Chapter 1: First Night in the Bubbles

The winding mountain road twisted higher as the sun dipped behind the pines, painting everything in warm amber and deep shadow. I pressed my forehead to the cool window, heart thumping with that familiar mix of excitement and nerves. College was behind me for the summer, my breakup still raw like an open cut, but this trip—Mom’s idea of “family reconnection”—felt like the reset I needed. Or maybe the distraction I craved.

Mom—Lisa—sat up front, already tipsy from the flask she’d snuck in the car. She twisted around, Pinot bottle in hand, cheeks rosy. “Riley, baby, this is it! Fresh air, no drama, just us reconnecting as a real family again.” Her hug when we stopped at the overlook lasted too long, her wine breath sweet and warm against my neck. I smiled, but my eyes kept drifting to Mark in the driver’s seat.

He was forty-six, construction-strong, flannel sleeves rolled up over forearms corded with muscle. Every shift of the gear made them flex, and I couldn’t stop the thought: He’s my stepdad, but God, he still looks like he could throw me over his shoulder without breaking a sweat. The idea sent a forbidden spark low in my belly. This is wrong ... but why does it feel so safe?

The rental cabin rose into view at the top of the rise—big log beams, a sprawling wooden deck jutting over the lake, and right there in the corner, the private hot tub under strings of soft lights. Steam already curled from it like an invitation. Three bedrooms: Mom and Mark in the master downstairs, me in the loft with walls thin enough to hear every creak. Mark killed the engine and hopped out first, grabbing all the heavy bags like they weighed nothing. His arms strained the fabric, and I swallowed hard watching the way his shoulders moved.

Inside, the air smelled of pine resin and distant lake water. Mom immediately uncorked another bottle and blasted 90s hits from her phone while boiling simple pasta. She danced a little too loose, laughing at nothing. “My back’s killing me from that drive,” she complained, rubbing her lower spine. “I’ll probably crash early every night on this trip. You kids can do your thing.” The words landed like a planted seed—Mom asleep by nine. Mark caught my eye across the room and gave me that warm, lingering smile, the kind that always made me feel seen. He cracked open a beer, foam hissing softly.

Up in my loft I unpacked fast, heart racing when my fingers brushed the tiny red bikini tucked at the bottom of my suitcase. I’d packed it “just in case,” telling myself it was for sunbathing alone. Now the thought of wearing it in front of him made heat crawl up my neck. Daddy’s hands are so much bigger than my ex’s. I shook it off and headed down.