Chapter Six
“ I knew better. I kissed her anyway.”
Leif
I woke to birdsong and emptiness. The space beside me in the sleeping bag was still warm, but vacant. Skye's scent lingered—but she was gone.
For a moment, I lay still, listening. The camp was quiet, dawn barely breaking over the eastern ridge. Too early for the kids to be up. Too early for normal people to be awake at all, but I'd never kept normal hours, not even before the fire.
The flap of the tent was unzipped, letting in a sliver of pale morning light. I sat up, running a hand through my hair, and reached for my jeans. Her clothes were gone, but her small duffel remained in the corner of the tent.
So she hadn't run far.
I stepped out into the cool morning air, barefoot and shirtless. Dew soaked the grass, cold against my feet. The world was painted in shades of gray and blue, the sun not yet high enough to burn through the morning mist that clung to the meadow. Thin tendrils of fog wrapped around the pine trunks like ghostly fingers.
I found her sitting on a log by the fire ring, arms wrapped around her knees, staring at the sky as it lightened from black to indigo. She looked small and vulnerable in the half-light, her thick hair loose around her shoulders, her profile etched against the brightening horizon. She didn't turn when I approached, though she must have heard me.
"Hey," I said, keeping my distance.
"Hey." She didn't look at me. "Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you."
"You didn't."
Silence stretched between us, broken only by the call of a mourning dove somewhere in the forest. I waited, sensing she had something to say.
"Last night was..." She finally glanced at me, then quickly away. "It was amazing."
"But?" I could hear it hovering in her voice.
She laughed softly, but there was no humor in it. "Is it that obvious?"
"You're sitting out here alone at dawn looking like you're solving complex equations in your head. So yeah, a little obvious."
Another silence. I settled onto the log beside her, not touching, giving her space. The charred remains of last night's fire lay cold in the ring, black against the gray ash.
"I don't do this," she said finally. "The one-night thing. I mean, I have, obviously, but it's not... it's not usually my style."
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak yet.
"And I know it's stupid to even be thinking about this. We just met. You live in the actual wilderness by choice. I have a life in Missoula. Students. Friends. A flat that needs to be paid for." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, a nervous gesture I was starting to recognize. "But last night felt like... I don't know. Something more than just two people who happened to be in the same place at the same time."
"It was," I said, the words emerging rougher than intended.
She looked at me then, really looked at me, her eyes searching mine. "Was it?"
"Yes."
"Then what is this, Leif? What are we doing here?"
The direct question caught me off guard, though it shouldn't have. Skye wasn't the type to dance around things. It was one of the things I found most disarming about her.
"I don't know," I admitted. "I didn't plan this."
"Neither did I." She sighed, looking back at the sky. "I don't want to be a fling, Leif. Some story you tell yourself about the crazy city girl who got lost in your woods. And I don't want you to be my vacation hookup, either."
"That's not what last night was."
"Then what was it?"
I struggled to find the words. Words had never come easily to me, not like they did for her. "It was real," I said finally. "It was something I haven't felt in... a long time."
"But?"
Smart woman. She could hear my unspoken reservation as clearly as I could hear hers.
"But I can't promise you anything," I said. "My life is here, like you said. Fire Mountain. Space, quiet. It's what I need."
"I know." She pulled her knees closer to her chest. "And mine is back there. Teaching, meetings, to-do lists. Living among people who don't consider indoor plumbing an optional luxury."
Despite the tension, that pulled a small smile from me. "The cabin has plumbing."
"You know what I mean." She smiled too, but it faded quickly. "We're from different worlds, Leif."
"Yes."
"So maybe we should just... I don't know. Chalk it up to a beautiful night under the stars. A cosmic alignment that won't come around again."
The thought of never seeing her again after today hit me with unexpected force, like a physical blow to the chest. But what could I offer her? Weekends in a cabin with no cell service? Holidays spent tracking game trails instead of attending parties with her friends? I couldn't move back to civilization, not yet. Maybe not ever. And I couldn't ask her to give up her life for a man she'd just met.
So I said nothing, and my silence was answer enough.
She nodded, as if I'd confirmed something she'd already known. "The kids will be up soon. I should get ready for the morning session."
"Yeah."
She stood, brushing off her yoga pants, which still bore faint dirt stains from her adventure in the woods. "Thank you. For everything. The rescue. The tire. Last night." She hesitated, then leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to my cheek. "I mean it."
Before I could respond, she was walking back toward the camp, her shoulders squared with determination.
I stayed by the cold fire ring, watching the sun crest the ridge, painting the world in gold and chasing away the mist. Birds called to each other in the trees, and somewhere in the distance, a door slammed as the camp began to wake.
I knew I should pack up. Head home. Return to the quiet life I'd built for myself. It was the sensible thing to do.
Instead, I found myself helping Mandy set up the breakfast buffet, arranging camping chairs for the morning astronomy recap, and carrying equipment for Skye as she prepared for the day's activities. We moved around each other with careful politeness, never quite making eye contact, never quite touching. The air between us felt charged despite our distance, like the moment before lightning strikes.
The kids, thankfully, were too excited about the day ahead to notice the tension. They swarmed around Skye, asking a thousand questions about what they'd seen the night before.
"Did you see the meteor I saw?"
"Was that really Saturn's rings?"
"Can we look through the big telescope again tonight?"
She answered each question with patience and enthusiasm, her passion for astronomy evident in every explanation. I hung back, watching her work, struck again by how naturally she connected with these kids. Her face lit up as she described nebulae and asteroid belts, hands gesturing animatedly, eyes bright with excitement.
Tyler sidled up beside me, a piece of toast clutched in his hand. "Are you gonna teach us wilderness stuff today?"
"No," I said. "I'm actually leaving soon."
"Oh." His disappointment was evident. "But you're coming back, right? For the campfire tonight?"
"Not tonight, kid."
He considered this, taking a bite of his toast. "Is it 'cause you and Miss Skye had a fight?"
I nearly choked on nothing. "What?"
"You're both acting weird. Like when my parents fight but pretend they're not fighting in front of me. Not yelling-fight. Just that quiet thing where nobody's smiling anymore." He shrugged. "It's okay. Grown-ups are complicated."
With that profound observation, he wandered off to join his friends, leaving me staring after him in disbelief. Was our tension that obvious? Or were kids just a lot more perceptive than we gave them credit for?
By mid-morning, Skye had wrapped up her final lesson, and the kids were being herded toward the lake for swimming and lunch. She found me near my Jeep, where I'd been doing a final check before heading out. The sun had burned off the morning fog, leaving behind a perfect summer day—blue sky, gentle breeze, the scent of pine hanging in the air.
"So," she said, her expression somber. "I guess this is it."
"I guess so."
"Will you at least let me buy you dinner sometime? As a thank-you for saving me from becoming a cautionary tale for future hikers?"
The offer was meant to lighten the mood, but we both knew it wasn't going to happen. Dinner meant a date. A date meant something continuing. Something continuing meant complications neither of us was prepared to navigate.
"Skye—"
"No, you're right." She cut me off with a quick shake of her head. "Bad idea. Forget I asked."
I wanted to tell her it wasn't a bad idea. That in another life, I'd take her to dinner every night. Hell, I’d learn to be a gourmet chef if that’s what would make her happy. The thought of driving away from her now felt wrong in so many ways. But the words stuck in my throat.
"I should help you pack up," I said instead of voicing the thoughts running through my mind. "Your car tire will need to be replaced before you drive back to Missoula."
"One of the dads here is a mechanic. He offered to swap it out later." She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "But thanks."
"Right."
We stood there, awkward in a way we hadn't been even when she was covered in mud and I was holding an axe.
"Well," she said finally. "I should go help with lunch. Those kids are going to be starving after swimming."
"Sure."
She turned to go, then stopped. "It was nice meeting you, Mountain Man."
"You too, Science Teacher."
A small smile curved her lips, but it didn't reach her eyes. She hesitated, as if there was more she wanted to say, then shook her head slightly and walked away.
I watched her go, memorizing the sway of her hips, the way the sunlight caught in her dark hair, the determined set of her shoulders. She didn't look back.
I knew I should get in the Jeep and drive away. This was the clean break we both needed. One amazing night, no regrets, no complications.
But my feet refused to move.
Mandy found me still standing there ten minutes later, staring at the spot where Skye had disappeared around the corner of the main lodge.
"You're an idiot," she said without preamble.
I raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." She crossed her arms, giving me an appraising look. "You like her."
"It's not that simple."
"Actually, it is. You like her. She likes you. The rest is just details."
I shook my head. "Details like living three hours apart? Details like completely different lifestyles?"
"Please." She rolled her eyes. "I've known Skye since college. That girl has been stargazing in the middle of nowhere since she was old enough to hold a telescope. You think she's afraid of a little wilderness?"
"It's not about fear."
"No, it's about you being too stubborn to try." Mandy's expression softened slightly. "Look, I don't know what your deal is. Why you live alone in the woods like some sexy hermit—"
"Sexy hermit?"
"—but Skye is special. She doesn't connect with people easily, not really. She talks a lot, sure, but that’s because she’s covering. Letting someone in? That's rare." She gestured toward the lodge. "And for some reason I can't fathom, she's let you in. So if you walk away from that because it might be complicated, then yeah, you're an idiot."
With that, she turned and strode back toward camp, leaving me with thoughts I didn't want to examine too closely.
I finished loading my gear into the Jeep, moving on autopilot. This was the right decision. The sensible decision. Skye deserved a guy who could give her a normal life, like some nice accountant or software engineer. Not a man like me.
I knew better than to think this could work. I knew better than to kiss her in the first place. But I'd kissed her anyway and made a mess of things for us both. Leaving was the right thing to do before I fucked things up even worse.
I climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine. The familiar rumble was comforting, grounding. I could be back at my cabin by noon.
As I pulled away from the campground, I caught a glimpse of Skye through the lodge window. She was laughing at something one of the kids had said, her head thrown back, utterly uninhibited in her joy. The sight hit me like a physical ache in my chest.
"Damn it," I swore, slamming my palm against the steering wheel. "Damn it all to hell."