For a moment, neither of us says anything, and I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am: that maybe this conversation isn’t about lumberjacking. Maybe he’s talking about sex. Or relationships. Or ...
Or . . .
“What do you usually do on the weekends?” Harris switches gears again, diving into a new topic.
I tilt my head to the side, thinking about what a typical weekend looks like. Boring. “Um. I work. I hang out in town. Hike.”
Harris raises an eyebrow, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Hiking, eh? Let me guess—you’ve got one of those cute backpacks with a water bottle on the side and snacks perfectly packed.”
I laugh, nudging his shoulder. “What’s wrong with being prepared?”
“Nothing.” His eyes flicker with amusement. “I can’t see you roughing it in the woods.”
“That’s because I hate roughing it in the woods—the only time I want to see a tent is if it’s pitched in someone else’s backyard for a party.”
He chuckles, the sound rumbling low in his chest. “Good to know. So if I ever invite you camping, I should probably throw in a promise of a luxury cabin.”
“With Wi-Fi, please,” I joke. “And maybe a hot tub.”
Harris whistles. “High maintenance.”
I raise a brow. “I prefer ‘knows her worth.’”
“I’ll give you credit—you don’t seem like the type to fake being outdoorsy to impress someone.”
“Why fake it when I can be impressive in other ways?” I shoot back, and his smile falters for a second, as if the weight of my words hit harder than I intended.
“Oh, you’ve got my attention,” he murmurs, eyes locked on mine. “What other ways are we talking?”
My heart thumps in response, but I keep my cool. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Yeah.” He leans close enough to make the air between us crackle. “Ireallywould.”
I swallow, my pulse racing. Maybe this conversation wasn’t supposed to go down this road—but I’m not exactly mad about it. “Are you flirting with me?”
Harris grins. “I thought it was obvious.”
I giggle at how easy it is for him to say whatever is on his mind. “There’s nothing subtle about you.”
“Would youwantme to be?” He raises a brow, tone teasing.
I shake my head, biting my lip. “No.”
He shifts, knee brushing against mine. “Good. I’m not great at playing hard to get.”
Chapter 16
Harris
I’m not great at playing hard to get.
That makes her face go blank—as if she’s desperately trying to school her expression.
Fine. I’ll dial it back.
It’s easy to forget sometimes that Lucy doesn’t come from a world where teasing is armor and flirting is second nature. My world is one of locker-room banter, deflections, and always having something sharp to say when things get too real.
Hers is quieter. Thoughtful.
