Wyatt leaned forward, elbows planted on his knees. “Want your sleeping bag?”
She held her hands out to the fire as though temperature had been the cause of the shudder. “No, it’s not that cold. The fire feels good.”
Silence settled around them, punctuated only by the crackling fire. It was way too early to turn in. Though her muscles were fatigued, she wasn’t the least bit sleepy. And something about Wyatt’s presence made energy hum through her veins. It screamed danger, but she knew now he wasn’t a danger to her physical well-being. Her mental well-being was another story, however.
An alpha male, Molly had called him. Grace knew what that meant in a general sense. But the men she’d had in her life—her dad, her brother, Adam—weren’t so assertive and confident. At least she didn’t see them that way. Wyatt didn’t seem to need anybody.
She glanced over her shoulder at the concrete floor where they would bed down tonight. They wouldn’t even have the thin walls of the tents between them. Would she lie awake half the night in her sleeping bag, buzzing with this energy of awareness?
And what would they do until bedtime? She’d learned a lot aboutWyatt last night, but there were other key things he hadn’t revealed. He wouldn’t give them up easily though.
Grace gave him a sideways glance. “Are you up for another game, like last night?”
“We should’ve brought cards.” He leaned back against the tabletop, propping his elbows on it. His hand dangled mere inches from her arm. “I think I’m all out of profound revelations.”
She lifted a shoulder. “We can change it up. How about direct questions this time? We can take turns.”
He studied the fire, that enigmatic expression back in place. “I don’t know about that.”
“Come on. It’s only eight thirty, and we have a long night ahead. What else are we going to do?”
The question was out before she’d thought it through. She was thinking it through now though. At least a dozen possibilities flashed in her brain, all of them sounding better than the game she’d suggested.
Her cheeks flared with heat.
He turned toward her just a bit, not enough to make eye contact but enough to signal he was having the same thoughts.
She barreled on. “They—they don’t have to be anything personal. Just like, you know, things an aunt might ask you at a family reunion.”
“You obviously don’t know my aunts.”
She gave a nervous laugh. “A distant aunt, then, with good manners and excellent social skills.”
He continued to stare into the fire, obviously considering it. Was he weighing his desire to know more about her with his need for privacy? Maybe that was wishful thinking. Probably he was weighing boredom against the risk of sharing too much with this child he was stuck with another night.
“All right,” he said finally. “Three questions. And I reserve the right to pass once.”
“You and your ground rules.” She rolled her eyes. “Fine, but I have a pass too. I’ll even let you go first. Ask away, Aunt Wyatt.”
She stared into the fire, a thrill of anticipation passing through her. The questions themselves could be as revealing as the answers.
“Tell me about your extracurricular activities in high school,” he said.
Grace frowned. That really was something an aunt would ask. But it also wasn’t a yes-or-no question. It was actually a request, not a question at all. Open-ended, like he was panning for as much gold as possible with each scoop. And she wasn’t calling him on it since he’d just set precedence.
“High school seems like so long ago,” she said, because it was true and also because she was eager to add another point to the “woman” column. “Well, let’s see, I played several sports early on: volleyball, softball, and I ran track. But after my parents passed I had to devote time to the inn, so I focused on volleyball.”
“Part of that growing-up-quickly thing we talked about.”
“Exactly. Suddenly there were extra chores and no parents to report to. Though Levi inserted himself into that position.”
“I guess somebody had to. So volleyball was your favorite?”
“Definitely. And probably the sport I was best at.” She ached to tell him about her achievements, about how hard it was when her parents weren’t there to celebrate them with her. But she didn’t want him to think she was too big for her britches.
“Is that all?” His voice was a low hum in the night.
“I’m not really the show choir type.”
