Page 47 of Acadia Falls

But I lived in New York City and didn’t own a car. Alex did, but I hadn’t asked her for the keys. That meant I was taking the bus into the park. Yay. I hiked up another set of stairs to Main Street, located the bus terminal, and waited.

“Downtown” Northeast Harbor consisted of one street with a grocery store—the one Alex kept ordering wine from—an ATM, a coffee shop, a real estate office, and a boutique. That was it. The entire road was deserted. I wasn’t sure if that was due to the weather or the time of day, but the cute little street felt like a ghost town.

It took forty-five minutes for the bus to show up. By the time it did, the rain was coming down much harder. The driver peered at me from under her cap. “Where to?”

“Jordan Pond, please.”

She frowned. “You sure about that? Storm’s coming. The buses run on a reduced schedule when the weather gets bad. You could be waiting a long time if you need to come back.”

“That’s fine,” I said primly. I took a seat—there was plenty to choose from. I was the only one riding the bus.

“If you say so,” grumbled the driver.

She didn’t bother me. I was from New York, after all. I dealt with a lot worse on a daily basis.

The drive into Acadia National Park was longer than I expected. It took us another forty-five minutes to follow the winding roads to the park gates. No one was waiting at any of the bus stops. The driver eyed me a couple of times as if to say I told you so, but I ignored her.

When we finally got to the Jordan Pond stop, it was pouring. She opened the door and turned to me. “You sure you want to get out? I’m heading back to Northeast after this—it’s the second-to-last stop.”

I stared out at the rain. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”

“If you say so,” she said again. She didn’t sound convinced.

As I stepped out into the cold, wet day, I had a sinking feeling she was onto something. But as all I had waiting back home was a con law outline and a silent phone, I waved goodbye to her.

A hike in the pouring rain was better than waiting for Jack Brennan to call me.

I pulled up the collar of my thin raincoat, hoping I was right.

Chapter Eighteen

MARAN

The hike around Jordan Pond was flat, thank goodness.

But that was where my gratitude ended.

The loop was level, but it was rocky. The rain made the surfaces slick. I slid, scraping the back of my heel. Ow! Luckily for me, no one else was stupid enough to be out hiking—I could swear aloud if I needed to. And I did!

I huffed and puffed my way around the pond. I had to hang on for dear life to the slippery rocks. It was beautiful scenery, with the mountains surrounding the trail, but it was hard to look up and admire them. The rain turned torrential. Only a quarter of the way around the loop, my clothes were already soaked through. I can bring you back to Northeast, the driver’s words rang in my head.

Why, oh why, hadn’t I stayed on the nice, warm bus?

My thin T-shirt stuck to my skin, and my raincoat was saturated, mocking me. My sneakers squished with each step. I stopped on the trail, trying to calculate if it would be quicker to go back the way I came or finish the loop. Finishing seemed like it might be faster, so I trekked on. But the rocks got bigger, turning into boulders, and I had to scale them in order to progress. My hands were freezing. My grip weakened as I tried to pull myself up another colossal rock. I slipped and⁠—

“Ah!” My sneakers splashed into the freezing pond, soaking the bottom half of my sweats. “That’s just perfect,” I muttered as I climbed out. My legs were soaked, my hands were frozen, my face and hair had somehow become wet beneath my hood, and Jack Brennan had ghosted me.

I glared at the rock that I’d slipped from, and then I started to climb. I would finish the loop, get a popover, and drag my ass back to the island. I wasn’t about to let a little, or a lot, of rain deter me. I’d chosen to come to the park to hike, and I was going to finish the hike, dammit.

It was true, what I’d always believed: in life, it was necessary to have your own back. No one else was going to catch me if I fell. I looked back at the pond and nodded. I get it.

Good thing I was an A student. You didn’t need to teach me these things twice.

I finished the loop and desperately lurched up to the Jordan Pondhouse. I probably looked like a water yeti by the time I reached the restaurant’s doors.

They were locked. Closed due to weather, a hastily scribbled sign read.

I closed my eyes, forcing myself to count backward from ten. No popovers for me. No dry clothes, no popovers, no quick ride back to Northeast Harbor.