“Um,” she says, tone rising. “That’s—”
“Maybe not… now. Or here,” I answer.
Blake holds her hands up in surrender and slinks back to the line of cameras and assistants. Garrett’s among them, an unusually contemplative expression on his features. Our talk from yesterday trickles back into my memory. One thing in particular that he said sticks to me like a burr digging into my skin.
I wish I had made things rightafter.
Maybe it’s not too late for me to.
27
A KIDNAPPING? WORSE: A HEART-TO-HEART
SEYOON
As soon as I’ve managed to fall asleep, somebody shakes me awake.
I groan in complaint, swiping at the touch and burrowing farther into my pillow. But there’s no light to hide from, and as consciousness begins to probe at my sleepy mind, I realize it’s still dead quiet inside the room. It can’t be morning yet.
Curious, I roll over. My eyes adjust to the dim light until I can faintly make out the shadowy silhouette standing next to my bed. Panic seizes my breath, and I scramble up.
“Fu—mmrf!”
A palm covers my mouth. I’m about to bite it when the familiar clean scent of citrus and something woodsy hits me. I settle down. Warily, the person removes their hand.
“… Dean?” I whisper.
“Yeah.”
I punch blindly, my fist connecting partially with something soft. He groans and doubles over.
“What the hell are you doing standing over my bed like a serial killer?” I hiss, careful not to wake up anyone else in the cabin. It’s still too dark to make out anything, but rhythmic breathing and snores continue to sound through the room.
“Sorry,” he whispers back, breathier than normal. I might’ve hit a respiratory organ. “Can you follow me?”
I wait, but Dean doesn’t elaborate, nor does he go away. If I ask any more questions, we might wake somebody up, so with a sigh, I shove my blanket off and leave the warm, cozy comfort of my bed. Dean waits while I fumble around in the dark for a hoodie, then we head outside.
“You’re lucky I don’tneedmy beauty rest, but it’s still rude to drag me out into the cold at… what, two in the morning?” It’s definitely past filming hours, at least. The cameras are absent. “What’s this about?”
“It’ll be worth it, I promise,” Dean says. There’s a little more light out here from the moon. My eyes strain to trace the hesitant smile on his face.
I don’t know what I’m expecting, but it certainly isn’t for him to lead us away from camp and down one of the trails in the woods, guiding us by flashlight like he knows exactly where he’s going. I follow slightly behind, still upset, but too curious to turn back. We walk for a good ten minutes before he veers off the path and into the forest.
It’s a small clearing. A pile of blankets lay across the grass in the middle, with a warm, flickering lantern in the middle.
“Join me,” Dean says, already sitting down. I can’t get my feet to follow.
“Why?”
“Don’t you like stargazing?”
“I love it,” I answer warily. “How do you know that, though?”
“You told me. Back during the survival skills challenge.”
Did I? I think back to that night, lying stiff as a board next to Dean in our cramped tent, nervously babbling about any- and everything. Idid.
“You remembered.” My voice is so small, one of the breezes filtering through the trees could have carried my words away, but Dean hears. He nods. I rub my throat, suddenly tight. “You were half asleep by that point.”
