“You’re a jerk, you know that?” I say, raising an eyebrow, half-amused, half-annoyed.
“I do,” he replies, still grinning. He carefully sets the ladybug on a nearby daisy, the flower swaying under its weight. “But you like me anyway, Bug.”
“Bug? Really? That’s not very nice,” I frown.
He leans in until our shoulders touch. “It is when they’re cute and small and red and bring good luck.”
“I’m not small. I’m even a bit taller than you,” I say without thinking, and my eyes widen as I realize how this could sound like an insult.
Men don’t usually like being called short.
But instead of looking hurt, Misha’s eyes heat up. “Oh, I noticed. I like it,” he says, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone.
My heart skips a beat at his words. The air between us feels charged, and I find myself leaning in just a little bit closer. His eyes flicker down to my lips, and for a moment, I’m sure he’s going to kiss me.
Please kiss me.
Then, just as quickly, he pulls back, breaking the spell. “We should go back,” he says abruptly, standing up and starting to gather our things.
I blink, trying to process the sudden shift.
What did I do?
“Right, yeah,” I mumble, standing to help him pack up. For a brief moment, the vibe feels off, the earlier tension replaced by an awkward silence.
But as I glance over at Misha, I see his familiar grin return, his eyes sparkling with the same playful light as before. He catches my eye and winks.
“Come on, Bug, the sooner we’re home, the earlier I can order us pizza for the movie we’re going to watch later.”
I can’t help but laugh, the last of the awkwardness dissipating. “We just ate.”
“And?”
We finish packing up and start making our way back down the trail. The hike down is much easier, but fatigue is setting in.
We’re almost at the car when Misha suddenly trips and falls hard onto the ground.
“Misha!” I rush to his side. “Are you okay?”
He grimaces, clutching his ankle. “I twisted it again. Dammit, this ankle is always giving me trouble.”
It looks more like he’s the one giving his ankle trouble, but saying that wouldn’t help him right now.
“Can you walk?”
“I don’t know…” He stands and tries to take a step but winces in pain. “Maybe I have to wait a little.”
“Looks like I’m the one who has to give you a piggyback ride after all,” I joke.
“So not happening,” he repeats my words, making me smirk.
I move to his side and slip my arm around his waist, guiding his arm over my shoulder. “Lean on me.”
“Amelia, you don’t have to do this,” he protests, but I can see the pain in his eyes.
“Come on,” I say firmly, adjusting my grip to support his weight better.
He hesitates, then leans on me, his arm heavy across my shoulders. “All right but go slow. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
