Free Sample
Preview from chapter one
Ned's calloused hands gripped the steering wheel of his old, dusty pickup truck, the engine rumbling beneath him like a tired bear stirring from hibernation. The sun hovered just above the treeline, casting long shadows over the dirt road that wove through the forest. His eyes, wrinkled from decades of squinting into the sun, darted to the rearview mirror to check on his cargo.
In the back seat, Naty and Peter sat close together, their excitement palpable. The scent of new fishing gear mingled with the faint aroma of fast-food breakfasts, a hint of their early morning rendezvous at the gas station. The plastic tubs filled with worms squirmed next to them, their tiny movements almost imperceptible against the jostling of the truck.
The radio played a classic rock ballad, the soundtrack of countless memories for Ned. He hummed along under his breath, his mind drifting to past trips with his own wife, who had passed away a few years prior. Those days had been filled with laughter and love, and he hoped to recreate a bit of that magic for Naty and Peter. His eyes grew misty as he recalled her gentle touch, her laugh echoing through the trees as she'd reeled in a fish with surprising strength.
The truck jolted as the tires met the gravel leading up to the cottage. Naty's hand shot out to brace herself against the dashboard, snapping her out of her daydream. She looked over at Peter, his eyes wide with excitement. The cottage emerged from the foliage, a quaint wooden structure with peeling paint and a crooked porch swing that squealed in protest as it rocked in the breeze. It was a stark contrast to the modern world they'd left behind, a place where the only Wi-Fi was the whisper of the wind through the leaves.
Ned turned off the engine and the music faded, replaced by the symphony of nature. He pulled out a trio of cold beers from the cooler that had been nestled between their feet. With a wink, he handed one to each of the young adults, the condensation on the bottles leaving wet rings on his knuckles. "To new beginnings," he toasted, his voice gruff but warm. They clinked bottles, the sound echoing through the quiet morning. The bubbles danced up the glass, and the cold liquid washed down their throats, a celebration of the adventure that lay ahead.