Chapter 8
8
Birds chirp. The sun beats down. He swears the wind whispers ‘what are you doing?’
He has no fuckin’ idea.
After that first hike, I learned my lesson.
With a baseball cap looped around the handle of my backpack, a pair of sunglasses shielding my eyes from the glaring sun, and a bottle of sunscreen— and a bottle of aloe vera in case I forgot to reapply said sunscreen—I’m prepared. I’m over prepared, if anything.
With the sun shining and a gentle breeze counteracting the dry heat, I hum along to the radio as I drive the winding roads towards the Lakes Trail starting point. I’m anxious to get going today. To work off some of the extra anxiety plaguing me since that conversation with Jackson. And I feel good about today—my gut tells me it’ll be a good one.
My gut wavers, though, when my GPS informs me I’ve reached my destination and I find a familiar, battered truck occupying the parking lot. A coincidence, surely. Dusty old pick- ups aren’t exactly a rare commodity around these parts. Sure, they usually have California plates, not out-of-state, but…
No buts. I could kid myself into pretending there just so happens to be two brown Ford trucks with Georgia plates within driving distance of Sequoia.
The Hulk lookalike leaning against the hood, however, is one of a kind.
What the hell?
I take way, way too long to successfully maneuver into the free spot beside Hunter’s truck. I spend even longer fumbling my keys while shutting off the engine, and another few minutes scrambling for my stuff, all too aware of the eyes watching me through the window.
Eventually, knuckles rap gently against the hood of my truck— time’s up.
Deep breath. Big smile. A hope and a prayer that I maintain even a tiny bit of composure. And then, I open the door and get out, only briefly getting caught up on the wide chest in my direct eye line before tilting my gaze upward. “Fancy seeing you here.”
Impossibly broad shoulders lift in a lazy shrug.
“Are you…” I trail off, briefly glancing around the empty lot. “Are you waiting for someone?”
When he nods, I deflate just a little.
“Shall we?”
I blink. “Shall we what?”
Hunter jerks his head towards the sign marking the start of the trail.
I stare at the sign. I stare at him. I dare to ask, so quietly it’s practically an embarrassing whisper, “You were waiting for me?”
He nods again.
“Why?”
“Felt like it.”
He felt like it. Simple as that. Said with a shrug and utter nonchalance, as if last week he wasn’t calling me a nuisance. As if him showing up at the trail I told him I was taking, wearing freaking shorts and a loose muscle tee I would dare to call cropped, is normal.
I swallow and try very hard to mimic his calm demeanor. “Cool.”
If I didn’t know any better, I would say his perfect posture softens just a little. “Yeah?”
I nod.
“You ready?”
I nod again, so freaking eager, but that’s not quite as mortifying as the double thumbs-up I flash.
Hunter might smile. I can’t be sure since he turns away so quickly, starting towards the trailhead and leaving me with this weird, indistinguishable feeling in my belly.
Whatever it is, I steel myself against it. I shush the voice in my head contemplating hopping back in my car and speeding away out of fear this will be the most awkward few hours of my life. Instead, I search for the bright side.
If I get lost, I won’t be alone.
If I hurt myself, someone will be there to help me.
If Hunter is here, ready to trek into the freaking wilderness with me, willingly subjecting himself to my unavoidable company for hours, maybe that means he doesn't dislike me quite as much as I think he does.
I think I might be losing my mind.
I'm not sure what's happening. Well, no, I know what's happening—I'm hiking with Hunter. Because he felt like it , a reason that becomes less and less satisfactory with every step we take.
I don't know what to do with myself. I feel... I don't know. Not awkward, but weird. Tense. Like there’s too much energy zipping beneath my skin, making me restless. I figure the whole exercise thing should expel some of it, but then I glance up, my gaze lands on Hunter, and it kicks up a notch.
We hike in relative silence, only broken by the buzz of nature, the crunch of the gravel beneath our feet, heavy breaths— my heavy breaths. Chest tight with exertion, I’ve long since discarded my sweaty t-shirt. I can’t even find it in me to be self-conscious; passing out from heat exhaustion seems infinitely more mortifying than stripping down to my sports bra.
Hunter, on the other hand, barely works up a sweat. He strides ahead of me, far enough away that I’m relatively sure he can’t hear how loud I’m panting, but not too far that it’s rude. Not far enough that I can’t clearly see brawny calf muscles or pumping biceps or a flash of lower back when he lifts the hem of his tee to wipe his face.
I drop my gaze.
Nope.
Not looking.
Honestly, I can't afford to look—he was right about the last bit being a scramble. I have to grit my teeth and use every ounce of strength and concentration in an effort not to fall on my ass.
As it is, that one tiny glimpse of glistening back dimples almost costs me; a loose rock makes my foot slide, a small yelp escaping me as I teeter backward. But before I even come close to hitting the ground, a hand hauls me upright, lingering even when both my feet are firmly planted on the ground. Cheeks flushed, I stare at the thick, tan fingers wrapped around my lower arm, making me look pale and puny.
“You okay?”
I nod slowly, not really able to focus on the words coming out of Hunter’s mouth because all my attention is on the warmth of his palm. Warmth that spreads when that palm moves up, across, and down to rest flat against the middle of my back, oh-so-briefly brushing against the sliver of bare skin between my bra and my shorts as it pushes me forward slightly. “You go first.”
I do as he says, expecting him to fall back, to let me take the lead and put a healthy distance between us again.
I'm learning very quickly that Hunter never does what I expect.
Instead, he lingers right behind me, practically at my side, what feels like a million miles closer than he was before. Watchful eyes burn a hole in me, probably making sure I’m not about to go down and take him with me. I'm so focused on making sure I don't do exactly that, I almost don't notice when the trail evens out.
Not until my name is muttered quietly and another touch grazes my lower back do I look up, sucking in a tiny breath at the sight that greets me. “Woah.”
Hunter hums in agreement, the sound so close to my ear, it makes me shiver. “Worth it?”
“Definitely.” My memory did not do this place justice. It didn’t adequately capture the rugged terrain, the tall trees scattered around the lake’s edge, the glass-like water that screams for me to strip off and wash away the arduous past few hours.
I probably would, if I didn’t have a one-man audience. Imagining my less-than-impressive naked body next to Hunter’s makes me want to laugh.
Or cry.
When Hunter starts towards the lake's edge, I follow close behind. Wiggling one arm free from my backpack, I swing it around so I can fish out my camera. It’s by memory alone that I find one particular spot next to the lake. I’ve stared at the picture of mom standing right here so many times, it’s ingrained in my brain. Lifting the same camera she once used to capture the place, I snap a few shots, but mostly, I just stare. Take it all in. Think about my mom.
I jump when a gruff offer rings out. “Want one of you?”
“No.” On the list of things I’m terrible at, posing for photographs is surely near the top. Trudging back to Hunter, I sit beside him. “Thank you, though.”
Surprise, surprise—he grunts.
Pretending to fiddle with the camera, I discreetly watch my hiking partner. As he squints at the lake, he looks peaceful. Pensive. Not at all fatigued, which I try so very hard to not find so very annoying.
I wonder how long this will last. The oddly amicable silence. It’s not awkward or uncomfortable, but still, I itch under the weight of it. Pleasant but unbearable. If Hunter had it his way, we probably wouldn’t speak at all.
I, on the other hand, can only take so much. “So you're from Georgia?”
His head whips towards me, dark brows furrowed.
Okay .
Maybe not such a safe topic.
“I saw your license plate,” I rush out. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry, I was just—”
“Caroline,” he cuts me off in the gentlest tone I've ever heard leave his mouth. “Relax.”
I drop my gaze to my lap, wrinkling my nose. “Sorry.”
The silence settles again, heavier this time. Twiddling my thumbs, I’m seriously debating taking that swim after all, fully clothed if it means I have an excuse to be somewhere else, when his quiet drawl grabs my attention.
“Yeah.” The word is strained, and when I glance aside I find his expression twisted, like making small talk is some great challenge for him. “Just outside of Blue Ridge.”
“Pretty.”
“You’ve been?”
“No.” I’ve never left Haven Ridge, let alone the state. “I’ve seen pictures.”
Hunter hums again, a noise that’s become synonymous with the man. Hums and grunts and now the quiet, drawling voice that I itch for more of. It's like... honey. Smooth and sweet and thick. Like burnt honey, because there's a smoky, rich edge to it that's heady and addictive and makes me feel a little dizzy, kind of what I imagine being drunk feels like.
Resting my chin on top of my bent knees, I’m cautious with my follow-up question, speaking quiet and slow and passive, scared that if I show too much interest, I’ll scare him off. “Do you miss it?”
“Sometimes.” My head falls to the side just in time to catch the tiniest hint of a smile gracing his face. “I miss my family.”
“You're close with them?”
“With my mom and my sister, yeah.”
Not his dad, though. Interesting. “How old’s your sister?”
That smile grows and does weird things to my stomach. “Just turned eighteen.”
I hesitate momentarily before daring to ask, “How old are you?”
He surprises me by answering. “Thirty.”
Huh. I knew he was older than me. By that much, though, I wouldn’t have guessed.
“You have siblings?”
Oh, how I hate how much his effort to keep up the conversation makes my chest flutter, even though I don’t much like the subject. “Nope. I always wanted a sister.”
“Your parents live in town?”
Just like that, my blood runs cold. Dropping my gaze, I watch my fingers as they roughly pull at the grass by my feet. “My dad does. You hungry?”
If Hunter finds the sudden subject change suspicious, he doesn’t mention it. He just lets it happen, muttering something affirmative as I rummage in my bag and desperately try to subdue that awful, lonely feeling that tends to rear its ugly head when the topic of family rolls around.
Like usual, I might have gone a little overboard. Nuts, pretzels, a little Tupperware of fruit, a pack of the sour watermelon candies that I’ve been hooked on since I was, like, ten. Lux teases me about my excessive snacking habits— you’re like a cow , she often croons, always grazing —but I don’t hear her complaining whenever she’s stealing pistachios from my purse.
Cracking open a shelled packet of them, I hold it out towards Hunter. My breath catches when instead of just taking the bag, he gently grasps my wrist and tilts it so a few nuts fall onto his awaiting palm.
I swear his hand lingers a little longer than necessary. Squeezes slightly. Thumbs my pulse point with a gentle stroke before releasing.
Yeah, I'm definitely losing it.
If you'd told me a couple of months ago—hell, if you told me a couple of days ago—that I'd be sharing a pleasant afternoon of hiking, snacking and achingly peaceful silence with Hunter, I never would've believed you.
The conversation is sparse, limited to the weather or the view or an offering of more food, but I don’t mind. I just like the company. His company. I like how appreciative he seems of the surroundings, how he takes in every detail intently. His content expression is as unnerving as it is endearing. No scowl, no frown, no glare. He’s irritatingly handsome wearing any one of those, but without… Sheesh . The second he’s distracted by something in the distance, I quickly take a picture of him, uncaring that I look like a little freaking creep because at least later, when I start to doubt whether this really happened, I’ll have proof.
We linger for a long time. With the sun high in the sky, the grass is a cold relief against my back, my eyes shut as I soak up the rays peeking through the trees surrounding us. Every so often, the man laying beside me shifts and his fingers brush the tips of mine, the simple touch so oddly thrilling and disconcerting and warm .
As I doze, I wonder how long this seemingly rare pleasant mood will last. How long until I say the wrong thing or push too far and he switches again. I don't want that to happen. I don't want to give up the small smile or the pretty eyes or the lilting way he says my name.
One day and I'm already attached.
Half-asleep, I don’t notice the sudden absence of light until a palm cups my knee. Jolting awake, I scramble to prop myself up on my elbows and frown warily at an upright Hunter, at his solemn expression.
“I’m sorry I was rude to you,” he says quietly before I can ask what’s wrong, and I think I shortcircuit for a second— sorry ? Did I hear that right? “I'm not good with people.”
You don't say . “It's okay.”
He shakes his head, the hand not still on my knee rising to rake through his hair. “It’s not. I was an ass. It wasn't my intention to upset you.”
“You didn't.” That much . “It’s fine. I came on a little strong, I know I do that a lot. I was only trying to be nice, but I know I have a tendency to mix up ‘nice’ and ‘annoying.’”
The ever present frown that’s been suspiciously absent all day suddenly makes an appearance. “Who told you that?”
How much time do you have? “No one. Just a self-observation.”
He doesn't look like he entirely buys my flimsy response, but he lets it slide, and I'm grateful for that. A heavy sigh lifts his shoulders as his frown falls away, replaced with something so startling sincere, it makes my eyes itch. “I really am sorry, Caroline. You just caught me off-guard. I came here to work, not to make friends, or to…” He trails off, waving a hand in the air, and I take sick pleasure in watching him suddenly become as awkward as I always feel around him. “Y’know.”
“No.” Am I smiling? I think I might be smiling. I can’t help it. There’s something deeply satisfying about not being the one stumbling over their words for once. “I don’t know.”
His eyes drop to my mouth, then narrow. “To date , Caroline.”
My smile drops so hard and fast, I swear I hear it hit the ground.
I sit up so abruptly, I almost collide with Hunter. “What?” I splutter, awkwardly scrambling backwards a little. “What does that have to do with me?”
Hunter crooks a brow, and I really, really don’t like the amused accusation behind it. “Like you said,” he drawls. “You came on a little strong.”
“I—” I’m lost for words. I’m praying I’ve misunderstood him. I’m hoping the ground will open up and swallow me whole. I’m practically screaming, “Not like that . I wasn’t coming on to you. ”
He freaking shrugs.
I would get up and run away if my limbs didn’t feel like jelly. “You’re kidding, right? Please tell me you’re kidding.”
He’s not. He’s really not. He really thinks I was… Oh my God. I feel like I’m dying. “Hunter, I was not flirting with you.”
That eyebrow . I want to shave it off. It’s freaking mocking me, as jibing as his tone. “Caroline, you were checkin’ me out.”
“I was not.” I definitely was. “I don’t check people out.”
“Then I’m honored I was the first.”
I take it back. I don’t want him to like me. I want him to go back to pretending I don’t exist. This is so much worse. This, I don’t know what to do with. This—
“Hey.” A hand lands on my leg again, higher this time, just below the hem of my shorts. His fingers are so long, the tips graze the underside of my thigh, tickling the sensitive skin. “I’m just teasin’. I know you didn’t mean anythin’ by it.” He pauses. Smirks a little, and I can’t even enjoy the sight. “ Now , I know.”
Why now? I want to ask. What changed his mind? After months of him living on the ranch, my complete ineptitude at flirting has finally made itself clear?
Dragging my knees up to my chest, I hide my face in them. “I’m sorry. I’m so embarrassed. I really wasn’t trying to…” God, I can’t say it again. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I was just being nice.”
“I know.” His hand is still on my leg. Trapped between my thigh and torso. Squeezing comfortingly and ensuring I know it’s there—like I could possibly forget. “You’re nice to everyone. I’m not special.”
What am I meant to say to that? Insist he is? Tell him I know what it feels like to be the new guy, the odd-one-out, and I just wanted him to feel welcome? No way.
“Caroline, c’mon. Look at me.”
I hesitate before tilting my head to the side and squinting at him through one eye.
He’s not smirking anymore; he’s all soft and sincere again. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, and I store those words safely in the back of my mind, savoring them because who knows how long it’ll be before I hear them again. “Okay?”
So drunk off his apology, I barely pause to think about it before parroting, “Okay.”