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A smile plays on my lips as the familiar sights of Bearclaw Ridge come into view. It’s been years since I’ve been back here. Well, maybe not years. I visit the town every year to spend Christmas with Dad, but that was only temporary. This time, I’m here to stay.

The sun causes the lakes to sparkle, and impressive mountain peaks are sprawled majestically around the valley as far as the eye can see. Even though it’s sweltering hot, the stretch of road in front of me is bathed in shade thanks to the pine trees lining the concrete.

When I pass the sign for Bearclaw Ridge, my heart skips a beat, and I grin. It’s amazing to be back after spending years in the city where there are always too many people and not enough room to breathe.

After my parents’ divorce, I traveled between Mom’s place and Dad’s, but I always preferred Dad’s. I love my mother a lot, but the concrete jungle she chose to live in never appealed to me. Now I have my degree—something my mother insisted on, even though all I wanted was to draw and paint for a living—I’m finally free to live how and where I want, which is in the mountains of Bearclaw Ridge.

My smile grows bigger when I pass the town center with all its familiar places: Mountain Morning Brew, Blooming Petals, Ridgewood Hardware and Tools, and… Bearclaw Ink, the tattoo parlor my dad’s best friend owns. I don’t know much about the man since I spent most of my teenage years in the city, but I do recall the last time I saw him—five years ago. It was Christmas Eve, and Hawk dropped by to borrow some tools from Dad. I only caught a glimpse of him through the half-opened hallway door, but it was enough to make my insides tingle. He’s a giant of a man with a thick beard and gorgeous eyes.

Oh my God, his eyes.

They’re the same dark green shade as the trees growing on the mountains of Bearclaw Ridge. I snort as I remember how immature I was back then, wishing furiously for those dark green eyes to land on me. But Hawk didn’t seem to realize I was there. I’d forgotten about that night until I passed his tattoo shop.

A mile further, I take a right turn and guide my rental car up the mountain, expertly avoiding the familiar holes in the road.

When I arrive at my dad’s cabin and slam the car door shut, I’m greeted by the fresh scent of pine trees and the chirping of birds. I take a deep breath and smile.

I’m home. Finally.

The front door swings open, and Dad comes rushing down the stairs with a huge smile. “Princess! You’re here!” He pulls me in for a bear hug.

I grin. “Yup, made it here safe and sound.”

“What do you say we eat right away? I can grill some burgers. Or do you want to rest first? You’re probably tired from traveling all that distance.”

“Dinner sounds great. I’m starving,” I tell Dad.

“Great. Burgers it is.”

My father starts working on getting the barbecue fired up while I head inside to drop off my bags in my old room. Nothing has changed in here, not even the Foo Fighters bedspread I begged Dad to buy me seven years ago. He thought it was weird that, as a sixteen-year-old girl, I wanted a bedspread with a bunch of forty-year-old rockers on it. He finally caved when he realized how much I loved their music. I blasted two of their albums on repeat that summer until it drove Dad crazy. He not only bought me the bedspread but also a set of headphones.

Did I secretly have a crush on Dave Grohl? Maybe, yeah. All my friends were huge fans of Harry Styles back then, but I thought he was too baby-faced.

Leaving my bedroom, I close the door behind me and head to the kitchen. I grab plates, cutlery, and two beers from the fridge and head outside.

“Here you go,” I say, handing Dad one of the bottles.

“Thanks, Princess.” He closes the lid of the barbecue and turns to me. “I’m happy you’re finally back.”

I nod. “Me too. You know I love Mom as much as I love you, but I've had enough of crowds, concrete, and car exhausts. It’s almost unbelievable how fresh the air is here compared to the city.”

Dad takes a swig of his beer and frowns. “I still don’t get why your mother insisted on you getting a degree when all you want is to be an artist.”

“I know, but it’s not worth it getting angry about it. She did it out of love for me.”

It’s true, no matter how much I hated studying for a career I didn’t want. Mom was afraid I wouldn’t be able to make money from my art, so she forced me to get a degree as a backup plan.

“Do you have any plans or prospects already?” Dad asks.

“What do you mean? Are you that eager for me to start making money and get my own place?”

“Of course not. You can stay as long as you want, Princess. I was just wondering if you had any job opportunities, that’s all.”

I shake my head. “Not really.”

A twinkle appears in Dad’s eyes.

I knit my eyebrows, bracing myself for what’s about to come. “What did you do, Dad?”

“I figured you would want to start your art career as soon as possible, so I called in a favor.”

He laughs as he catches my worried expression. “Don’t worry, you’ll love it.”

He nods. “I asked Hawk if he could give you an internship at the tattoo parlor, and he said yes.”

That weird tingling rushes through my body again at the mention of Hawk. “Tattoo parlor? With needles?” is all I manage to say.

“You’d mostly be drawing designs, but I bet he’ll also teach you how to do a tattoo.” My dad’s face flushes with concern. “Designing exclusive tattoos is still one of your dreams, right? I’d hate for you to go there against your will.”

I give him a reassuring smile. “It all sounds great. Thank you for arranging the internship for me, Dad.”

“Good. For a second, I thought I’d made a mistake asking Hawk to take you on as his apprentice. Anyway, you start tomorrow morning,” he casually adds while opening the barbecue lid to check on the charcoal.

“Tomorrow? I just got here.”

“Sorry, Princess. If you want, I can call him and ask him to—”

“That’s okay,” I cut him off. “Tomorrow works for me. It’s not like I have anything else planned.”

I truly don’t mind. In fact, I’m curious to find out if Hawk is the hot, muscled man I remember him to be or if it was wishful thinking on behalf of my eighteen-year-old imagination.