His face falls before sliding back into its usual easygoing attitude. But I caught the flash of disappointment. It stirs something in me that I quickly tamp down.
“I just moved to LA,” he says with a casual shrug that doesn’t fool either of us. “Don’t have many friends yet. Could use a new one who”—he looks behind me, where Agatha must be lurking on her balcony to eavesdrop— “won’t create a dossier on me.”
I laugh despite myself, relief and a strange sense of dejection mingling in my chest. He’s accepting my boundaries. That’s good. It’s what I want. So why do I wish he’d pushed back just a little?
“So,” he continues, that smile returning in full force, “up for a hike, friend?”
I hesitate. Spending more time with Josh feels dangerous, like playing with matches while standing in a puddle of gasoline. Despite my claims, I can’t deny the attraction.
I’ve been numb for years. And Josh is the first person to shake me out of that frozen place I’ve been trapped in since Daniel died. Even if it won’t lead anywhere romantic, I’m not ready to give up that feeling. Maybe friendship is enough. And it’s all I can handle right now, anyway.
“I hope you have proper hiking shoes,” I say, crossing my arms. “If you show up in flip-flops, I’m leaving without you.”
His smile turns triumphant. “Is that a yes?”
“Be ready in half an hour,” I instruct, already turning to head back to my apartment. “And keep that bandage dry!”
I sense his gaze on me as I cross the courtyard and resist the urge to look over my shoulder. I know what I’d find: that dazzling smile, those eyes that see too much set on me.
A reckless half of my brain wants to rewind, to say something different, to risk more than I can afford. But it’s the scared, wounded, grieving part of me that takes over. I lengthen my stride, determined to hold the line I drew between us, even if every step I take away from him pushes closed a door I’m not sure I want to shut.
I’m walking, but it feels a lot like running.
8
JOSH
By the time we scale the first hill, my pulse is racing like I’ve sprinted up twelve flights of stairs while carrying a fire hose. I’d love to blame the climb, but I’m not sure if it’s the incline or the woman walking beside me that’s making my heart pound.
The mid-morning sun burns off the last traces of coastal fog, revealing a view that stretches all the way to the shimmering Pacific. But I’m not looking at the ocean. I’m staring at Lily, sunglasses perched on her head and a battered water bottle swinging from her fingers. The breeze catches strands of her shiny-gold hair, and I crave to test the texture. How it’d feel slipping through my fingers, tangled in them as I pulled. I’m royally screwed.
Friend-zoned.
That’s my new zip code, and I have only myself to blame. When she drew that line in the sand, I should’ve smiled, nodded, and kept a safe distance. Instead, I begged her to take me hiking. Smart move, Collins. Now I’m stuck in friendship purgatory with a woman who makes my heart do gymnastics routines every time she glances in my direction.
Have I condemned myself to the pelvic equivalent of a held-in sneeze by accepting her friendship? It’s what agreeing to spend time with Lily while being aware nothing can happen feels like.
Lily adjusts her backpack. The movement causes the hem of her faded LAFD T-shirt to rise, revealing a patch of skin that shouldn’t fascinate me but does.
Yep, definitely screwed.
I let her set the pace, falling in step behind her. Dust kicks up around our ankles as we hike a short section downhill until the trail climbs again. The preserve is stunning—golden California hills dotted with scrubby green brush and occasional wildflowers that somehow survive the perpetual drought. But my brain has classified Lily as its favorite natural wonder, and my gaze keeps snapping back to her instead of the scenery.
“Are you hydrating?” she calls over her shoulder without turning around.
“Yes, Nurse Finnigan,” I mumble. “I’m so hydrated I might need to water a tree soon.”
She snorts. “Remember not to stand downwind.”
I catch up to walk beside her. “Sure,Mom.”
“Good boy.” She ruffles my hair, and I shouldn’t enjoy the playful contact this much.
But I can’t help myself. Not when her smile grows easier the farther we get from the parking lot. It’s as if she’s shedding an invisible weight with each step away from civilization.
The trail curves around a massive boulder, revealing a breathtaking view of the canyon below. Lily pauses, taking a quick sip from her water bottle.
When she catches me watching her again, she raises an eyebrow. “Ten bucks says Agatha has set a surveillance drone on us.”
