Page 107 of River & Rue

There’s no kiosk. Nothing but a dusty, half-used bundle of firewood beside a metal locker to store food.

In the time it takes us to set up the tent, the sun sinks behind trees to the west, its retreat splashing the sky with streaks of gold and violet.

River rummages through the supply bag attached to his backpack. “You don’t happen to have a lighter, do you? Everything in here is useless to us. No food, no lanterns or flashlights. We have fishing poles but no lines, bear spray, a set of grilling tools, a fucking dice game… but hey, at least we have six tubes of biodegradable toothpaste and enough toilet paper to wipe the asses of fifty people.”

Laughing, I look up from my own pack. “No lighter, sorry. But I do have a can of ravioli and a can opener Maya must have missed, so we don’t have to eat jerky and trail mix for dinner. And I found water purification tablets. The directions say they take four hours to work on cold water, so I’ll consolidate what’s left of ours into one bottle and fill the other from the creek.”

“Music to my ears.”

He sends me a quick grin before glancing at the dimming sky and standing. Hands on his hips, he surveys the campsite from the creek to the trees, then turns his attention to me. I’m too tired to pretend I wasn’t staring.

His pensive expression gives way to a soft smile. “My best guess is we have about a half hour until full dark. That means if I can’t start a fire in the next ten minutes, we’re on a ticking clock. We’ll need to eat fast, put everything edible into that locker, and get into the tent before we’re blind. We can use my phone’s flashlight if we really need it, but we should conserve as much battery as we can.”

For the hundredth time today, I wish I’d brought my phone. I’ve used it so little over the last weeks, it didn’t occur to me to pack it, especially since Kirk told us he had a satellite phone for emergencies. I’ve taken mental photos all day, capturing the beauty of the hike, but it would’ve been nice to have literal ones. And a backup flashlight.

I push to my feet. “Sounds good. I’ll handle the water and excess food, then get our sleeping bags set up while you… Wait. How are you going to start a fire without matches or a lighter?”

He scratches his jaw. “No promises I’ll be able to do it, but my dad taught me how when I was a kid.”

“I believe in you, Boy Scout.”

He smirks, shadowed eyes flickering down my body before lifting. I hold back my shiver until he turns and heads for the woodpile, then release a slow breath and get to work myself.

Ten minutes later, I’m capping a water bottle at the creek when there’s a shout of victory. Spinning on my heel, I find orange light flickering in the fire barrel and River’s enormous smile.

“Look! I did it.”

He points to the fire, all boyish delight and uncomplicated joy, and it hits me like a punch⁠—

If I don’t kiss him now, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.

I rise on shaky legs and walk toward him. “I knew you could.”

He chuckles softly. “That makes one of us. Pretty proud of myself though.”

I pause to set the water bottle on a flat rock, then continue around the fire barrel. My bones are weightless, my skin humming with purpose. When I’m a few feet away, River opens his arms. It’s the most natural thing in the world to step into his hug.

“River?”

“Yes, little storm?”

I smile into his chest. “That nickname is off the table. It’s used in way too many fantasy books.”

“That’s disappointing,” he murmurs. “What about tornado? Tempest? Typhoon?”

My shoulders shake with laughter. “I think two nicknames and my actual name are more than enough.”

“No way. That’s like asking me to describe your eyes as blue, or your hair as red, when there are dozens of shades in each.”

My heart shudders. Another layer of scar tissue sloughs off.

River gives me a gentle squeeze. “You were going to ask me something?”

I lift my head. He smiles down at me, firelight and curiosity dancing in his eyes. My gaze roams his face, absorbing every detail with the same breathless awe I felt the first time I saw him.

I trace his lips last. As my gaze lingers, his smile fades, his fingers clenching on my waist.

“Rue?” he whispers.