Of course his name is something rugged and annoyingly perfect.
“Do you make a habit of rescuing strangers from trees?” I ask.
“Only the ones determined to break their necks.” His mouth twitches. “What were you even doing up there?”
“Taking photos.”
“From the tree,” he clarifies.
“Yes.”
“…Why?”
I gesture helplessly at the branches. “The light was perfect.”
He glances up as if the sun will suddenly explain my questionable choices. When it doesn’t, he just shakes his head.
“Well,” he says, “try not to climb any more trees today.”
“No promises.”
He lifts one eyebrow—just one, and it sends a ridiculous flutter through my chest—then points toward the road. “Where’s your cabin? I’ll drive you back.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary. I can walk?—”
“Ma’am,” he says, falling back into the title with infuriating ease, “you were hanging from a branch ten minutes ago. Let me give you a ride.”
I fold my arms. “Fine. But only because you asked nicely.”
“I didn’t.”
“You asked nicelyfor you.”
He huffs, but I swear I see the corner of his mouth lift as he leads me to the truck. He opens the passenger door, and I climb in as if I haven’t just made the worst first impression possible on a man who looks like he does heroic things for fun.
The cab smells faintly of pine and smoke—clean, warm, like the person who drives it. Kendrick circles around to the driver’s side, gets in, and glances at me as he starts the engine.
“You do this kind of thing often?” he asks. “Travel alone into the woods and climb things you shouldn’t?”
“It’s a new hobby,” I say. “Dramatic self-endangerment. Great for the creative spirit.”
His lips twitch again. “Where to?”
I give him the name of my rental cabin, and he drives with quiet confidence—steady hands, focused expression. He doesn’t say much, but somehow the silence isn’t awkward. It’s… charged. Warm. Like the space between lightning and thunder.
When he pulls up in front of my cabin, he puts the truck into park but doesn’t turn to me immediately. His gaze stays forward for a beat, jaw flexing like he’s debating something.
“Try to stay out of trees,” he finally says.
“I’ll do my best.”
I reach for the door handle, but something makes me pause—a sudden, irrational urge to take one last picture. I lift my cameraand snap a quick shot of his profile, his face caught in the soft dusk filtering through the windshield.
I check the display.
It’s perfect.
Accidentally perfect.
