Chapter 29
Celeste turned in her sleeping bag again, staring at the same page of the book she’d been looking at for thirty minutes. She didn’t need to look behind her to know that John was doing the same. This was what they’d done since climbing into the tent after a silent dinner: stared at their respective books without even bothering to turn the pages.
The day had sucked.
The forest was beautiful, the weather perfect, the mountains divine, the birds plentiful.
But the day sucked. Celeste’s argument with John had drained out all the enjoyment they’d always gotten from birding together. Gone were the still moments full of anticipation as they watched a bird shoulder to shoulder, and the amused chuckles and hums from John when Celeste went off on a tangent about something she’d heard on a podcast. Vanished were the quiet high fives when she made a correct ID, and the soft kisses he placed on her brow as she studied her guidebook.
And the flirting and teasing that had come to fill their hours birding together with an eager, hot anticipation of how they’d spend their time afterward? She might have just kissed that goodbye altogether.
Instead, it was caveman birding—pointing and grunting, showing each other the glorious birds of the Santa Rita Mountains with as little actual communication or interaction as possible.
And they did it all damn afternoon.
Behind her, John sighed. She knew he’d regretted that too much before the words made it out of his mouth, but it didn’t matter. He’d thought those words and felt them. He’d meant them.
And Celeste shouldn’t have cared so much. She wasn’t for everybody, and she’d never set out to be for John. But hell, all she’d done was agree with that total stranger that John would be an amazing bird guide. Was she supposed to apologize for believing in him?
So she’d kept to herself all day, determined not to be the one to break their self-imposed mutual silence. Her stubborn streak had met a worthy opponent in John Maguire, who was an expert at spending a day alone in complete contentment. By their third hour of near-silent birding, she’d wondered if he preferred it this way. Maybe he’d often wished these past few weeks that she would just shut up.
She dog-eared the page of her book and let it drop beside her, knowing she was being dramatic. John wasn’t Peter, or Peter’s law colleagues, or any number of the teachers Celeste had caught rolling their eyes behind her back in the teachers’ lounge. It was just days before that he’d urged her to talk more, begging her to tell him everything she was thinking as he knelt in front of the couch, pushing her knees apart.
Outside, junipers and oaks cast shadows from the full moon. This place was gorgeous, and she should have spent the day pulling stories from John about his childhood. He’d mentioned camping trips and hikes here as a kid, and it was clear from the easy way he moved down the trail, knowing just where to stop for a quiet lunch at a set of boulders perfect for a picnic, that he was in familiar territory.
She should just roll over and talk to the damn man, make him hash it out with her the way she would with Maria or Morgan. She and Dan had somehow hit a nerve with John, one she hadn’t realized was so tender. As simple and honest as John was, he could also be hard to predict. Giving in to the wave of thoughts in her head might make him retreat even more.
Her phone buzzed, lighting up in the pocket near her head. Morgan was at Peter’s that night, but Celeste always had her phone on her just in case.
But the text wasn’t from Morgan.
JOHN:Hi.
JOHN:Sometimes writing what I want to say can give me time to say it like I want. Is it okay if I do that now?
The knot in her chest started a slow unwinding.
CELESTE:Of course.
Behind her, John shifted in his sleeping bag as dots appeared and disappeared on her screen.
JOHN:I understand you were being supportive earlier. The truth is that I have some baggage around being told how much more I could be doing. But that’s for me to deal with, and I shouldn’t have responded that way.
JOHN:I’m sorry that I hurt you.
There were more dots then, appearing and disappearing again and again. After a minute without another message, Celeste responded.
CELESTE:Thank you.
CELESTE:Obviously I have baggage, too. And I’m sorry I poked at yours.
I don’t think you need to be more than you are, she typed. I think you’re so fucking great. Smart and kind and sexy and
And what was she doing, waxing poetic to her birding partner? Yes, they’d enjoyed some benefits, but if anything, today had demonstrated why things couldn’t go beyond that. She’d already let herself slip into too-comfortable territory with John, and today it had come back to bite her. She’d found herself imagining birding with him after the contest, teasing and goading him on his couch until he finally picked a name for his business, supporting him in his next steps.
But he obviously didn’t want her advice, and she didn’t need to make plans for anyone but herself.
It looked like John could be composing a novel on his side of the tent for all the dots on her screen, but when his next message popped up, it was short.
JOHN:I guess this is why neither of us date.
She’d been thinking the same thing. So it really shouldn’t have stung.
CELESTE:I guess so. We’ve both got baggage to unpack.
CELESTE:And dry-clean. There’s definitely some stuff in my baggage that needs deep cleaning. Or maybe cleansing by fire.
The chuckle shook his body behind her. She curled her body just enough that their spines touched through the soft give of their sleeping bags.
CELESTE:Can we talk in person now?
“Yeah.”
They rolled over at the same time, ending up just a few inches from each other. Celeste propped her head up in one hand. “Hey.”
“Hi.” The moonlight in the tent shone across the small lift of his smile. “Thanks for texting me from six inches away.”
“It’s not a bad method.” Maybe she just needed to text Morgan about college. “Sorry our day sucked. I get really enthusiastic about stuff, but I didn’t mean to imply that you’re doing anything wrong.”
His laugh had an edge she didn’t hear much. “Well, maybe I am. I tend to get lost in deliberation.”
“Well, sure, but that can be—”
“You know what?” he said, interrupting her, though his voice was gentle. “Let’s not do this. I’d rather just move on, if we could.” His eyes sought hers out. “If you could. I know I was a jerk.”
Celeste cracked a smile. “You were, actually, a little bit, but it was sort of exciting. I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“I’m not sure I did, either.” His smile dropped as he watched her, his eyes drifting across her face and over her neck. “Today wasn’t how I imagined being here with you.”
“No?” She risked reaching a hand toward him, threading her fingers into his beard. “How did you imagine it?”
John’s lids lowered as his tongue made a quick swipe across his lower lip. When he looked back at her, there was heat in his gaze, but uncertainty, too. Just the smallest line of worry in his brow.
She slid her hand behind his neck, playing with the wisp of curls. “Are we— Do you still want to do the benefits part, after today?”
His neck flexed with a swallow. “Do you?”
“I know today was complicated. But this—” She didn’t need to say what “this” was, because it was obvious, the inches between them pulled so tight she could barely draw breath. “This doesn’t feel complicated.”
John must have spent a lot of hours camping in his life, because he was out of his sleeping bag like a magician, then drawing down the zipper of hers and moving into her space. He covered her body with his, pressing his knee between her legs.
He hovered above her on an elbow as his other hand roamed her body, his touch firm and possessive, like he was making up for a day without touching her. She arched into his hands, grinding her hips into where he’d already grown hard for her.
John’s hand slipped under her shirt, teasing her nipple with a long, perfect tug. “Nothing complicated about how much I want you.” His beard scraped her face as he growled into her ear. “I wasted so much time today.”
“We can wake up early,” she gasped, grappling to push down the elastic waistband of his shorts. “Do some more birding then.”
He groaned into her neck as her hand found him, wrapping her fingers tight. “I wasn’t talking about birding.”
Then his mouth was on hers, hard and demanding, and the day and all its baggage faded into his touch on her breasts, her hip, her calves, the ache between her legs, until there was only John and the moonlit trees beyond.