No, no no.
He couldn’t say things like that with that voice and that face and those eyes and expect me to remain functional.
I swallowed and marched forward. “Never mind. Ignore me.”
“I’m trying,” he said quietly.
My heart hiccupped.
Had he meant to say that?
Had it slipped out?
Was he teasing?
Was he telling the truth?
I didn’t dare ask.
My boots crunched over the snow, my breath fogged the air, and every step brought me closer to a truth I didn’t want to face.
This man unraveled me.
This man unsettled me.
This man, without even trying, made me feel things I’d spent years convincing myself I didn’t need, didn’t want, didn’t have room for.
We reached a ridge overlook. One that we’d show the honeymoon couple on the second day of the official trip, but it was a great place to pause and catch our breath.
Below us, the valley stretched wide and white.
Above us, the sun finally crested the ridge.
Beside me, Carson stood tall, silent, unreadable… yet somehow intensely present.
I looked at the trail.
I looked at the sky.
I looked everywhere except at him, but then I did look.
Just once.
Just enough.
And my chest tightened, hard, because he was looking at me, too.
Something unspoken passed between us, a pull, a spark, or recognition. Maybe all the above?
I looked away first.
Because if I didn’t…
I might do something reckless.
And then, just as my heart began to steady as I convinced myself that I could survive this dry run with my sanity intact, Carson shifted slightly, listening again.
Alert.
