“Sienna never stutters,” Fifi agreed.
“I stutter sometimes!”
“No, you don’t,” they said in unison.
I turned to the calendar again in a desperate attempt to escape their attention with the power of ignoring reality. It didnot work because there, directly next to the neon yellow label reading APRIL BACKCOUNTRY RETREATS, was my name.
And next to it?
Carson Reed.
Three trips in a row.
Three.
Back-to-back weeks—me, him, wilderness, unavoidable proximity, tent situations…
My hand came up to my eyes, and I rubbed them hard.
Of course, this was the universe punishing me for having feelings.
“Okay,” Violet said slowly, “your face just went through six emotions, and I only recognized fear and longing.”
Fifi gasped theatrically. “Longing!”
“NOT longing,” I choked. “More like… dread.”
“That’s worse,” Violet pointed out.
“No, it’s not!”
“Sienna,” Fifi said gently, “did something weird happen between you two? Did someone say something about needing space? Did he tell you he doesn’t want to guide with you?”
That hit a little too close.
Because the truth was:
He hadn’t said that.
I had from the moment I met him.
Accidentally.
Sort of.
The lodge was warm.
The calendar glared at me.
My sisters stared like interrogation lamps.
And my mouth opened without permission.
“He doesn’t need my help,” I blurted.
Their jaws dropped in tandem.
Fifi’s eyebrows shot up. “He told you that?”
