Chapter Thirty-Eight
Carson
Spring arrived in Buttercup Lake like a late apology. It rolled in slowly at first, but then suddenly delivered with warm and bright temps.
It was the kind of day guides prayed for at the beginning of the season: blue skies without glare, temperatures hovering in the mid-fifties, trails drying just enough to give traction but muddy enough to keep things interesting.
Perfect conditions for our next group hike.
“Okay, everyone, grab a quick sip of water,” Sienna called from ahead as she adjusted her pack. “Then we’ll take that next switchback and stop at the ridge overlook. It’ll blow your minds.”
The five mid-twenty somethings following us, three guys and two women, cheered like she’d promised them a backstage pass to a concert. Young, energetic, excited for everything. Their backpacks were almost offensively new.
The good news?
This group did not assume that Sienna and I were a couple.
A miracle.
Truly.
They’d introduced themselves politely, asked the right trail questions, and not one of them had made a honeymoon joke or elbowed the person next to them while whispering something about guide chemistry.
I thanked whatever cosmic force had orchestrated that mercy.
Professional. Clean. Easy.
Until one of the women—Jenna, the brunette with the neon headband—fell into step beside me.
“You‘re Carson,” she said, smiling broadly, which we’d clearly established at the beginning of the hike.
“That’s me,” I answered, friendly but not inviting.
“This is my first guided trek,” she continued, brushing a strand of hair off her cheek in a way that looked rehearsed. “I was nervous about coming, but then I saw who the guides were and thought, okay, maybe this won’t be so scary after all.”
I nodded politely. “Glad you’re enjoying the route so far.”
“Oh, I’m enjoying it,” she said, letting the words hang like bait. “And the view.”
I pretended not to understand the implication and instead looked ahead, checking on the group spacing. “We’ll get an even better view at the next stop.”
She laughed lightly. “I meant this view.”
She gestured to… me.
Right.
There it was.
The thing I’d hoped wouldn’t happen.
I offered a neutral smile. “Appreciate it.”
“I mean, I wasn’t expecting a guide to look like you,” she said, dropping her voice as if it were a secret we were sharing. “Are you single?”
Ah, here we go.
“Let’s focus on the trail,” I said gently, redirecting the conversation the way guides were trained to when clients crossed lines—not shaming, not rude, but firmly steering things back to the professional lane.
Except she pressed on.
“No, seriously,” she said, “are you?”
Before I could give a proper shutdown, someone called from up ahead.
“Hey!” It was Sienna.
Loud.
Dramatic.
Suspiciously cheerful.
She’d stopped at a bend and turned around fully, one hand on her hip, the other shielding her eyes from the sun.
“Everything good back there?”
“We’re fine,” I called back.
Her gaze flicked from me to Jenna… then to the shrinking distance between us… Then back to me.
She smiled.
Oh no.
That was not just any smile.
That was the I’m about to be a menace " smile.
The mischief smile.
The Harper smile of doom.
When Jenna and I reached the group again, Sienna fell into step beside me with the kind of casualness only a woman who absolutely noticed everything could muster.
“So,” she said quietly, “making friends?”
I shot her a look. “Don’t start.”
“Start what?” she asked, way too innocent.
“You know what.”
“Oh, I’m just observing,” she said. “She’s very into you. Very. Into. You.”
“She’s just being friendly.”
“She asked if you were single.”
“She’s curious.”
“She asked it like she was applying for the position.”
“She’s—”
“Flirting,” Sienna finished, grinning.
I glared. “Please stop enjoying this.”
“Oh, I will never stop enjoying this,” she whispered. “You should’ve seen your face. Like someone handed you a live squirrel.”
“I handled it.”
“You panicked.”
“I did not panic.”
“You disassociated,” she corrected.
I bit back a laugh. “I redirected the conversation.”
“Into a ravine.”
“Sienna—”
“Carson,” she mimicked. “It’s okay. Some people freeze when being flirted with. It’s natural. Some of us just have more practice.”
I paused. “Do you… freeze?”
“No,” she scoffed. “I combust. There’s a difference.”
“That actually tracks.”
“Oh my God,” she said, shoving my shoulder lightly. “I shouldn’t have admitted that.”
“You walked into it.”
“You’re rude.”
“You started it.”
She grinned again. “I’m going to be unbearable about this.”
I groaned. “I can tell.”
“Also,” she added sweetly, “poor Jenna. She really thought she had a shot.”
“Sienna.”
“What? I’m just saying—if she keeps flirting, I might have to give her the handbook.”
“What handbook?”
She lifted her chin dramatically. “The Guide to Carson Reed: A Field Study in Stoic Handsomeness.”
I exhaled, fighting a smile. “Stop.”
“It has chapters,” she said. “Big chapters. Plot twists. Diagrams.”
“You’re impossible.”
“I’m delightful.”
“You’re—”
She cut me off by tapping my chest with two fingers. “And you like it.”
My breath stalled.
Not enough to be obvious. Just enough for my world to tilt a few degrees.
Her hand lingered for a fraction too long on my shirt before she turned forward again, calling over her shoulder to the group about minding loose rocks and keeping steady footing.
I watched her walk ahead, the sun catching in her hair, her energy bright and unapologetically alive, and thought—
She had no idea what she did to me.
When the trail opened to a wide overlook, the group gathered near the edge, a safe distance back, of course, taking in the lake shimmering below. They snapped photos, chatted, and marveled at the early spring air.
I took the opportunity to check everyone’s hydration and footing.
Sienna took the opportunity to poke me again.
“So,” she murmured, stepping close enough that her shoulder brushed mine, “what’s your plan if she tries again?”
“Shut it down politely.”
“Politely,” Sienna repeated, dragging out the syllables. “Mmm. Yeah. That sounds like you.”
“It is me.”
“It is,” she agreed. “You’re very… polite.”
“What’s wrong with polite?”
“Nothing,” she said, lips curving. “It’s just that you look like a man who has… impolite potential.”
My brain short-circuited for a second.
“That’s not a thing,” I finally said.
“It absolutely is.”
“I’m not discussing this with you.”
She tilted her head. “Does it embarrass you?”
“No.”
“Does it fluster you?”
“No.”
“Does it—”
“Sienna.”
She grinned like she’d won the lottery. “Yes?”
“You’re teasing me.”
“Oh,” she said softly, leaning in so her breath warmed the side of my throat, “I’m doing a lot more than teasing.”
She stepped away, calling bright instructions to the group as if she hadn’t just set off a controlled emotional detonation inside my chest.
I stood there for a moment, steadying my breath.
But every time she smiled at me like that, every time she nudged my shoulder or brushed past me on the trail or delivered some shameless, brilliant line, it became harder to remember the distinction between professionalism and the urge to kiss her senseless.
We resumed the hike. The group laughed and chatted behind us. The trail dipped into a narrow path woven between birch trees. Patches of sunlight danced through the leaves in the wind.
And then Jenna drifted up beside me again.
“Carson,” she said lightly, “I was thinking later maybe you and I could—”
“Jenna,” I said gently, “I’m your guide. Which means my focus today is keeping you safe and making sure your group has a great experience. Anything beyond that… isn’t something I entertain on the job.”
Her lips pressed together, disappointment flickering across her face. But she nodded.
“Oh. Okay. Sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep.”
“You’re fine,” I said warmly. “Happens more than you’d think.”
A soft voice behind me chimed in.
“It really does,” Sienna said, sliding beside us, expression perfectly angelic. “Carson has a… magnetic quality.”
I shot her a warning look.
She ignored it.
Jenna looked between us. “Are you two—?”
“No,” we said at the same time.
“Professional partners,” Sienna added quickly.
“Guides,” I clarified.
“Outdoor associates,” she said.
“Not a thing,” I murmured.
She elbowed me lightly and whispered, “Outdoor Associates is adorable, admit it.”
“It’s not.”
“It is.”
Jenna laughed nervously. “Okay, sorry I misread. You two just have… chemistry.”
Sienna looked like she might combust. “Chemistry? Us? No. Nuh-uh. Zero chemistry. Absolutely none.”
I lifted one brow.
She winced. “Well. I didn’t mean zero. Just—look, the point is…”
She flailed a little, then pivoted with the grace of a dropped backpack.
“Who’s hungry? Let’s get some food! Trail snacks?!”
The group cheered.
I stared.
She avoided my eyes.
But when she finally dared a quick glance, her expression flickered—mortification, amusement, and something else I couldn’t quite define all tangled together.
We walked on, side by side again, the banter simmering beneath us like a familiar current.
“You okay?” I murmured.
“Absolutely not,” she said cheerfully.
“You sure?”
“I’m spectacularly unokay,” she whispered, smiling. “And enjoying it.”
I chuckled under my breath. “Glad to hear it.”
A moment passed.
She nudged my arm lightly.
“Hey, stoic Kookaburra.”
“Yes, sparrow?”
Her cheeks flushed at the nickname, but she recovered fast. “We… make a good team.”
I looked at her. At the sunlight on her face, the brightness in her eyes, the way she tried so hard not to feel and failed spectacularly at it.
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “We do.”
And she smiled, and I knew I was in deeper than I realized.
For the first time in years, I didn’t mind sinking.
We continued climbing, the trail narrowing as switchbacks curved us higher through the pines.
The lake below glinted silver-blue in the sun, the breeze carrying the scent of thawing needles and damp earth.
The group followed behind us, chatting happily, their cheerful energy drifting like background music.
But all my attention stayed on the woman beside me.
Sienna walked with her usual light, restless stride, but every so often her arm brushed mine, subtle as a whisper, and each time it sent a pulse through me, sharp and quick. She wasn’t doing it on purpose. At least, I didn’t think she was. But the awareness sparked anyway, impossible to ignore.
When the path widened again, she slowed just a fraction, not enough for the group to notice, but enough that her shoulder aligned with mine once more.
“Just so we’re clear,” she murmured, eyes forward, “if that woman tries flirting with you again, I’m stepping in.”
I blinked. “You are?”
She shrugged. “I mean, only to help you avoid any more squirrel-level panic.”
“That’s not why.”
“It is exactly why.”
“No,” I said quietly, “it’s not.”
And maybe it was the sunlight. Or maybe it was the birds chirping.
Or maybe it was the way the breeze caught in her hair and the edges of her scarf fluttered like warm-colored feathers.
But she looked up at me then with eyes bright, cheeks flushed from the climb, and suddenly the space between us felt charged again, electric in that slow, careful way that made the moment stretch.
She swallowed. “Okay. Maybe not entirely why.”
I stopped walking before I even realized I had. The group kept moving ahead, oblivious. Sienna turned, surprised.
“Carson?”
I stepped closer and smiled.
“You don’t have to be jealous,” I said softly.
Her cheeks turned pink. “I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I—” Her voice wavered. “Okay, maybe a little. But only because she was very… forward. And professional me didn’t like it.”
“Professional you,” I said, “or the other you?”
She opened her mouth, closed it, then gave a helpless little laugh. “You make everything complicated.”
“No,” I murmured, “you make everything complicated.”
We stared at each other, suspended in the kind of stillness that only happened on trails.
Then someone from the group called back, “Hey! Are you two good?”
Sienna stepped away so fast she nearly tripped.
“Yes!” she called, her voice an octave too high. “Totally fine! Just talking about… rocks!”
I bit back a laugh.
She shot me a look over her shoulder, and one thing was painfully clear
I could walk a thousand miles of trail and still never get enough of her.