“What?” she demanded.
“Nothing.”
“You’re smiling.”
“I’m not smiling.”
“You’re absolutely smiling.”
I looked down at the checklist to hide the way my mouth wanted to betray me again.
“All right,” I said. “The honeymoon couple will need…”
“Extras,” she said. “What if they want extra blankets? Extra snacks? Extra romance?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Extra romance.”
“You know. Candles. Fairy lights. Mood-building gear.”
“This is a backcountry hike.”
“Yes, but it’s ahoneymoonbackcountry hike.”
“I’m not packing fairy lights into the wilderness.”
She grumbled. “Ugh. Practical men. That’s what battery-operated lights are for.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but she moved past me to examine the neatly stacked rows of sleeping pads and then froze.
It took her two seconds.
Three.
Then her jaw dropped.
“Oh.” Her voice went soft in awe. “Oh my goodness.”
She turned a slow circle, staring at the reorganized shed like I’d performed structural magic.
“Carson. This is… beautiful.”
I fought the warmth that crept up my neck. “It wasn’t difficult.”
“Are you kidding? Look at this. Everything is labeled. Everything is sorted. Everything isn’t in mortal danger of collapsing onto my head.”
“There was room for improvement.”
“There was room for a complete overhaul,” she corrected. “You’re amazing.”
I felt it then, a tightening in my chest, and a warmth I had no defense against.
Praise.
It wasn’t casual praise. It was genuine and disarming…possibly sincere?
I forced myself to focus. “Well, now it is functional.”
“It’s perfect,” she said softly.
