Chapter Twenty-Two
Carson
The sun wasn’t up yet when I walked into the lodge’s main hall, but the woodstove was crackling, coffee was already brewing, and there was a sense of movement in the air that only came on trip days. It was anticipation layered with nerves. Mine were worse than usual.
I’d barely slept. Not for lack of trying. But when your last conscious memory is of kissing someone with the kind of hunger you’d promised yourself you’d never feel again, sleep wasn’t exactly generous. Every moment we stole away, our lips were on each other. But I was proud of the fact that it stayed there. We were pacing ourselves. We weren’t being professional, but we were at least being cautious. Kisses were good. They were harmless.
I pushed the door shut behind me, willing myself into guide mode.
Professional.
Levelheaded.
Focused.
Except as soon as I stepped into the hall, I caught sight of Sienna crouched beside the welcome board taping up the Butterfields’ itinerary, and all that focus evaporated.
She wore a dark green fleece shirt, fitted hiking pants, and boots she’d clearly broken in over a lifetime. Her hair was braided loosely over one shoulder, wisps escaping everywhere like she’d argued with them and lost. When she looked at me, a soft flush rose on her cheeks, one that probably mirrored my own reaction.
This was going to be a long day.
“Morning,” she said, rising to her feet.
She sounded casual. Almost too casual. Like she’d practiced it in the mirror.
“Morning,” I replied.
Our eyes lingered longer than they should have.
We both realized it and looked away at the same time.
Professional.
Right.
I cleared my throat. “They should be here in ten minutes.”
“Yep.” She tugged on the corner of the itinerary to straighten it. “Ready?”
“I think so.”
A lie.
Her lips twitched like she heard the hesitation.
We walked to the coffee station. I pretended to read the label on a thermos I’d already memorized. She pretended not to watch me.
The silence between us wasn’t cold, but it was charged like the entire lodge was waiting to see which of us would trip first.
The front door swung open.
A blast of crisp, early-morning air swept into the hall, and in walked a couple dressed head to toe in coordinated hiking gear. She wore a bright red beanie and a matching scarf. He wore a black soft-shell jacket with a grin that suggested he hadn’t stopped smiling since their wedding.
“You must be the Harpers!” the man said warmly.
I blinked.
Sienna blinked.
