And while Randy was losing his audience, I was losing my patience.
The sourdough was right there, but the last thing I wanted was to get pulled into whatever long-winded woo-woo lecture was happening next.
I took a slow step back.
Then another.
And then I was backing right into the bushes, slipping out of sight.
The night pressed close outside the fire’s reach, and the trees stretched high above me. The air smelled damp and rich. The way forests always do after dark, I thought. But really, how would I know? And I was already thinking that the living moss wall I’d installed in the last skyscraper my firm designed could never hope to smell like this. Not with all the misting in the world.
A patch of bushes sat just ahead, just visible by moonlight. Thick leaves covered the branches, weighed down by heavy clusters of berries. They looked ripe enough to burst.
My stomach clenched with sharp, insistent hunger. Not just “I could eat” hunger, but “I could eat that entire loaf of bread myself” hunger. The promised sourdough was still out of reach, tangled in ceremony and delays. But here—just a few steps away—nature had provided. Sure, they were only berries. But they’d be enough to keep my blood sugar from tanking completely.
I reached out and picked one from the bush. But as my fingers made contact, a huge hand closed around my wrist.
My breath caught hard.
The grip wasn’t tight, but it was unmistakable—firm, steady, and impossibly strong. Without even turning, I knew exactly who it was.
A shiver ran through me that was most definitely not fear.
Faelan was right there beside me. He seemed even bigger now that we were up close and personal, and his green eyes managed to catch what little light there was.
“Those will kill you,” he said.
So much for a charming introduction.
His voice was calm, but something about it sent a thrill down my spine. He didn’t let go.
And I didn’t pull away.
I swallowed, glancing at the berries. “…good to know.”
His grip loosened, but he made no move to step back. His thumb traced the inside of my wrist before his fingers slid away, slow and deliberate, and I hated that my pulse jumped at the absence of his touch.
“Follow me,” he said.
My throat felt tight. But my body had already made the decision before my brain caught up, because of course I followed him. “This is the part where I remind myself you might be an axe murderer,” I said.
He glanced at me over his shoulder. Holy smokes, he was handsome. “Would that stop you?”
Probably not.
The stilted revelry behind us faded. No more voices, no more awkward drumming—just the quiet hum of insects and the rustle of leaves shifting in the breeze.
Faelan moved easily through the dark for such a massive guy. I picked my way over roots and uneven ground, half-heartedly trying to convince myself he was leading me to myinevitable murder. But mostly I was watching the broad line of his shoulders as he led the way.
No wonder this guy was arrogant, I thought. He belonged in the woods in a way no one else here did. Not Callie, not Randy, not the overly sincere tech bros or the disillusioned professionals searching for meaning. Faelan moved like the trees had grown to accommodate him and the night shifted to let him pass.
As I ogled, he paused near a patch of low, scraggly bushes. Even by the scant moonlight, it was obvious its berries were not only smaller, but entirely picked over.
He reached down and plucked one from a stem.
“If the birds won’t touch them, neither should you.”
That thing Callie had said about him making you feel stupid was no exaggeration. I hoped the low light hid the blush I now felt burning in my cheeks.
