“That was survival.”
“It was also a mistake.”
“Was it?”
My pulse stuttered. “Carson.”
He set the muffin down slowly, deliberately, as if clearing the space between us of anything that wasn’t necessary.
He stepped toward me, and I felt the warmth of him, the steadiness he carried so effortlessly.
“I’m okay with separate tents,” he said. “If that makes you comfortable, we’ll do that.”
Relief exhaled out of me.
“But,” he added gently, “don’t pretend the feelings are a problem.”
“Theyarea problem.”
“They’re not,” he said. “They’re real.”
I swallowed hard. Harder than I meant to. He probably saw my entire throat construct.
“I don’t know how to… do this.”
“I know,” he said softly. “But you’re not doing it alone.”
Something in my chest cracked open at that.
I didn’t run.
Instead, I let out a breath and said, “We should eat something before I combust.”
He gave a low laugh and lifted the muffin again. “Want the first bite?”
“No,” I said, stealing it from his hand anyway. “I want the top.”
He watched me bite into it, eyes bright, and something passed between us. And it felt kind of dangerous and…kind of promising.
“Separate tents,” he repeated.
“Yes,” I said, licking a crumb from my lip. “Separate tents.”
He looked at my mouth just a fraction too long.
“Sure,” he murmured. “We’ll see.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Carson
Spring arrived in Buttercup Lake like a late apology. It rolled in slowly at first, but then suddenly delivered with warm and bright temps.
It was the kind of day guides prayed for at the beginning of the season: blue skies without glare, temperatures hovering in the mid-fifties, trails drying just enough to give traction but muddy enough to keep things interesting.
Perfect conditions for our next group hike.
“Okay, everyone, grab a quick sip of water,” Sienna called from ahead as she adjusted her pack. “Then we’ll take that next switchback and stop at the ridge overlook. It’ll blow your minds.”
