“Just like that.”
“Well…” He places everything in the trunk, a grimace on his face when he turns to me. “They kinda only land here for emergencies. So I may have exaggerated your wounds a little. If you could add a limp or maybe a bit of ketchup under a bandage, that’d help.”
A second passes before a slow, incredibly elated smile overtakes my face as my eyes widen. “You made a joke.” I point at his expression, then bring my hands to my cheeks. “This is the best day of my life,” I whisper before doing a happy little squeal.
“Me making a joke is the happiest day of your life?”
Yes, because I think you may just be thawing.
“Maybe,” I drawl, smirking, but he already seems distracted by something over my shoulder.
He must have remembered the walls he’s supposed to be keeping up, because he clears his throat and steps back, putting space between us. A ball of disappointment sits bitterly in my throat as I hand him the paper bag. He shuts the trunk, his eyes landing on my arm and tracing over the injury, sending a shiver down my back. The man’s eyes keep telling a very differentstory from the rest of his body. It’s a painful cycle of whiplash that reminds me I need to put up some walls of my own.
“Did you take your pain meds yet?”
“I was waiting to take them with breakfast.” I lean against the car and fold my arms, not looking at him. “Did you really get us a helicopter ride?”
“I did. Owen and Mary need to get back to the other side, anyway, and I made the case that we still need to ensure your safety. And this is the safest option.”
My brows dip, the wind blowing strands of hair into my face. “But…I’m going home today, and?—”
The sound of an engine cuts me off, and we both turn to find a van pulling into the parking lot with aChannel 7 Newslogo printed on its side. Jack scowls at it before bringing his eyes back to mine.
“I think you should stay one more night. I have a crap load of paperwork to get through when we land, but I’d like us to talk.”
“Talk,”I repeat, still not sure if this is the it’s-not-you, it’s-me speech, or the bold, kick-fear-in-the-face, then-let’s-make-out chat. I’m highly in favor of the latter, and the sooner the better. The problem is that I know what Jack’s lips feel like on mine. And I’m forever changed.
I also know he’s been quietly putting more distance between us, holding back from little gestures of physical contact that drive me wild. Which means this is more than likely a let-you-down-easy talk. But I can’t deny him that moment, as much as it’ll hurt. If it helps him face some of his fears in any way, then I’ll hear him out.
“Yeah.Talk,” he gives me a soft smile and opens the passenger door. Before climbing in, I narrow my eyes, a hand leaning on the side of the car.
I think I’m gonna make him work for it. Just for old times’ sake.
“I don’t have a room reserved. What if I can’t stay the night?”
He pulls that annoyingly smug yet sexy move where he slides his park ranger badge out from under his shirt, wiggling it before slipping it back into the place I’d very much like to lay my head.
“Fine.” I roll my eyes and lower myself into the car. Jack bends down, taking the seat belt from my fumbling hands. He’s so close I can feel his breath, his movements tortuously slow as he draws the strap out and pulls it across me. I raise my arm to help, and when the buckle snaps into place, I turn to him. His eyes are molten, his lips inches from mine. My mouth parts, his gaze dipping, and then he’s gone, backing away too quickly.
Neither of us says much on the short drive to breakfast, but I smile when we arrive at the tiny diner. It’s the kind with a front room designed to look like a vintage train car. We’re led to a booth in the far corner, but instead of soaking in the charm or enjoying the warmth of Jack’s shoulder as he walks beside mine, I’m too caught up in the next part of this adventure and how unprepared I suddenly feel.
Things like helicopter rides and wild excursions are practically a Sinclair walk in the park—a propensity that somehow skipped right over me. Sure, I did the scary thing and made it across the canyon, but that doesn’t mean I’m suddenly an adrenaline junkie eager to fling myself out of a plane. I came here with zero intention of flying. It’s pricey, and in my head it’s reserved for newly engaged couples or rich executives shmoozing for sport, not for women who make the mistake of Googling “Grand Canyon deaths” before their scheduled hikes and discover that a collision between two planes over theCanyon in 1956 is part of why the Federal Aviation Administration exists.
I fiddle with the salt and pepper shakers before organizing the sugar and condiments on our slightly sticky table, admiring the color palette of blues, whites, creams, and pinks.
“Is your arm bugging you?” Jack asks after a while. He leans forward over the table, putting his unfairly gorgeous biceps and forearms on display directly across from me.
“A little, but it’s not too bad.” I chew my lip, pulling the paper cover from my straw and flattening it out before curling it around my finger. This is such a lame thing to be nervous about, but my brain knows too much.
Jack’s brows draw together, his hand stilling mine as he slowly unwraps my finger from its paper tourniquet. Tension charges between us. It feels like forever since he’s initiated physical contact of any kind. But once my finger is free, I remember my heart still needs protecting, and I shove my hands under my thighs.
Jack frowns. “Something’s bothering you. Tell me.”
My restless hands can’t stay contained, and I begin to fiddle with the laminated corner of my menu before I lift it, covering my face. “I’m nervous about the helicopter ride,” I mumble from behind my makeshift partition.
“Willow, look at me.”
“I know, I’m being silly,” I say, not lowering the menu.
