I’m a tiny bit disappointed at the obvious boundary he’s keeping, but this man is nothing if not honorable, and in the privacy of this room, snuggling together under a blanket must seem too tempting or at least too intimate for him, even with tacky mood lighting.
“You knew, didn’t you?” I ask, not accusingly, but curiously, grabbing at any of the threads that’ll give me a few more minutes of this delicious serenity. He turns his head, arching a questioning brow.
“About the photo of me. Before we got to the top,” I clarify.
He turns his head to face up again, his hands linked over his broad chest. They rise with his slow inhale. “Yeah. I got a text shortly after we started the last two miles.”
Then he surprises me by shifting onto his side and facing me with that frown I’ve grown so fond of. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I’m not sure I’d do it differently. I didn’t want toruin your big moment or take away from your incredible accomplishment.”
“What, being a magnet for trouble and barely making it out alive?” I snort.
“Don’t downplay it. You had so many valid reasons to quit or take the easy way out. But you stuck with it.”
His cheeks lift, and I must be dreaming, because his face is morphing into the most beautiful wide smile. His eyes rove over me again, darkening when they land on the collar of his shirt, which I’m very much enjoying wearing. “You’re amazing, Willow Sinclair. And you should be proud of yourself. I’m proud of you.”
Cue the heart explosion. Why do those words hit every tender spot? Maybe because they’re the very words I’ve been chasing my whole life. But the more significant realization is thatI amproud of myself, and that feels like an even bigger win than hearing someone else say it.
“Thank you, Jack Jackson.” I grin.
He scoffs, giving me a look layered with the pain of denying himself something within reach. “Get some sleep.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
You know that dream when you’re flying in the air, then you suddenly fall and your body jolts, and you’re startled awake but still grateful to be unharmed?
I get about ninety percent through this process, just up to the body-jolting part and barely emerging into consciousness when Jack bolts upright himself, gripping a gun, aiming it at the space in front of him.
There’s just enough morning light to softly bathe the room in a dim glow, allowing Jack to see more clearly and verify that no assailant is attacking us. My eyes are still bleary as I slowly sit up, feeling the ghost of a comfortable weight over my middle.
Did I freaking sleep through unconscious cuddle time?!
I’m pretty sure Jack’s arm was that heavenly pressure resting on my midsection, but a stupid hypnic jerk ruined it.
“So…is uh…” I circle with my finger, rubbing my eyes with my other hand. “Is this something you do often?”
“Nope.” Jack lowers his weapon and roughly runs the other hand over his face, letting out a deep exhale. “First time.”
“And you just had the gun nearby, ready to go?”
“Under the nightstand. Safety’s on,” he says, his voice deliciously gritty as he places the gun on the side table.
Exhaustion still hangs over each of us as we sit side by side, awkwardness growing as the aftereffects of our circumstances silently assemble themselves in the new light of day. I wince when I roll my shoulders back, feeling the twinges, aches, and pains from the journey. I’m not looking forward to a bumpy four-hour shuttle back to the South Rim. It feels very anticlimactic, sitting so still after three days of intense physical exertion.
I’d been looking forward to the triumph of heading home after finishing this hike, but now the day is here, and there’s a sadness staining it. I want to drag this last part out for as long as I can and put off the sting of heartbreak. There’s also a desperation to bear hug the man beside me and beg him to take a chance on us.
Turns out I’m a little chicken in the relationship-defining department, though. Plastering on a sunny smile, I turn to Jack. “So, what’s the plan?”
“Food. Nothing happens ‘till food.”
“Mind if I take a turn in the bathroom first?”
“Go for it.” Jack waves, reaching for his phone and immediately donning his usual frowny pout. It’s a dangerous thing, feeling like I could get used to slow sleepy mornings with him.
By the time I emerge sporting the sweatpants and tourist T-shirt Jack bought me, he’s dressed in a fresh pair of cargo pants, the view of his bare back halting me in my steps as he slides a fresh T-shirt over his head. I never knew a back could be so sexy, but everything about this man appeals to me. Major sad face if this is the only peek I ever get.
Chin up, Willow. You’ll be okay.
Jack turns, taking in the shirt I’m wearing. I look down, thenback up at his sour expression. “Why do you look like someone just kicked your puppy?” I venture.
