I keep following him, taking his hand each time he reaches back to help me over an exposed tree root or some rocky ground. He takes it away just as quickly, turning back to face ahead like he can’t look at me.
It’s ridiculous. One of us needs to clear the air. He’s obviously got himself worked up about how far he went. But I don’t blame him. It’s what I wanted. He was doing what I asked. And I made progress as a result.
But the feeling of his mouth on me was… unexpected. I need to say something. Squash it before it becomes a thing. I’ve gotten used to it being less awkward between us. I like talking in the car. I like that he isn’t always as serious as I first thought he was. I mean, he mostly still is. But I’ve seen how gentle he is too. With Monty. With me.
“Denver? We need to talk about?—”
Something rustles in nearby undergrowth. I whip my head in its direction, losing my footing. I reach out to steady myself, but the only thing in grabbing distance is the branch of a bush. The thorns slice across my palm before I can do anything about it.
“Ouch!”
“Sinclair!” Denver grabs me before I fall.
He steadies me in his arms, and I turn my palm up. There’s a red line across the center with small droplets of blood oozing from it.
“Damn it.” Denver’s deep, worried voice fills the air as he takes my hand inside his and studies it.
“It’s nothing. Just a scratch.”
He grumbles, frowning at the blood as it drips from my palm and onto the forest floor.
“We’ll just patch it up when we get back,” I say.
He lets me go and steps back, pulling the checkered shirt off that he’s put on over his T-shirt. He spreads it on a dry patch of earth.
“Sit,” he instructs gruffly.
He helps lower me down and Monty comes and sits beside me.
“I’m fine,” I argue.
But Denver’s already pulling the bag off his back and crouching beside me.
I sigh and let him get on with pulling out a medical kit to tend to my hand, a look of deep concentration on his face.
The trees stretch up high above us and small patches of sunlight filter through. Now we’ve stopped walking, I can appreciate the forest’s beauty. It’s calm here. Quiet. You could almost believe your worries didn’t exist. That real life was another world away. That your heart was still intact.
“Have you ever lost someone you loved?” I ask.
Denver glances up at me from beneath dark brows, then fixes his attention back on my hand, cleaning it with a wipe.
“Yes.”
One word. Nothing more. So simple. Straight to the point.
“Oh,” I murmur, not sure what I was expecting. Him to avoid the question, maybe. It’s not like I’ve ever known him to share things. At least, not with me. “It wasn’t Georgia, was it?” I fail to disguise the disapproval in my tone.
He shakes his head, the tense line of his mouth softening a little. “No, not her.”
I exhale in relief. He keeps his attention on my hand, his touch gentle.
“When?” I ask.
He pauses. “Almost seven years ago.”
“Before you came to work for my dad?”
He wraps a light gauze around my palm and secures it. “Yes.”
