He was here for that.
The fact that she’d initiated this little adventure did a number on his insides. If a number felt like hope mixed with a healthy dose of terror—which pretty much summed up falling for Sabrina in general.
He’d thought something was off. After the visit to Uncle Richie’s vet practice, Noah had gotten the distinct impression she’d hit some kind of wall, or rather she’d slammedhimup against one. It was hard to misinterpret how she’d ducked out of lunch with his family, citing new boots that needed breaking in. Or switching to a different SAR trainer because, apparently, Noah was “too distracting.”
Right. As excuses went, that one had been pretty inventive, but he’d heard a few in his day. Classic distancing protocol. He recognized it a mile away, even as she effectively sliced up his heart in the process.
But then she’d texted him out of the blue with this suggestion to go away for the weekend, as if nothing was wrong and he’d been moping around like a big baby.
Paranoid. That was his problem. Stupid Jacob and his warnings.
The January sun hadn’t yet crested Moab’s towering red rock formations. Dawn painted the desert landscape in watercolors, but the bite in the air promised another frigid morning. Perfect sending temperatures, climbers called it. As if there was something perfect about frozen fingers and chattering teeth.
Then again, watching Sabrina sort through her rack of climbing gear, maybe there was. She had that look in her eyes—the one that said she was already five moves ahead and planning her victory dance when they reached the summit. Pure intensity wrapped in a package that did more damage to his equilibrium than leading his hardest route ever had.
Yeah, he had it bad for her. And could see no reason to stop the momentum. This slow slide into her was the best part of falling in love, and he had zero intention of missing it.
Jacob was cynical, that was his problem. This wasn’t like Noah’s past relationships—the ones that had burned bright and fast like magnesium flares, leaving only smoke and regret. This was different.
Sabrina was different.
She was hismatch, his mirror, his perfect complement. The way she approached everything—fearless, focused, fierce—sparked something inside him he’d thought died alongside his mother when he’d traded war zones for SAR zones. Every time Sabrina pushed her limits, took on a new challenge, refused to back down, it reminded him that some stories didn’t need a byline to change your life.
She’d already started sorting through the pile of quick draws they’d need for the multi-pitch route ahead. The early light caught her hair, turning it to white-gold against the red rock. As if he needed more reasons to stare.
“You planning to stand there all day checking your gear?” she called. “Or are we actually going to climb something?”
“Just admiring the view.” He moved to help her organize their gear, drifting into her space because he couldn’t stay away from her. The sharp scent of climbing chalk mixed with something uniquely Sabrina—sunshine and adrenaline and the kind of trouble that made a man forget about self-preservation. “Besides, you know what they say about proper preparation.”
“That it’s for people who don’t trust their instincts?” She flashed him that million-watt smile that he wished he could pocket somehow. “Come on, Colton. Stop stalling.”
They set off, trading leads up increasingly difficult routes, showing off for each other without shame. Every time Sabrina flashed a particularly technical sequence, pride bloomed in his chest. And every time she turned that smile his direction, his blood hummed with the need to taste it.
“Eyes on the wall, Colton.” Her voice floated down from above, threaded with laughter. “You’re supposed to be belaying me, not checking out my—”
“Form?” He grinned up at her. “I’m a trained professional. I can do both.”
Her answering laugh carried on the wind. “That’s what I like about you. You’re not afraid to admit when you’re busted.”
“I don’t scare easily.”
He watched her execute a particularly graceful sequence that had his mouth going dry. The way she moved—fluid and precise, every placement deliberate—made him think dangerous thoughts about other ways she could move in much more intimate circumstances. She flowed up the rock face like she’d been born for it, finding holds he would have missed, linking moves into a dance that bordered on art.
The route they’d chosen was a Moab classic—three pitches of sustained climbing up an exposed arête that caught the morning sun. Technical face climbing gave way to a series of delicate crimps, the kind of moves that required absolute trust in your own strength. Noah had climbed it before, but watching Sabrina work her way up the crux pitched made it feel brand new. Like listening to your favorite song in a remix that was better than the original somehow.
They eased into a rhythm that felt natural, as if they’d been climbing together for years instead of hours. Every shared anchor brought them closer, every gear exchange an excuse to brush hands, to share space, to be in this bubble where nothing else existed except rock and sky and possibility.
She was three-quarters of the way up a particularly difficult pitch when it happened. One minute she was flowing through a delicate sequence of crimps, making it look like a ballet instead of 5.11 climbing. The next, her foot slipped on a barely there edge and she cursed.
Noah’s heart stopped, then revved into overdrive as she caught herself with characteristic grace. But he’d seen it—that flash of real fear in her eyes before her game face slammed back into place.
“You okay up there?” He kept his voice casual even though his pulse was still doing its best impression of a jackhammer.
“Of course.” But she didn’t immediately start climbing again. “Just testing the rope.”
“Right. Because that’s something you do regularly.”
“Are you throwing sarcasm at me right now? That’s what you’re going with?” The laugh in her voice didn’t quite mask the slight tremor. “Bold strategy, Colton.”
