"I can handle it," I snap, hearing the defensiveness in my own voice.
"Care if I join you?" he asks, flashing that devilish smile again.
"I don’t know you," I say, narrowing my eyes. "What if you drag me into the woods and murder me?"
"I'm not going to hurt you," he says, holding up three fingers like a Boy Scout. "Scout's honor."
I give him a long, skeptical look. "You have a kid, don't you?"
"A father can be a killer too," he counters, grinning.
"You're not exactly racking up points," I mutter.
"Why the sudden interest in my kid?" he asks, clearly amused.
"Tina," I say. "My roommate. You met her yesterday. She mentioned you have a child."
"A daughter," he says, and this time the smile he gives is different—soft, genuine. "Hannah. She's five."
I nod, weighing every word. "Okay," I say. "You can join me, but if you try anything, I swear I’ll kick you so hard you’ll be singing soprano for a week."
He laughs. A deep, rich, genuine sound that catches me off guard.
And just like that, I’m smiling too.
Not just with my lips, but somewhere deeper.
Somewhere that hasn’t smiled in ten long years—my heart.
***
"You weren't kidding," I confess, struggling to navigate the rough terrain. "This trail is brutal."
He laughs—a warm, rumbling sound that makes me suspicious.
"What?" I say, narrowing my eyes. "What's so funny?"
"This happens to be the toughest trail in the park," he says, grinning. "If you want to actuallyrun, there’s a six-mile trail we can try tomorrow. Much easier."
"You're horrible," I say, trying—and mostly failing—not to laugh.
"I just wanted more time to talk," he says easily. "Less huffing and puffing from sprinting."
"Tell that to my lungs," I mutter. "They think I would’ve been better off running."
He glances at me then, his gaze lingering just a little too long. "You're in great shape," he says, locking eyes with me.
I arch an eyebrow. "Have you been checking me out, Cal?"
He doesn’t even flinch. "I'm a thirty-two-year-old heterosexual male," he says with a shrug. "I can recognize beauty when I see it. And if I’m lucky, I’ll get the chance to admire it."
"So basically," I say, biting back a smile, "youwerechecking me out."
"I was absolutely checking you out," he admits, his grin unapologetic.
"Did you check out my roommate?" I ask, more curious than I want to admit—wondering if this is just a habit forhim, or if he actually findsmeattractive.
"She's not my type," he says, his gaze steady and unflinching.
