She laughed at that, but the sound faded as she opened her eyes and looked down at the stream, watching the water slide past like time itself.
“Maybe,” she said. “I’m just not very good at it.”
The words lingered between them, gentle on the surface, carrying more weight underneath.
Caleb felt it then. The faint shift. The moment when playfulness gave way to something more fragile. More real.
And he stayed still, ready for whatever she wanted to share. Because he’d been waiting his whole life for a moment like this.
A moment withher.
Hannah slipped her feet a little farther into the stream, inch by inch, until the water lapped at her ankles. She exhaled sharply as the cold bit again, but she didn’t pull back, didn’t retreat.
“You’re braver than you think,” he said.
She glanced back at him, one eyebrow lifting. “I don’t know about that.”
“I do.”
She smiled at that, but there was something thoughtful behind it now, her gaze drifting back to the water as she nudged a smooth stone with her toes and watched it tumble away downstream.
“I think,” she said slowly, “I just didn’t grow up believing there were things like this meant for me.”
The words were light. Casual. But they carried a heaviness. A weight he wished he could share.
His bear stirred inside him, quiet now. Listening.
“What do you mean?” Caleb asked, keeping his voice steady, careful not to spoil the moment.
Hannah shrugged. “Little things. Fun things.” She gestured vaguely around them. The stream. The trees. The open sky above the canopy. “For as long as I can remember, I was always taught to be... sensible. Practical. If something didn’t serve a purpose, it was unnecessary. If it wasn’t productive, it was selfish.”
Caleb frowned. “You were a kid.”
She let out a soft breath that might have been a laugh. “Yes. But that didn’t really factor into it.”
The water murmured between them, flowing on as it always had.
“I don’t remember anyone ever encouraging me to go play,” she continued, still watching the current. “Or to climb trees. Or to get dirty and come home hungry and tired.” She paused. “I learned pretty early that being useful was safer than being... carefree.”
Caleb’s heart ached for her. For that sensible child.
His bear rumbled low in his chest, not angry, not fierce. Grieving.
“That’s not how it should be,” Caleb whispered.
Hannah smiled again, reflexively, as if to soften the statement. “I turned out fine.”
Caleb didn’t argue. He knew better than to challenge that kind of armor head-on. Instead, he shifted closer and unlaced hisboots, rolling his jeans up before sliding his feet into the stream beside hers.
The cold hit hard, stealing his breath for a second, and Hannah laughed outright at the expression he couldn’t quite hide.
“Cold?” she asked lightly.
“Oh, yeah!” he replied, grinning despite himself.
She leaned back on her hands again, shoulders brushing his this time, the contact light but unmistakable. His skin tingled from her touch.
“I think I would’ve liked this,” she said after a moment. “If it had been an option.”
