And she meets me halfway.
The kiss is sleepy and slow and tender, something I could sink into for hours if we had time. Her fingers tighten in my hair as I trace the line where her shorts meet skin, then rub away the goosebumps I’ve caused. She shifts under my touch, hiking her knee up even higher, and we fuse even closer together.
Her mouth is so soft against mine, the lingering taste of whatever lip balm she last used sweet under my tongue—coconut, I think, and ahint of lime—and her skin smells like flowers. She’s a tropical paradise caught in a California monsoon.
I settle my hand onto her hip, dig in just a little, not so hard as to hurt. She makes a sound, the slightest sigh that will play on a loop in my head for days, and it’s all I can do to just stay in this moment instead of wishing for a million more.
She shifts again, her toes curling into the back of my leg, but it gives me a surprising jolt: she’s cold as ice.
I break away on instinct. “Holy— You’refreezing!”
We lost our sleeping bag cover sometime in the middle of the night, not that it was all that effective in the first place.
Sadie gives a little shrug. “Only my toes. The rest of me is fine, thanks to you.” She burrows in even closer, tucking her head against my chest. It’s impossible to go back to our kiss in this position, but it’s good even so.
As if reading my thoughts, she shifts, turning her face back up toward mine. “You’re a good kisser, Thorn.” Her eyes are shining even in the dim light. “We should do that again sometime.”
I’m stuck on the way she’s said my name, soft and round and delicate—but then the rest of it registers.
“Like now?” I say, both of us still grinning even as we fall back into another kiss, this one hungrier, more electric than the first.
Her knee digs into my hip, my fingers grip the back of her thigh. There’s not much fabric between us—only her silk pajamas and my boxer briefs—and as soon as I wrap my mind around that, I can’t think of anything else. I resist the urge to push the limits of where my hand could go, keeping it firmly in we-only-just-met-this-week territory, but it’s not easy. Not easy at all.
The rain picks up, heavier than it’s been for the last twenty minutes. It’s cozy—peaceful, even—the two of us safe and dry in our tent as nature rages all around us. My hand is dangerously close to exploringuncharted territory, teasing the hem of her shorts, when a peal of thunder rips our quiet morning in two, startling us apart.
If anyone was still asleep, they’ll be awake now.
I run a hand over my jaw, my days-old stubble rough to the touch.
She sighs. “Guess you should probably go check on the others now?”
“I don’t want to goanywhere,” I say, with one last kiss because I can’t help it. “But yeah. Probably. And I should touch base with Matteo.”
Only now does it occur to me that I’m not the only one who was set up outside last night—what on earth did Matteo do once the storm hit?
“Are we still planning to leave for the next campsite today?” she asks, leaning up on one elbow.
“We hike in all weather as long as it’s not dangerous,” I tell her, reaching over to grab the pocket-sized AM/FM radio I use when I don’t have easy access to my phone. “I’ll see what the weather guys have to say, and also check the radar—my guess is that it’ll be fine after another hour or so.”
“Wait, how are you going to check the radar?” she asks. “I thought we didn’t get a signal down here?”
I bite my lip, regretting that I’m going to have to tell her this, especially when she’s done such a good job with limited access to the real world.
“I’ve got a satellite phone plan,” I say, “so we always have a lifeline in case of emergencies.”
Her eyes grow wide. “So, theoretically, I could upload some vlog footage or check my socials if I really needed to?”
Andthisis why I don’t make a habit of telling anyone about it: it’s hard enough to get people to forget about their phones and just embrace the experience of being out here, but once they realize they could stay connected—as long as there’s a signal—it becomes a distraction again.
“I mean, you could…” I say, choosing my words carefully. “But it didn’t look like your phone made you any happier yesterday, right?”
It’s the first time either of us has acknowledged what happened upon the cliff. How her tears wouldn’t stop; how I pretended not to notice when all I wanted to do was wipe them away.
She meets my eyes.
“No, yeah, you’re right,” she says. “I liked being able to text Abby. But not the rest of it.”
I want to ask what happened, what made her so upset, but I don’t want to push. She’ll tell me when she’s ready,ifshe wants to.
