Love

The heat hit Lena like a wall as she stepped out of Marrakech Menara Airport. She squinted against the bright Moroccan sun, hefting her camera bag higher on her shoulder. All around her, a cacophony of voices called out in Arabic, French, and heavily-accented English. Taxi drivers waved and shouted, eager for fares. The scent of spices and exhaust fumes mingled in the air. Lena felt adrift, unsure where to begin. This assignment was supposed to reinvigorate her work, but so far she only felt overwhelmed. She’d pitched a photo series on the hidden corners of Marrakech to her editor, hoping it would reignite her passion for photography. Now, faced with the bustling reality of the city, she wondered if she’d made a mistake. ...

The wind howled through the jagged peaks, carrying whispers of secrets long buried beneath snow and stone. Lena Reeves tightened her grip on the steering wheel as her battered Jeep wound its way up the narrow mountain road. Flurries danced in her headlights, obscuring the sheer drop mere inches from her tires. She’d come to climb, to push her body and mind to their limits. But as the tiny village of Shadowpine materialized through the swirling white, a familiar unease settled in her gut. The same feeling she’d had five years ago, the last time she’d attempted a climb of this magnitude. ...

The engine of Mara’s rental car sputtered to a halt as she pulled into the gravel lot of the Pinewood Lodge. She sat for a moment, hands gripping the steering wheel, staring at the weathered wooden sign swaying gently in the mountain breeze. This was it - the last place her father had called home. Mara grabbed her backpack from the passenger seat and stepped out into the crisp air. The scent of pine and wood smoke filled her lungs as she surveyed the small cluster of log cabins nestled at the base of towering peaks. A flicker of movement caught her eye - a man emerging from the main lodge, his broad shoulders and purposeful stride marking him as someone who belonged here far more than she did. ...

Evelyn Marsh clutched her textbooks to her chest as she hurried down the crowded hallway of Westfield High. The cacophony of slamming lockers and boisterous chatter faded into white noise as she focused on reaching her next class without incident. Head down, she wove between clumps of students, careful not to make eye contact. Just a few more steps and she’d be safely ensconced in Mr. Holloway’s AP European History class. Evelyn allowed herself a small smile of anticipation. History was her sanctuary, a place where she could lose herself in tales of long-ago events and fascinating historical figures. ...

The rhythmic hum of the photocopier filled the small alcove as Mira Chen impatiently tapped her foot. She glanced at her watch, then back at the machine, willing it to spit out her reports faster. The quarterly marketing presentation was in less than an hour, and she still needed to review the final numbers. “Come on, come on,” she muttered under her breath. “Talking to inanimate objects again?” a quiet voice asked from behind her. ...

Lena Frost squinted against the harsh glare of sunlight on snow as she surveyed the jagged peaks looming ahead. The familiar weight of her pack settled comfortably against her shoulders, a stark contrast to the uneasy feeling in her gut. She glanced sidelong at the man beside her, taking in his eager grin and brand-new hiking boots with a mixture of irritation and concern. “Last chance to back out,” she said gruffly. “Once we start up that trail, there’s no easy way down.” ...

Lady Beatrice Fairfax surveyed the glittering ballroom with a mixture of boredom and disdain. The annual Midsummer’s Eve Ball at Thornbury Castle was in full swing, with ladies in elaborate gowns twirling across the polished floor and gentlemen in their finest attire engaging in what passed for witty repartee. Beatrice stifled a yawn behind her fan. “My dear, do try to look a bit more enthusiastic,” her aunt, the Duchess Agatha, hissed in her ear. “You’re not getting any younger, you know. It’s high time you secured a suitable match.” ...

The scent of wild lavender drifted through the open window, carried on a warm summer breeze. Mira inhaled deeply, savoring the familiar fragrance that had become synonymous with her time in this small mountain town. She stood at the kitchen sink, absently washing dishes as her mind wandered. Six weeks. That’s all the time she had left before returning to her real life in the city. Six weeks until she had to leave behind the quaint charm of Lavender Peak and the unexpected connections she’d formed here. Mira’s hands stilled, sudsy water dripping from her fingers as she gazed out at the purple-tinged mountains in the distance. ...