Chapter 3
Paisley
Yesterday, every movement of the water made my heart race. Every shift of the current sent panic through my chest. I spent the entire morning convinced the kayak was one wrong paddle stroke away from flipping me into disaster.
Now I’m floating beside Dean with the sun warming my shoulders and the steady rush of the Etowah carrying me forward.
I’m still not graceful. I doubt I ever will be. But I’m better.
The proof is sitting beside me in a green kayak, wearing a ridiculous amount of confidence and a grin that makes it impossible not to smile back.
“Are you staring at me?” Dean asks.
I blink and realize I’ve been watching him instead of paying attention to where I’m paddling.
“No.”
His eyebrow lifts.
“I don’t think I believe you.”
“I was looking at the river.”
“Uh-huh,” he says, clearly unconvinced.
“I was.”
“You were looking directly at me.”
I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out because he’s right. I don’t even have a good excuse anymore.
The man is distracting.
Everything about him feels designed to make concentrating difficult.
The sun has dried his hair into messy waves that are boyishly charming, and his shirt is damp around the collar from the spray of the river.
His skin is a golden tan from hours outside, and his shoulders are relaxed as he guides his kayak effortlessly through the water.
Dean belongs here.
The river doesn’t scare him. The mountains don’t intimidate him. Even the wilderness that had me convinced I was about to become a missing person statistic seems to bend to his will.
Alone in the woods, he made me feel completely safe. Once he fished me out of the Etowah, I wasn’t scared anymore.
I trail my fingers through the water beside my kayak.
A week ago, I would have never imagined wanting this. Not the kayaking. Definitely not the sleeping outside or getting stranded in the woods with a near stranger.
But sitting in a bright pink kayak, listening to the river and watching the mountains stretch endlessly around us, I understand why people fall in love with places like this.
“Are we getting close?” I ask.
The question comes out softer than I intend.
Dean glances over at me, dark eyes glinting in the summer sun.
“To the pickup spot?”
I nod and he smiles.
“It won’t be much longer,” he promises. “No more rustic fish dinners for us.”
My stomach twists.
I don’t know why I’m not relieved. Fish without seasoning? Bland. Very bland. Sleeping on the hard ground without a sleeping bag or tent? Miserable. And yet…I don’t want this to be over.
I should be relieved. We’re safe. I’m going to take a long shower, sleep in an actual bed, and eat a hot meal that didn’t get charred over an open flame.
Instead, all I can think about is that this means our little adventure is ending.
This strange, impossible bubble we’ve been living in for two days is about to disappear.
“You’re sure your family knows where to find us?”
Dean laughs softly.
“They know this river better than anyone. They’ll be waiting.”
The way he says it makes me smile. Of course they will. The Johnson family belongs here.
They know every bend in this river. Every trail through these mountains.
I look ahead as the river curves through the trees. The sunlight is beginning to fade, turning everything in the shadows to a dark hunter green.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper.
Dean follows my gaze.
“Yeah.”
But when I look back at him, he isn’t watching the mountains.
He’s watching me.
My heart does that stupid little flip it’s been doing around him since before I even knew his name.
I look away before he can see how much that affects me, because this is where I have to be careful.
I know what this is. A story I’ll tell someday about the handsome mountain man who rescued me after I accidentally assaulted him with a kayak paddle.
The river carries us around one final bend, and my stomach drops.
There it is. The pickup spot. A wide stretch of embankment where several vans and trucks from Johnson River Adventures are already waiting.
People wave and I spot Dylan’s bright grin and a few of the other guides I met yesterday. Our rescue has arrived.
I should feel relieved. Instead, a heavy ache settles deep in my chest. Dean paddles closer until our kayaks bump gently together. His voice warm and steady.
“There they are. Right on time.”
I force a smile and nod, but my throat feels tight. Two days. That’s all it’s been. Two days of his quiet confidence, and his kisses that make the rest of the world disappear. Kisses and long, protective cuddles under emergency blankets and around campfires. Nothing more. And now it’s over.
I’m falling in love with him.
The realization hits me like the paddle I accidentally swung into his face. Hard, unavoidable and absolutely terrifying.
I dread losing him already. The thought loops in my head as we glide toward shore.
This was just a vacation fling for him. A fun little adventure with a clumsy tourist. He’ll go back to his river, his family, his life. And I’ll go back to Denver remembering this weekend fondly for the rest of my life.
We beach the kayaks, and suddenly the quiet wilderness bubble bursts. Voices, laughter, the rumble of engines cut through the air as Dean’s brothers swarm us.
“Dean! You idiot, you had us worried!” A big, bearded man I recognize from Dean’s description as Diesel claps him on the back so hard, I wince.
Dylan and Duke appear next, identical grins splitting their faces. Dylan pulls me into a quick, friendly side hug.
“Paisley! Our favorite paddle-wielding menace. You, okay?”
“I’m fine,” I manage, cheeks heating. They’re all looking at me like they were genuinely worried about me. As if I were more than just a lost tourist and a legal liability.
It makes the ache worse.
Duke and Dylan grab our kayaks effortlessly while another brother I haven’t met introduces himself as Dermot and ushers me into a van. While the others are loud and boisterous, he’s quiet and doesn’t say a word as he drives me back to the starting point.
It’s a quick ride back to Johnson River Adventures. The brothers pour out of their trucks, and I catch a brief glimpse of Dean but then I’m distracted by his family again.
Their mom, Mrs. Johnson, rushes over with towels and water bottles. She’s petite but radiates the same effortless warmth as Dean. She wraps a soft faded blue towel around my shoulders and squeezes me into a hug.
“Sweetheart, you poor thing. The boys say you handled the left branch like a champ. We’re so glad you’re both safe.”
She says it with such genuine affection that my eyes sting. I blink rapidly to keep them free of tears.
They’re just being nice. Small-town hospitality. Don’t read into it.
Mr. Johnson appears behind her, nodding at me with kind eyes.
“You’ve got grit, Paisley. Not many folks keep their head in a situation like that.”
Duke winks and says, “So, Paddles, you gonna come back and give Dean a rematch next summer?”
Dylan elbows his brother before adding, “Or maybe she’ll just stick around and keep him in line.”
They tease me mercilessly but sweetly.
I laugh because I have to, but it sounds shaky even to my own ears. Every kind word, twists the knife deeper.
I keep trying to catch Dean’s eye, to pull him aside for even thirty seconds. To ask…something.
What happens now? Was this real for you too? Can we try to make this work?
But his family is everywhere. Hugging him, slapping his back, roughhousing like overgrown puppies. Diesel and another brother grab Dean in a headlock, laughing as they drag him toward the water’s edge.
I stand there awkwardly for a moment, clutching my damp life jacket, watching them tussle.
This is my chance.
While they’re distracted, I slip away toward the parking area where my rental SUV still sits.
My heart pounds as I walk faster, feet sending loose pieces of gravel skating across the ground. Tears blur the edges of my vision. I don’t want to say a half-hearted goodbye in front of all of them. I don’t want to hear him let me down gently. I just need to go before this breaks me completely.
Behind me, I hear splashing and loud laughter as the brothers toss Dean into the river. His shout of protest turns into a laugh. It’s the happiest sound. This is his world. His people. I was never going to fit into it long-term.
I reach my car, fumble with the keys, and climb in. The engine starts with a quiet purr. I grip the wheel and stare straight ahead, willing myself not to cry until I’m out of sight.
The road back to town stretches in front of me, winding through the mountains I’ve already started to love. I put the car in drive and pull away, leaving the sound of the Johnson family’s joy behind me.
This is it. The end of the river.
And I’ve never felt more lost.