The meadow was small—maybe half an acre—ringed by old-growth hemlocks and carpeted with wildflowers I couldn’t begin to identify. Sunlight poured in from the open canopy above, turning the entire clearing golden. And there, near the center, growing in a patch of dappled shade, was a cluster of pink lady’s slippers. Delicate. Pouch-shaped. Almost translucent in the light.
“Evan,” I whispered.
“I know.”
I photographed them carefully, checking coordinates twice. My hands were shaking a little. Not from the hike.
From what he’d just given me.
When I turned back to him, he was standing at the edge of the meadow, watching me with an intensity that made my lungs tighten. I walked toward him, my phone still in my hand, and stopped close enough that I had to tilt my head back to see his face.
“Nobody’s ever done anything like that for me,” I said.
“Shown you a flower?”
“Listened. And then actually done something about it.”
He reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers grazed my temple, and the touch felt deliberate—gentle but steady.
“I’d do a lot more than show you a meadow, Paisley.”
I kissed him. I didn’t think about it, didn’t weigh the pros and cons, didn’t calculate risk. I just put my hand on his chest, rose onto my toes, and pressed my mouth to his.
He made a low sound—surprise or relief or both—and then his arms came around me, one hand settling at the small of my back, the other cradling the back of my head, and he kissed me back in a way that made the meadow and the mountains and the scavenger hunt and everything else fall completely silent.
When we broke apart, I was breathing hard, and not from the altitude.
“I should tell you something,” I said. My voice came out steadier than I expected given that my heart was trying to exit through my ribcage. “I’ve never done this before.”
“Kissed someone on a mountain?”
“Been with anyone.” I held his gaze and made myself say it plainly. “I’m a virgin.”
His expression didn’t change the way I’d braced for. No surprise, no awkwardness, no subtle retreat. His hand stayed at the small of my back. His eyes stayed on mine.
“Thank you for telling me,” he said. And then, quieter, “That doesn’t scare me, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“It scares most guys.”
“I’m not most guys.” He said it without arrogance—just fact, the same way he’d told me about the washed-out trail. “And we don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”
I looked at this man standing in his secret meadow, surrounded by wildflowers he’d shown to no one else, looking at me like I was the rarest thing he’d found on this mountain. I thought about the last two days—the booth, the maps, the tour, the bypass, the flame azalea, this meadow. The way he’d said we like it was the most natural word in the world.
“I’m ready,” I said. “Take me right here. Right now.”
4
EVAN
Her words hit me like a shot of whiskey—hot, sudden, and impossible to ignore.
I didn’t waste another second. I kissed her again, deeper this time, my tongue sliding against hers as I pulled her flush against me.
She tasted like salt from the hike and wild honey. As my hands roamed down her back, cupping her ass through her hiking pants, she moaned into my mouth, the sound vibrating straight to my cock.
“Fuck, Paisley,” I growled against her lips. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
I walked her backward, guiding her toward the nearest old-growth hemlock at the meadow’s edge. The massive trunk was easily six feet across, its bark rough and ridged, the base cushioned by a thick carpet of emerald moss that looked soft as a damn bed.
