He nodded. “Yes.”
“Ever guided with… with another woman?”
That was not what I meant to say.
I froze.
He paused mid-pole extension. “No.”
“No?” I repeated, as if I hadn’t heard him.
“No,” he said again, eyes meeting mine. “Never.”
I felt something hot and embarrassing twist in my stomach.
Why did that matter to me?
Why should that matter?
I didn’t subscribe to the idea of relationships. I didn’twantto care whether Carson had shared a trail with a woman, a moose, or a talking pine tree.
But the thought of him being alone in the wilderness with another woman made something at the base of my throat ache and kind of tighten.
The feeling startled me and then appalled me.
“What about you?” he asked.
“What about me?” I echoed too quickly.
“Have you ever guided with a male partner?”
I flailed mentally. “Um—no. Not… not like this.”
Not with the constant tension.
Not with the weird gravitational pull.
Not with the terrifying awareness of every breath he took.
“So,” he said quietly, “this is new for both of us.”
I swallowed. “Unfortunately.”
His brow furrowed slightly. “Unfortunately.”
“That came out wrong,” I rushed. “I mean, it didn’t come out wrong, but it came out wrong in the wrong direction. Not because it’s you, but because it’s… you. And I’m me. And the universe is laughing at me personally.”
He stared.
I stared back.
Both of us were trapped in some invisible current neither of us understood.
He broke it first, returning to the tent poles. “Let’s finish this.”
“Right. Yes. Tent. Romance for the guests. No romance for us. Perfect.”
He paused again.
