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She moves too fast, misjudging the distance. Or maybe I do, but it causes her chest to collide with mine.

My grip loosens, and the oilcloth slips.

Her eyes drop immediately.

Her mouth parts, stunned into silence. The flurry of emotions on her face is almost dizzying. The shock melts into wonder. And then she remembers herself, realises she’s been looking far too long, and heat rushes up her neck.

“Oh—” She covers her eyes, and spins around so fast she almost falls.

I curse under my breath and snatch the clothes up, fumbling, mortified, heart hammering.

We stand there in silence. The creek murmurs. A bird chirps, unhelpfully cheerful.

She clears her throat. Once. Twice.

“I saw nothing,” she says, far too loudly.

“That,” I say, as I wrestle the trousers into place, “most assuredly, is a lie.”

She giggles into her palm.

“I’m so sorry,” she blurts, staring hard at the trees. “That was not—I didn’t mean to⁠—”

The silence that follows is loud.

Then she adds, valiantly, “For what it’s worth… I mean, all things considered… you have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

I laugh, quiet and helpless, and then immediately regret giving her the opening. “Can we please—please—drop this and agree to pretend it never happened? Entirely. Wipe it from our shared history.”

She giggles, unabashed, the sound light and delighted. “Now, you know I can’t do that.”

“Rosie.”

“Ye’ve had a naked mis-happening in a creek,” she adds thoughtfully. “That’s not the sort of thing one simply forgets. And the size of you, simply⁠—”

“ROSIE!” I shout, then remember myself and lower to a whisper. “You are absolutely trouble!”

She exhales, the last of the tension easing from her shoulders. “Oh, and you so hate to love it.”

And the worst of it is—I do.

“I’m decent,” I say as I work on the fastenings of my shirt.

She turns slowly, and her eyes don’t go straight to my face.

They travel boldly and brazenly.

“Will you stop gawking at me like that?” I quip.

Her eyes narrow. “I’m not.”

“You are, and you well know it.”

“I’m checking for anythin’ out of sorts,” she says primly.

I shake my head, smiling despite myself. “If this is medical practice, I’d hate to see your bedside manner.”

“Next time, I’m supervising.”