Chapter 147

Chapter 147
By morning, the lake was silver with mist.

Izzy woke to the soft crackle of fire in the stove and the scent of coffee filling the small cabin. For a moment, she forgot where she was — forgot the fear, the running, the weight of everything that had happened.

Beck was sitting at the edge of the bed, boots laced, jacket half-zipped. He glanced over his shoulder and smiled when he saw her stir.

“Morning, sleepyhead.”

She groaned, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “How long have you been up?”

“Awhile,” he said, his tone casual. “Met Cal down at the station. He wants me to start tomorrow — early run with a couple from Vermont who think they can spot a moose without spooking it.”

Izzy sat up, blinking away the blur of sleep. “You said yes?”

Beck nodded. “Yeah. It’s not much, but it’s work. And it’s… quiet. I like quiet.”

She smiled softly. “You and me both.”

He moved toward the stove and poured a second mug of coffee, handing it to her. His fingers brushed hers — warm, rough, careful. It was such a small thing, but it made her chest ache.

“Cal mentioned the inn by the lake again,” Beck said. “Said he’d give the owner a call for you. Wants you to meet her today if you’re up for it.”

Izzy hesitated, curling her hands around the mug. “I don’t know if I can handle a kitchen again.”

Beck crouched in front of her, catching her gaze. “You can. You were born for it, Izzy. Cooking’s the one thing that’s yours. No one gets to take that from you.”

The words were so gentle, so certain, that she couldn’t argue with him.

She nodded slowly. “Okay. I’ll meet her.”

The Moosehead Inn was a rustic building perched just above the waterline — cedar shingles, wide windows that looked out across the lake, and a porch lined with rocking chairs. The sign out front swung gently in the breeze, the paint a little faded but charming in its own way.

Inside, the smell of baked bread and pine polish lingered in the air. A woman stood behind the front counter, wiping her hands on an apron. Her hair was silver and pulled into a neat bun, her eyes bright with something that reminded Izzy of Father Nolan — that quiet, steady kindness that came from surviving enough to know what really mattered.

“You must be Izzy,” the woman said, smiling. “Cal told me you’d stop by. I’m Lorna.”

Izzy shook her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Lorna gestured for her to follow. “Come on, let me show you the kitchen. Place has been understaffed for weeks. My last cook ran off with one of the guests — apparently moose country wasn’t exciting enough for him.”

Izzy laughed despite herself. “I can’t promise I’ll be any more exciting than that.”

Lorna led her through a swinging door into a wide, open kitchen. It was dated — enamel stove, copper pots, wooden prep tables — but clean and full of light from the windows that looked out on the lake.

“Doesn’t need fancy,” Lorna said. “Just heart.”

Izzy ran her hand over the smooth surface of the counter, her pulse quickening. It had been so long since she stood in a kitchen that didn’t belong to someone cruel or controlling. She could almost feel her old rhythm coming back — the way her hands used to move instinctively, the quiet joy of creating something out of nothing.

“I think I could work here,” she said softly.

Lorna grinned. “Good. I could use someone who loves what they do.”

That evening, as the sun sank low over the water, Beck met her outside the cabin. He’d been gone most of the day helping Cal with the first group of tourists — checking gear, setting up the canoes, making sure the trails were clear.

He looked tired but alive in a way she hadn’t seen in months.

“How’d it go?” he asked, sitting beside her on the porch.

“I think she’s going to hire me,” Izzy said, smiling faintly. “It’s small, but it feels… right. I could make it work.”

He nodded, gazing out at the lake. The reflection of the sunset painted his face in amber light. “We’re gonna be okay here, Iz.”

The certainty in his voice made her throat tighten. She wanted to believe it.

But when she glanced toward the tree line, something inside her stirred — that instinct she’d learned to listen to. The one that whispered danger even when the world was quiet.

Still, she reached for Beck’s hand. His fingers laced through hers, grounding her in the present.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “We’re gonna be okay.”

And for a little while, she let herself believe it.