I took a bite and the spongy deliciousness melted on mytongue. The flavor was complex, tart, and sweet all at once. “This is incredible.”
“Wild berry flavors are more intense, so I balance the tartness with maple syrup and orange zest.”
“You bake and you zest?” He wasn’t just throwing ingredients together; he actually knew what he was doing.
“I guess I’m full of surprises.” He poured more coffee into my cup, his movements precise and careful. When his fingers brushed mine for a split second, he didn’t pull away immediately. The touch lingered just long enough to send a jolt through my arm that had nothing to do with the caffeine.
“So,” I ventured, watching him over the rim of my cup. “Does someone special ever buy you Pilates lessons? Because these muffins suggest hidden depths.”
His shoulders stiffened beneath his flannel, fingers tightening around the wrapper. “Nope.”
“Come on, a guy who can cook and bake like that? There must be a story.”
“There isn’t.” But one look into those blue eyes of his and I could tell that there was.
“If you say so.”
“I do say so.”
“So now it’s been said.” That made him smile. Almost.
We sat in silence. Eating muffins. Drinking coffee. I saw small signs I’d missed before. The way Noah checked my reaction to each bite. The way his jaw relaxed slightly when I smiled.
“Why are you being nice to me?”
“I’m not being nice.”
“In most civilized societies, baking muffins for someone is generally considered an act of niceness.”
“Act of niceness? That’s not even a thing.” He took another sip of coffee and lookedoff into the trees.
I whipped out my phone, fingers tapping across the screen. Noah watched me out of the corner of his eye. “There. ‘Act of niceness.’ Now it’s a thing.” I showed him my phone — a picture of a muffin-holding Noah with the hashtag #actofniceness.
“Incredible.”
“Thank you.”
“I meant it in a bad way.”
“What? Does doing something nice go against your Grumpy Mountain Man Code?”
“I’m just here to do my job. A job you forced me into, by the way.”
“So, then you make breakfast for all your hiking companions?”
“This whole thing was Maya’s idea, remember?” Storm clouds gathered in his eyes.
“So Maya made you be nice.”
“Did you think you were special?” He flinched. Almost as if the words had been as much of a surprise to him as they were to me.
“Of course not.”
It seemed like it came out harsher than he was expecting, but, nevertheless, Noah doubled down. “You and I have a business arrangement. I help you. You help me. End of story.” It was like he wasn’t just reminding me; he was reminding himself.
“Noah, wait. I didn’t mean …”
But he was already moving, stuffing the trash into a carry-out bag. Screwing the top back on the thermos with enough elbow grease to seal it permanently. “We should head back.” He practically yanked the end of the blanket out from under me, stuffing it back into his pack. “The trail gets busy later in themorning, and we don’t want to be stuck out here any longer than we have to.
