I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t look so happy about this.”
“I’m not happy.” His mouth twitched. “I’m just… amused.”
I jabbed him with my finger. “Focus.”
He exhaled slowly. “Fine. Married guides it is.”
We turned back to the Butterfields and set up our shared tent while Emma narrated every step as if filming a wildlife documentary. I pretended my heart wasn’t sprinting. Carson pretended he wasn’t enjoying watching me unravel.
At one point, we both reached to stabilize the tent pole at the same time, our hands brushing. Electricity snapped through me, subtle but unmistakable. He looked at me, quiet intensity flickering behind his calm façade.
I looked away so fast my braid whipped like a lasso.
“Teamwork,” Carson said mildly.
“Uh-huh,” I squeaked.
Inside the tent, things only got worse.
Two sleeping pads.
Two sleeping bags.
One extremely small amount of personal space.
Carson crouched inside, adjusting straps and smoothing wrinkles like a man completely unaware of the fact that my entire body was about to spontaneously combust.
I crawled in to help and immediately regretted it. His shoulder brushed mine. The tent seemed to shrink. His body radiated warmth, and I absolutely did not stare at his hands.
“You okay?” he murmured.
“No,” I whispered, my voice thinner than oxygen.
He glanced toward the open flap where Emma and Jake were arranging their camp chairs. “Think they’ll buy it?”
“They believe we met under the pines and fell in love,” I hissed. “They’ll buy anything.”
He smirked. “Could be worse.”
“How?”
“They could demand a vow renewal.”
“Shut up.”
He laughed softly, the sound low and warm, and the tent became suddenly, painfully small.
Emma peeked inside. “Awwww! Look at you two making your nest together. One tent is the way to go.”
I nearly inhaled my own tongue.
Carson, bless him, or maybe curse him, played along beautifully.
“Nothing better than getting to sleep next to your wife,” he said, tightening a strap calmly.
“But now that we’re sharing a tent, you’ll have to sleep with one eye open.” I grinned.
Carson didn’t miss a beat. “The truth is that she doesn’t snore. She elbows me in the middle of the night, and eighty percent of the time, I get a black eye.”
