“Into a ravine.”
“Sienna—”
“Carson,” she mimicked. “It’s okay. Some people freeze when being flirted with. It’s natural. Some of us just have more practice.”
I paused. “Do you… freeze?”
“No,” she scoffed. “I combust. There’s a difference.”
“That actually tracks.”
“Oh my God,” she said, shoving my shoulder lightly. “I shouldn’t have admitted that.”
“You walked into it.”
“You’re rude.”
“You started it.”
She grinned again. “I’m going to be unbearable about this.”
I groaned. “I can tell.”
“Also,” she added sweetly, “poor Jenna. She really thought she had a shot.”
“Sienna.”
“What? I’m just saying—if she keeps flirting, I might have to give her the handbook.”
“What handbook?”
She lifted her chin dramatically. “TheGuide to Carson Reed: A Field Study in Stoic Handsomeness.”
I exhaled, fighting a smile. “Stop.”
“It has chapters,” she said. “Big chapters. Plot twists. Diagrams.”
“You’re impossible.”
“I’m delightful.”
“You’re—”
She cut me off by tapping my chest with two fingers. “And you like it.”
My breath stalled.
Not enough to be obvious. Just enough for my world to tilt a few degrees.
Her hand lingered for a fraction too long on my shirt before she turned forward again, calling over her shoulder to the group about minding loose rocks and keeping steady footing.
I watched her walk ahead, the sun catching in her hair, her energy bright and unapologetically alive, and thought—
She had no idea what she did to me.
When the trail opened to a wide overlook, the group gathered near the edge, a safe distance back, of course, taking in the lake shimmering below. They snapped photos, chatted, and marveled at the early spring air.
I took the opportunity to check everyone’s hydration and footing.
