I should not be staring at him.
The whole point of coming to Alaska was to find myself, not to get distracted by a man with forearms that could bench-press my existential crisis.
He clears his throat. “You hike much?”
“Does wandering around with a camera count?”
“Not really.”
“Then no.”
He huffs a quiet sound that might be a laugh, then parks the truck at a small pull-off. When he steps out, I follow, adjusting my coat and slinging my camera strap across my chest.
He gestures toward a narrow trail. “It’s about a mile up. Steep in a few spots.”
“So… cardio.”
“That’s usually how walking works.”
I give him a look. “You’re very funny.”
“I’m not trying to be.”
“That’s the best part.”
He doesn’t respond, but his mouth twitches as he starts up the trail. I fall into step behind him, the scent of pine sharp and clean in the air, the path crunching softly under our boots.
The climb is steeper than he let on, and by the time we reach a sharp switchback, my legs are burning. Kendrick glances back at me.
“You doing okay?”
“Yep,” I say, definitely lying. “Just enjoying the fresh air. And the sweating. Love that for me.”
His eyes warm slightly—not quite a smile, but close. “We’re almost there.”
A few more turns, and we step out onto a rocky overlook that steals my breath more than the hike did. The valley unfolds beneath us, a river cutting through it like silver thread. Mountains rise in the distance, their peaks brushed with snow. The sky is soft and pale, the sun dipping low enough to tint everything rose-gold.
It’s… stunning. Too big to fit inside my chest. Too alive to translate easily into pixels.
I lift my camera, framing the view, adjusting the aperture, waiting for the light to shift.
I’m so focused on the horizon that I barely notice Kendrick move to stand beside me.
“You bring a lot of people up here?” I ask, eyes still on the landscape.
“No.”
“How many?”
“One.”
“Me?”
He doesn’t look at me, but I hear it—the truth in his voice. “Yeah.”
Something pulls inside me, subtle but deep.
I lower the camera, letting the moment settle, and when I look up at him, he’s already watching the valley again, his profile cut from clean lines and quiet strength.
