Dinner wasn’t a commitment.
It wasn’t a vow.
It was just a meal.
A terrifying, emotionally volatile, potentially heart-altering meal.
“Okay,” I whispered to myself as I pulled onto the road. “Okay. Fine. Dinner. I can handle dinner. Probably. Maybe. Questionable. Oh God.”
The pillow slid sideways on the seat as if judging me.
I nudged it gently. “We’re in this together now.”
The sun filtered through the trees as I drove back toward Honey Leaf Lodge, my heart thudding a little too fast, my mind running ahead of me like it always did. But somewhere under the nerves, under the panic, under the instinct to flee, there was something new.
Something that felt like opening a door instead of slamming it shut.
Hope.
Terrifying, wonderful hope.
And for the first time in a long while…
I didn’t run from it.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Carson
I had been on countless trails, crossed snowfields in whiteout conditions, forced myself over ridgelines with nothing but stubbornness keeping my legs moving, but walking to Sienna Harper’s cottage felt like the first time in a long time I didn’t trust my footing.
I didn’t usually get nervous. Or if I did, I hid it under practical tasks or physical distraction. But none of that helped now. Picking her up for dinner wasn’t complicated, yet somehow my heart had decided this was a summit attempt.
It didn’t help that the lodge grounds were quiet. Twilight settled between the trees, casting long shadows over the path, the last light catching the budding leaves overhead and turning them soft gold. A breeze carried the smell of cold earth and pine and something sweet drifting faintly from the lodge kitchen.
Everything felt too still, too expectant, as if the woods themselves were holding their breath.
Her cottage came into view, warm light glowing through the window. For a moment, I just stood there, hands in my pockets, trying to calm my pulse. Then I lifted my knuckles and knocked.
The door swung open so fast she must’ve been standing right behind it.
And there she was.
Her hair curled softly at the ends like she’d run her fingers through it a dozen times, trying to decide what she wanted to do with it. She wore a bright, patterned scarf over a denim jacket, boho, vibrant, unmistakably her, and when her eyes lifted to mine, she gave a smile that was equal parts shy and daring.
“Hi,” she said.
Her voice hit me low, the way it always did.
“Hey,” I managed. “Ready?”
She nodded, but her fingers fidgeted with the edge of the scarf. “I think so. As ready as I can be. Which… is not very.”
That tugged a quiet smile out of me. “We’re just getting dinner.”
“Right. Dinner. A meal. Food. Totally normal.” She paused. “Do I look normal?”
“You look incredible,” I said before I could soften it.
