“Nope,” I said instantly, stepping back. “No talking. Talking leads to thinking. Thinking leads to feelings. Feelings lead to heart explosions, and I am not qualified for emotional CPR.”
His mouth twitched. “Sienna—”
“I am stable,” I insisted. “Grounded. Rooted like a tree. A very calm, very emotionally detached pine tree.”
“You ran out of the lodge wearing one sock, and your shirt is backward.”
I looked down.
…dammit.
I yanked my shirt straight. “This is fashion.”
He raised an eyebrow.
Silence stretched.
Charged.
Warm.
An inch too close.
“Okay,” I said finally, exhaling. “Fine. Maybe I’m… having a moment.”
“A moment,” he repeated.
“Yes.”
“How long is the moment?”
“Several days,” I whispered.
He moved closer.
I didn’t move away.
“Sienna,” he murmured, voice low, “I don’t regret anything that happened.”
My heart tried to climb out of my chest.
“I do,” I blurted.
He stiffened, expression shuttering.
“No!” I yelped. “I mean, yes! But no! I meant emotionally, I regret it because it caused emotions, not because of the tent! The tent was… I mean, objectively, it was…”
I flailed. “It was hanging quite perfectly! And that was the problem!”
He blinked.
I slapped both hands over my mouth.
Oh God. Oh God. Someone teleport me to Alaska immediately.
Carson’s jaw flexed as he fought a laugh unsuccessfully. “Sienna…”
“You didn’t hear that,” I said from behind my hands.
