Chapter 14
Troy
We don’t talk much after that. Breakfast gets eaten faster than it should, like neither of us trusts what might come out if we slow down long enough to think about it. The sound of forks against plates fills the space instead.
Rainey keeps her focus on her food, but I catch the way her gaze lands on me now and then. Not long enough to hold. Just enough to remind me she’s still here. Still thinking about it.
So am I.
I clear the plates before either of us decides to say something that changes the direction of the day. Routine helps. Movement helps. Standing still with her right now doesn’t.
“I’ve got something to show you,” I say, keeping my tone even.
She looks up, a small crease forming between her brows. “Should I be concerned?”
“No.”
She examines my expression, like she’s trying to decide if that’s reassuring or not. Then she nods once, pushing back from the counter.
“Okay.”
She doesn’t ask anything else. That tells me more than questions would.
I lead her outside and around the side of the cabin where the four-wheeler sits parked near the edge of the drive. It’s nothing fancy. Just something I use to move between sections of the ridge without tearing up the land. Rainey stops short when she sees it.
“Oh,” she says slowly. “We’re doing this.”
“We’re doing this.”
She looks at it, then at me, then back at it again like she’s calculating risk versus curiosity.
“Is there a safety briefing?” she asks.
“Hold on.”
“That’s it?”
“Tight, hold on tight.”
She exhales a small laugh, shaking her head as she steps closer. “This feels like a trust exercise.”
“It is.”
Something changes in her face when I say that. The teasing fades, replaced by a quiet understanding of what I’m really asking her to do. Still, she swings a leg over and settles behind me, careful at first, like she’s not entirely sure where to put her hands.
I start the engine.
“Hold on,” I repeat.
This time, she does. Her arms come around my waist, tentative for half a second before tightening as the machine rolls forward.
The trail drops off the side of the ridge almost immediately, cutting through trees and along a path I’ve worn in over years of use.
It’s not a smooth ride. It’s not supposed to be.
The terrain shifts under us — rock, packed dirt, loose patches where runoff has carved through — and I adjust automatically, guiding us through it without thinking. Behind me, Rainey adjusts too.
Her grip tightens at the first sharp turn, then again when we dip lower along the steeper section. After that, she doesn’t hesitate. She holds on like she means it, her body aligning with mine as the path narrows and curves.
I feel it. Every shift. Every small adjustment she makes to stay balanced. She’s not fighting it. She’s learning it.
The wind picks up as we move down the ridge, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine. I take the longer route on purpose, cutting through the section where the trees open up just enough to catch the light. It’s quieter here and more open.
Rainey leans into me a little more as we hit a rougher patch, her hands tightening briefly before settling again. There’s no hesitation now. No second-guessing. Just trust. I don’t rush it. No reason to.
The trail curves back toward her place, the slope easing as we come out of the trees and into the open stretch above her yard. I slow the engine, letting the ride settle before bringing us to a stop near the edge of the property. For a second, neither of us moves.
Her hands loosen slowly, as in reluctantly. She slides off behind me, feet hitting the ground a little uneven before she steadies herself.
“Okay,” she says, breath slightly unsteady. “That was … not what I expected.”
“Good or bad?”
She looks at me.
“Good.”
There’s something else in it too. Something she’s not saying, which is unusual for her. I cut the engine and step off, turning toward her.
“You didn’t ask where we were going,” I say.
She shrugs lightly. “You said not to worry.”
“And you believed me.”
Her lips curve slightly. “Don’t get used to it.”
I almost smile … almost. The space between us tightens again, just like it did in the kitchen.
This time, there’s no hesitation in it. No uncertainty about what it means.
I reach for her with a little more urgency than before.
My movement is deliberate, but I give her time to step back if she wants to.
My hand settles at her waist, steadying her as I draw her closer.
The second kiss isn’t cautious. It’s not testing anything.
Her hands find me faster this time, sliding up, holding on without that same uncertainty.
She leans into it, into me, like she’s already decided she’s not walking away from this.
Neither am I.
It deepens just enough to feel it again — that line between control and something else. Finally, I pull it back before it goes further.
Not here. Not like this.
I rest my forehead briefly against hers, both of us catching our breath.
“Dinner,” I say.
She blinks slightly. “Dinner?”
“At my place. Later.”
Her lips curve. “You cook all your meals for me now?”
“Not all.”
“How can I refuse after a morning like this?”
She steps back just enough to look at me fully.
“Can I bring anything?”
I hold her gaze for a second.
“Yeah,” I say.
“Dessert.”
Her smile widens slowly into a knowing grin.
“Careful,” she says. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
I glance at her once more before stepping back toward the four-wheeler.
“I have an idea.”
Things changed today. I’m not thinking about stopping this before it starts. It’s game on with Rainey.