Chapter 15 Maya
MAYA
The trail along the eastern ridge was one of my favorite in the whole park.
Hikers usually bypassed it, which was half the appeal. The canopy was thick enough to filter the sunlight into something golden and soft, and the air always smelled cleaner up here, like the trees were working overtime.
On a good day, the sound of the creek running below the ridge drifted up before the water even came into view.
Today was a good day.
Nate worked beside me. We’d been out since mid-morning, working our way along the ridge, pulling old markers and driving in new ones. Simple, repetitive work that let your mind wander without getting you into trouble.
Mostly.
He angled a marker into the soft ground beside the trail. “You’re putting those in crooked.”
He stepped back and studied it, head tilted. “Yeah, okay. I see it.”
“About ten degrees off.”
“You can eyeball ten degrees?”
I bumped my hip against his, knocking him off balance just enough to steal his spot. “I have an extremely calibrated eye.” Crouching down, I adjusted the marker until it sat flush in the dirt. “There. See?”
He looked at the marker, then at me. “I wouldn’t have spotted that.”
“And that’s why I’m the ranger and you’re the volunteer.”
The almost-smile had become familiar over the past couple weeks. Every time it appeared, a small, stupid thrill zipped through me, like I’d won something.
We moved on to the next section. The trail narrowed where the ridge dropped away to the left, and I fell into step ahead of him, ducking under a low branch. A bird called somewhere above us, high and sharp, and I tilted my head on instinct, scanning the canopy.
Then a flash of movement caught my eye.
My hand shot back, landing flat against Nate’s chest. He stopped immediately.
“What?”
“Shh.” I set my pack down carefully at my feet, barely breathing, and pointed up. Right to the very top of a towering pine, where the highest branch met open sky.
A peregrine falcon sat perched against the blue, perfectly still, surveying the world below as though it owned every square inch of it.
Nate followed my gaze. His breath left him in a quiet rush.
We stood there, utterly still, watching the falcon hold court from its impossible height. The forest sounds faded to background noise. Even the wind eased off, holding its breath to preserve the moment.
My hand was still pressed against his chest, forgotten in the awe of it, his heartbeat steady and warm beneath my palm.
Then the falcon launched. One explosive burst of movement, wings snapping wide, and it tore through the air above the canopy with a speed that made my heart lurch. In seconds it was a speck, then gone, swallowed by the sky.
“Wow,” Nate said, so quietly it was almost to himself.
“Yeah.” My voice was low and soft, still spellbound by the moment. “They nest up on the cliffs past the north ridge. I see them maybe once or twice a season, if I’m lucky.”
“You have the best job.”
I turned to him, a smile already forming. “I sure do.”
And then the smile faded, because he was right there.
Close. So close that the warmth of his body reached me through the narrow gap between us.
Close enough that the filtered sunlight caught the blue of his eyes, turning them almost transparent. His heart leaped under my palm, the steady rhythm from a moment ago replaced by something urgent that matched the sudden hammering in my own ribs.
His gaze dropped to my mouth. Just for a second. Then back up.
My breath hitched. Every nerve in my body fired at once. The rational part of my brain, the part that had spent the past few weeks maintaining professional distance and pretending this was fine, went completely offline.
His hand came up slowly, as though he was giving me every chance to step back. I held my ground. His palm settled against my cheek.
My whole body swayed toward him before my brain could intervene. His thumb traced along my cheekbone, feather-light. His gaze held mine with an intensity that made my knees shake.
He lowered his head. Slowly, carefully, fighting every boundary he’d drawn for himself. His lips brushed mine, barely there, a whisper of contact that sent heat flooding through me.
“Kiss me properly,” I whispered.
Something raw and hungry flared in his eyes.
And then his mouth was on mine, and the world fell away.
His hand slid from my cheek to the back of my head, fingers threading into my hair.
He kissed me as though he’d been thinking about it for a long time and was done pretending otherwise.
Deep, thorough, devastating. I wound my arms around his neck and pressed myself against him, every inch of contact sending sparks cascading through me.
His other arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer still.
A sound escaped me that I would have been embarrassed about if I’d had a single functioning brain cell left.
But every last one was gone. Torched. Reduced to ash by his mouth moving against mine, his tongue sliding over my lower lip, and the low groan that rumbled through his chest when I opened for him.
This was nothing like any kiss I’d ever had. This was a kiss that rewired you from the inside out.
His arms tightened around me. I tilted my head, letting him deepen the kiss further, and the sound he made nearly undid me completely. My fingers curled into the hair at the nape of his neck and his hand pressed flat against the small of my back. I lost track of where I ended and he began.
I could have stayed there forever. I wanted to stay there forever.
Which is why it took a full three seconds for his sudden stillness to pierce through the haze.
His lips stilled against mine. His hands loosened. The heat pouring off him shifted into a sharp, rigid tension. The change radiated through him before my brain could process it, like a door slamming shut somewhere deep inside him.
He pulled back.
Only a few inches, but it might as well have been miles.
His hands fell away from me, and the absence of his touch hit like a physical blow. Cold air rushed into the space between us, filling the gap where his body had been.
“I’m sorry.” His voice was rough, scraped raw. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
I stood there, lips still tingling, heart still hammering, trying to catch up with what was happening. Five seconds ago he’d been kissing me like I was oxygen and he’d been suffocating. Now he was stepping back, his jaw set hard, his eyes fixed on some point over my shoulder.
“Nate...”
He bent down and grabbed my pack, holding it out to me with his gaze glued to the dirt. “It’s getting late.”
It was three fucking thirty.
Cold spread through my body, icing over all the places that had been burning a moment ago.
“Right.” I took the pack. My voice sounded like it was coming from outside my body. “Sure.”
He was already walking. Long strides, shoulders tight, putting distance between us with every step. I stood rooted to the spot, the taste of him still on my lips and the ghost of his hands still warm on my skin.
Then I followed, because what the fuck else was I supposed to do?
The walk back was utterly silent. Gone was the comfortable quiet we’d gotten used to. This was thick, suffocating silence that pressed in from all sides and made the air hard to breathe.
My mind raced, turning it over and over, trying to find the moment where it had gone wrong. He’d kissed me. He had kissed me. His hand on my face, his mouth on mine, that sound he’d made when I’d pressed closer. None of that was fake. None of that was reluctant.
By the time we reached the station, my confusion had started curdling into something sharper. He headed straight for his truck without a word, keys already in his hand.
“Nate.”
He paused, his hand on the door, his head down.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” I hated the uncertainty in my tone. Hated that I was asking at all.
There was another beat of fraught silence, then, “No. I’m catching up with Dan.”
Dan. Something about that snagged, a tiny hook catching on invisible fabric. Unsure what to do with it, I shoved the thought aside and just nodded.
“Okay. Have fun.”
He got in, started the engine, and pulled out of the lot.
I stood in the gravel as the dust settled behind his taillights, and the cold thing in my chest solidified into a hard, familiar knot.
Because I’d been here before. Different details, same pattern. The last time something had happened between us that Nate had refused to confront, he’d shut down and avoided me until the day he shipped out.
And now, as his truck disappeared down the road, the whole terrible cycle was starting all over again.
History, it turned out, had a hell of a sense of humor.