So I turned.
“I’m gonna get the back of your neck,” he murmured.
Then came the gentle sweep of his hand as he moved my ponytail aside, his fingers grazing the bare skin between my shoulder blades. The touch was featherlight, but it sent a ripple of heat up my spine that had nothing to do with the sun.
Cool lotion followed, his fingertips skimming over my skin in smooth, even strokes, right along the base of my neck, across the ridge of my shoulders. The contrast of his warm hand and the chilled sunscreen made me suck in a breath.
Goosebumps bloomed everywhere.
It was just sunscreen, but with every slow sweep of his hand, I couldn’t stop imagining what it might feel like if his fingertips dipped lower on my chest. Or if he stepped closer.
He was extremely sexy, quiet behind me.
My heart was beating way too fast for standing still.
“I should have warmed it up first,” he said, voice low, his breath brushing just behind my ear.
“No,” I said. “It’s fine.”
In fact, it was just about perfect. I could stand here all day, soothed by the motions of his hands working the lotion into my skin.
And honestly, I struggled to believe this was actually happening to me. I mean, he was a super-hot doctor, and I was an okay-looking former TV-slash-YouTuber-slash-unemployed cook.
Who was supposedly getting over a bad breakup.
He handed the sunscreen back without a word. And his eyes—those steady gunmetal blue eyes—were locked on mine.
“Ready when you are,” he said, nodding toward the trail.
I hummed agreeably and pulled my backpack back over my shoulders.
It’s just a hike. Just a break while the bus gets fixed. That was what I told myself.
Over and over.
But when we read the wooden sign, not quite covered by the scrub, I wasn’t so sure.
Flutter Creek Falls, it said. Unusually accurate as to what I was feeling just then.
Because something was happening, and even though this attraction was filled with uncertainty, I wasn’t fighting it anymore.
Even if I should.
It made my heart feel too big for my chest.
One and a half miles, it said. “Do we have time?”
“Only one way to find out,” Noah answered.
I nodded, and he gestured for me to go ahead.
And without another word, we left the bus and the picnic tables and the others behind.
Just the two of us.
FLUTTER CREEK FALLS
The trail was nothing like the ones we’d covered in Moab.
