His voice is low and familiar and exactly where I knew it would be.
I turn slowly, lifting one brow as I find him a few yards back, leaning against a tree like he’s been there the whole time, like the mountain itself placed him there. He has his camera in his hand, but his focus isn’t on the view.
It’s on me.
“You’re losing your edge, Ranger,” I say, stepping carefully toward him, the uneven ground forcing me to slow my pace.
His gaze drops immediately to my footing, then to my face, tracking every movement the way he always does.
“You shouldn’t be climbing out here alone,” he says, pushing off the tree and closing the distance between us with that same slow, deliberate stride that still manages to feel inevitable.
I don’t stop him.
“I’m not alone,” I shoot back. “You’ve been following me the whole way up.”
“Watching.”
“Same thing.”
“Not even close.”
I huff out a quiet laugh as he reaches me, his hand coming to my waist like it belongs there, steadying me without asking, without hesitation. It’s instinct now, for both of us, and I don’t fight it. I lean into it just slightly, enough that he feels it.
“You’ve been shadowing me since I left the trailhead,” I say.
“You hike too fast. You don’t watch your footing when you’re distracted.”
I tilt my head, giving him a look. “You’re the distraction.”
His mouth curves, just a little, and something in my chest warms at the sight of it.
“Good,” he says.
I shake my head, but I’m smiling now, unable to stop it. The tension that used to sit between us, sharp and constant, has shifted into something else. It’s still there, still electric, still alive, but it’s not a fight anymore.
It’s something we both chose.
“You’re unbelievable,” I mutter.
“And you came up here anyway.”
“Maybe I like the view.”
His gaze drags over me slowly, not subtle in the slightest. “Yeah,” he says. “I figured.”
Heat creeps up my spine, but I don’t look away. I don’t pretend I don’t feel it.
Instead, I reach out and take his camera right out of his hands.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“You’ve been taking pictures of me all morning,” I say, flipping it around. “Figured it’s my turn.”
His brow lifts. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
I take a step back, framing him in the shot, and for a second I just look. Not through the lens, but at him. The way he stands, grounded and solid, like the mountain belongs to him. Like he belongs to it.
