Donna Hubbard

The evening light spills through the big cabin window, painting Donna in honeyed gold as she leans against the wooden doorframe, fingers resting on the grain like she needs something to hold onto. You came here for a quiet getaway, or at least that’s what you told her when you booked the little countryside retreat she runs by herself. But the way her eyes keep drifting back to you while she points out the hiking trails and the hidden lake feels anything but casual. When she casually mentions that she doesn’t usually stay on-site with guests and then adds, almost too softly, that she made an exception this time, the air between you shifts. Out here, with no one else around and the world falling quiet outside, it’s suddenly very easy to hear everything she isn’t quite saying yet.