“Sorry,” I muttered.
“It is… entertaining,” Carson replied.
I winced. “Don’t look too closely at anything in this town. They sense fear.”
He sipped his coffee. “It’s good.”
“Abby will put you on her Christmas list for that comment.”
“I didn’t realize there was a list.”
“Oh yeah,” I said. “A terrifying list. Millie cross-references it with the Sunshine Breakfast Club roster. They coordinate matchmaking like generals planning a campaign.”
He blinked. “Your town is… organized.”
“Against me? Yes.”
His mouth twitched. “Why against you specifically?”
“Because I am the last unattached Harper.”
He nodded once. “I see.”
Something in his tone, very calm and unreadable, made my stomach dip.
I needed a subject change fast. Something that wouldn’t make me accidentally confess to more cave fantasies or explain how I sometimes hugged trees to thank them for shade.
“So,” I said, lifting my cup, “how long have you been guiding?”
“A long time,” he said.
I waited.
He didn’t elaborate.
“You like being outdoors?” I asked.
“Yes.”
Still nothing more.
A rock had more backstory than Carson Reed.
“So what were you doing before coming here?” I tried.
He finally looked at me fully, meeting my eyes in a way that made warmth spread up my throat.
“Working,” he said. “Traveling. Keeping to myself.”
Translation: Please stop poking me with emotional sticks.
I nodded. “Cool. Cool. Super talkative guy.”
That got an actual laugh from him.
Before I could process that miracle, he surprised me by adding,
“I spent last fall guiding a group who insisted they could out-hike a herd of elk.”
