Gunnar nods. His gaze is just as intense as yesterday, like he’s trying to solve a crucial puzzle and the answer is hidden in my face.
“What did you study at college?”
“Environmental science. I want to be a wildlife biologist.”
“Suits you.” Gunnar’s mouth tugs into what looks like the ghost of a smile. “Seems like you know how to handle yourself in the wild.”
I warm at the praise. It’s a pretty big compliment coming from a mountain man.
“Thanks. I’ve always loved nature. I could talk about this mountain for hours. Heck, I wrote one of my papers on the effectof Cherry Mountain’s snowmelt on the mating patterns of alpine beetles. It’s pretty fascinating?—”
My mouth is running away with me before I can stop it, but Gunnar doesn’t seem to mind as I prattle on about alpine beetles before moving onto the grazing patterns of mountain goats instead. He listens patiently until I finally run out of steam.
“Sorry,” I say, wincing at myself. “I always get carried away when I talk about this stuff.”
“Don’t apologize.” His voice is firm and growly, like he’s giving an order. “You’ve found your passion. You’ll be a great wildlife biologist.”
I smile at him, my chest squeezing with affection. “Thank you. I hope so. I just need to find a placement. It’s a competitive field.”
“It will come.” He says it with such certainty, like he has full faith in me, and it sends a tingle of delight down my spine.
“What about you?” I ask eagerly. “Is being a mountain guide your passion?”
“No.”
His answer is so blunt and grumpy that I almost laugh, but I restrain myself, curiosity taking over.
“You don’t like it?”
Gunnar pauses, scowling into the distance like he’s thinking hard.
“I like being out here all day,” he says. “Can’t complain about that. But damn, some of the hikers drive me nuts. Would prefer to work alone.”
“So why do you do it?” I ask tentatively.
He’s quiet again for a moment, running a hand through his wet hair.
“I’m a lumberjack by trade. That’s my passion. But I had to give it up.”
The heaviness in his voice makes my chest sink. “I’m sorry, Gunnar. Was that because of your shoulder injury?”
His brow furrows. “Who told you about that?”
Shoot.
I realize a second too late that I’ve put my foot in my mouth, but I can’t take it back now.
“My sister works at the hospital,” I tell him. “She mentioned you’ve been going to physio appointments.”
Gunnar’s expression is unreadable as he says, “You been talking to your sister about me?”
It’s not what I expected him to say, and I feel my cheeks flame as I remember gushing about Gunnar’s hotness to Amelia yesterday. The answer must be written all over my face. I don’t know how to respond. I open my mouth and close it again like a fish, spluttering, “I…well…it wasn’t?—”
I’m saved from answering by the sound of voices. Gunnar and I both whip around, and in the distance, I can see a group approaching the lake. Instinctively, I wrap my arms around my chest, suddenly feeling exposed. I was so lost in my own little bubble with Gunnar that I forgot anybody else existed, and something about hearing other people nearby has shattered the moment.
Then I feel a hand under the water, Gunnar’s fingers threading through mine, his grip tight.
“Follow me,” he mutters.
