm not jumping.”
“Take your time, sweetheart, we’ve got plenty of it.”
Mel flushes at the endearment and steps carefully into the water, her arms crossed over her chest.
It’s fucking freezing. It creeps up her calves and thighs in icy increments, but she grits her teeth and keeps moving. When it hits her ribs, she lets out a high-pitched gasp.
“Oh my god. You didn’t say it was glacial.”
“I figured that was implied,” he calls, laughing again. “You’re doing great.”
She dives under before she can change her mind.
The cold hits like a slap, steals her breath, but when she surfaces, she’s laughing too, loud and sharp.
“Okay, okay, I’m good,” she says.
Langdon turns. His face lights up when he sees her, but he doesn’t say anything, just floats closer. He’s near enough now that she can see the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles.
“See, I knew you could handle it,” he says.
Mel breathes in deep, water lapping at her collarbones. Her arms float out to either side, steadying her in the slow drift of the lake.
Langdon floats closer, the water shimmering between them. “You’re tough, Mel,” he says, voice lower now, softer. “I mean, you’re sensitive. In a really brilliant way. But also, you’re tough. More than most.”
She tilts her head, fighting the smile pulling at her mouth. “I don’t think anyone else in the world would describe me as tough.”
“I find that hard to believe,” he says, and there’s something heavy in the way he looks at her, something that sinks deep and holds. “Maybe they just don’t know you like I do.”
It’s incredible, really, how a place that felt so wide ten minutes ago seems to narrow into the space in between the two of them. Mel’s heartbeat is so loud it feels like it might echo off the mountains.
Langdon reaches out, slowly, like giving her the chance to move away, and brushes a wet strand of hair from her cheek. His fingers graze her skin, just barely, but it’s enough to light her nerves on fire.
“You’ve got…” He trails off, thumb sweeping gently just beneath her eye. “A little lake muck. Very editorial of you.”
She huffs a laugh, turning her face slightly into his touch before she catches herself. “Thanks for the cleanup.”
“Anytime,” he says, and his hand doesn’t drop. If anything, it lingers, his palm now cupping her jaw, the pad of his thumb tracing her cheekbone.
She drifts forward a few inches, unthinking, drawn in. Their legs bump under the surface, just a whisper of contact. She sways with the movement, barely realizing that her hands have found his waist, her fingers resting lightly at the narrowest part just above the waistband of his boxers.
He swallows. She sees the shift in his throat, the way his breath catches. “Mel,” he says, and it’s not quite a question. Not quite a warning, either.
She can feel his heat. His skin seems to burn under her fingers, even in the cold water. Her hands tighten just slightly. “This a part of the tour?” she manages to ask, a little breathless, teasing.
Langdon’s laugh is a low, quiet thing. “Best spot on the map,” he murmurs. “Most dangerous, too.”
“Guess I’ll have to be careful,” she says.
He nods, eyes still on hers. “Yeah,” he says. “Me too.”
The water sways around them, slow and glassy. Langdon’s hand is still on her cheek, warm despite the cold lake, his fingers light but sure. Mel can feel every breath in her chest, every hair on the back of her neck standing on end.
They’re so close now. Inches. Maybe less.
She sees it when Langdon’s gaze drops to her mouth. The shift in his posture. The slight tilt of his head. Her pulse jumps so hard it feels like it might break the surface. Her own body leans in, subtle and uncertain, and the world seems to hold its breath.
And then his face shifts and he pulls back.
Just a few inches, but it’s enough.
The chill creeps back into the space between them, sudden and unwelcome. His hand drops from her face, and his eyes flick away, toward the treeline or the clouds or anything else.
Mel blinks, her breath caught halfway out. She feels off-balance, like her center of gravity has shifted. Her stomach flips. She wonders, not for the first time, if she misread something. If the tension that lives in the air between them has always been just a product of her imagination.
But then, under the water, his hand finds her thigh.
She squeals, caught completely off guard as his fingers squeeze and tickle all at once. The sound rips from her unbidden, half shock and half laughter, and she jolts backward, splashing wildly in the process.
“Langdon!” she gasps, laughing too hard to sound stern.
He’s grinning now, wicked and triumphant, treading water with practiced ease. “Whoops,” he says, eyes bright. “My bad.”
“Oh, you’re dead.”
She lunges at him, sending a small wave in his direction. He sputters dramatically, flailing just enough to sell the act, before flicking water back at her in retaliation.
The fight is on.
They splash and dodge, laughing so loudly it echoes off the trees. Mel swims a wide circle to try to catch him off guard, only for Langdon to dunk under the surface and reappear behind her. She shrieks again, the kind of unselfconscious sound she hasn’t made since childhood, and whips around to splash him full in the face.
“Truce, truce!” he finally calls, sputtering, shielding himself with both hands.
Mel floats back, panting and exhilarated, hair clinging to her cheeks and neck. She wipes it away, still grinning. “You started it.”
They float in silence for a moment, both of them catching their breath, the water gently lapping around them now like it’s calming down too. Eventually, Langdon swims toward the rocks near shore, and Mel follows.
The sun is warm on her skin when she hauls herself out of the lake, wet underwear clinging, hair heavy with water. She doesn’t care anymore.
Langdon is already sprawled on a sun-warmed boulder, his chest rising and falling in steady rhythm, arms behind his head, damp boxers clinging to his thighs. He glances up at her as she approaches, eyes heavy on her body.
She feels the weight of his gaze and lets it settle, lets herself be seen. She resists the urge to cross her arms and cover herself. Her skin is flushed from sun and exercise, her breath still a little uneven, but her body feels strong and capable, alive in a way she hadn’t realized she’d been missing.
“You good?” he asks, voice lazy with contentment.
She nods, dropping down beside him, letting the sun bake her dry. “Yeah,” she says. “I’m good.”
Langdon turns his head toward her, his eyes soft now, something quieter living there. “Me too.”
She doesn’t say anything, just lets herself be still beside him. Their arms nearly touch. Their legs stretch in parallel lines. The sun keeps climbing.
A few hours later, the sun has been swallowed behind the trees. The air has cooled enough that Mel wraps her towel tighter around her shoulders. Langdon’s fire crackles in the pit he built with practiced ease, low flames licking at the base of the wood, heat pulsing over her shins. They’d eaten dinner crouched on flat rocks - foil packets of potatoes and vegetables that Langdon cooked over the fire.
“This is disturbingly good,” she’d told him after the first bite.
Langdon had grinned, smug. “Never doubt the tin foil technique.”
Now they sit on a log pulled close to the fire, both in sweats, wrapped up in towels for extra warmth.
Langdon is using a long, thick stick as a fire poker and Mel is caught up in watching the movement of his hand, the way his forearm flexes and relaxes again, the way his wrist flicks.
“I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring your calls,” Langdon says softly, after a long period of comfortable silence.
Mel turns her head toward him. His face is lit by the fire, golden and shadowed. He won’t look at her.
“I figured there was something going on,” she says vaguely, trying to sound casual.
“There was.” He exhales, slow and through his nose. “But nothing that should’ve kept me from talking to you. Nothing makes me happier than talking to you.”
Her breath catches a little at that. She lets it sit there between them, warm and flickering like the fire.
“So. Why didn’t you?” she finally asks.
He looks at her then. His eyes are tired again, like he’s been awake for days.
“Because I need to get some things straight,” he says. “And I didn’t want to pull you into it. You’ve got enough going on, Mel. I didn’t want to make you carry any more.”
“I don’t need to be… sheltered from you,” she says softly, leaning toward him, her knees tucked up beneath her hoodie. “You don’t have to go through whatever this is alone. You can be honest with me. That’s all I want, truly. Just to be here for you.”
Langdon’s jaw shifts, like he might say something. Like he’s thinking about it. She watches the firelight dance across his face, and for a moment it feels like he’s right on the edge of letting her in.
But then he smiles, quick and too polished. A shield.
“You’re the best person I know,” he says, voice light but threaded with something she can’t name. “You always have been. I really hope you know that. But if we don’t put this fire out, I’m gonna fall asleep right here and wake up in a pile of ash.”
Mel gives him a look. “You’re not getting out of this that easy.”
He’s already up, dusting ash from his jeans and reaching for the water jug. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
She helps him pour the water, watching the flames hiss and vanish, smoke curling into the dark sky. Maybe tomorrow.