Chapter 33
Alec
Every morning since I can remember, I rushed to get out of bed. Rushed to my to-do list to keep my mind quiet. But today, my mind is only on one person.
Clementine sleeps peacefully on top of me.
Her copper hair is draped along my chest, legs wrapped in between mine.
She never once stirred in the night, like I wore her out as much as she did me.
Even on the thin foam padding and with the storm raging all night, I slept better than I had in months, finally not visited by nightmares.
Outside the tent, the sun rises, birds chirp, but I stay still, worshiping her warmth. I kiss the top of her head, inhaling her sweet smell, treasuring the weight of her in my arms.
She stirs awake, tilting her head up and kissing my lips.
“You just been staring at me, you creep?” Her laugh vibrates against my chest.
“Yeah,” I admit.
“You’ve been awake long?” She blinks up at me, beautiful as morning dew.
“No. Did you sleep okay?”
“Better than okay.”
“It’s the first time I slept through the night in months,” I admit.
“Me too.” She kisses me again, soft and gentle, before pulling back.
Her hair is sticking up in a few places, her lips are swollen, and I spot a few marks I left on her neck last night.
I adore seeing her covered in me. “Who would’ve thought?
You’re a certified cuddler. Your gruff mountain man reputation’s ruined. ”
I break into a smile. “Oh well.”
“But you kinda look like a sheepdog.” She tugs an elastic off her wrist. “Hold still.”
“What are you doing?”
She gathers my hair and ties it into what I can only imagine is a crooked knot. “Now your exterior matches that cute interior.”
“Christ.” I roll my eyes but don’t fix it. I’d do anything to hear her happy. “Now it’s your turn.” I roll on top of her, and she shrieks.
She tries to shove me off, but I drag her back into me. We roll around on the foam, me tugging at her hair, her yanking my ear. The tent shakes with our happiness. The world outside ceases to matter.
I pull her close, press my mouth to her temple. Goose bumps pebble her naked body. “We’re not hiking today.”
“What do you mean?”
“Day off.” I grab my clean, long-sleeved shirt and tug it over her.
“Day off? Who are you, and what have you done with Alec Hastings?”
“You heard me,” I say. “I have no interest in moving when I’ve got you right here.”
We drift back to sleep until her stomach growls like thunder in the tent. She groans, stretching against me, and I laugh, pushing us up and outside into the thin mountain morning.
She wrinkles her nose at the goop packets I pull from my bag, batting them away like flies. “Absolutely not.”
Breakfast turns into the blueberries we picked yesterday and a granola bar, heated up over a fire. I watch her eat. She looks outrageously good—hair tangled, my shirt crooked on her shoulder, knees drawn up like she belongs out here in the wild with me.
Like she’s always belonged.
“Hmm,” she hums around a bite, finger tapping theatrically against her chin. “What are we going to do all day?”
Before I can answer, she bolts. “Race you!”
“To what?”
“The bottom!”
And then she’s throwing herself sideways down the grassy hill that leads to the lake, limbs flying, laughter spilling out like she can’t contain it.
I stand there dumbstruck. Ah, the hell with it. I dive after her. The grass smacks my arms, mud streaks my back, the world flips over and over—sky, earth, sky, earth.
For a second, I’m twelve again, reckless, weightless, and alive.
When I finally land beside her, I’m dizzy and grinning, and I can’t remember the last time I let myself be this stupid.
“You did it!” she gasps, shoving my shoulder. “Mr. Mountain actually rolled down a hill.”
I snort, eyes closed against the sun. “You’re lucky we didn’t break our necks.”
She sprawls beside me, hair plastered to her forehead, chest heaving. She threads her fingers through mine. “You loved it.”
“Yeah,” I admit. “Guess I did.”
She gasps. “Alert the press!”
I turn my head and watch the sunlight catching her lashes. “You make me feel young again.”
“Good. Though, for the record, I love this little gray hair you’re starting to get.” She tugs at my hair, which has already fallen from the elastic she put around it.
We lie there awhile, damp clothes sticking, grass seeping cool against my back. The hill presses into my shoulder blades, her leg thrown half over mine, heavy and warm, like she forgot to untangle herself.
“I got hill stains on your shirt.”
I grunt. “Grass stains build character.”
“You know I’ve never done this.” She runs her fingers over my chest.
“Rolled down a hill?”
“Woken up with someone. Played. Been…like this.” Her thumb brushes over my knuckles where our hands are still linked. “It feels easy.”
Something in my throat locks up. Because I’ve never done this either. Not like this. Not with laughter still echoing in my bones.
“You call tumbling down a wet slope easy?”
“Don’t dodge the compliment.”
Her hand is small in mine, but it fits like I’ve been carrying the space for it without realizing it. “Fine. Easy.”
“You still owe me a skinny-dip, since you did say I technically won.”
She’s joking, but she’s right, and before I can second-guess myself, I jolt upright and bolt to the lake.
“Where are you going?” she yells behind me.
I glance back over my shoulder, grinning, already tugging my shirt over my head. “Coming?”
“What are you doing?” she calls
“Like you said, I owe you a skinny-dip.” I kick off my boots.
By the time she shouts, “I lost the tent!” I’m already waist-deep in freezing water, diving under with a yelp.
“You should join me.”
On the shore, she kicks off her boots, toes sinking into dark gravel slick with river silt, then peels my shirt off. She doesn’t hesitate. She never does. Her body flashes pale, and my chest caves at the sight.
“You’re insane!” she shouts as the icy water hits her ankles. Her hair is wild against the blue sky, droplets already catching on her skin.
“Jesus, Clem.”
“What?”
“You’re fucking beautiful.”
“Wow. Keep the compliments coming.” She splashes toward me, nipples perked up against the cold, skin pebbling. “This was a terrible idea!” she shrieks.
“It was your idea!” The current presses hard against my legs, numbing them, but she’s still grinning, wild and alive.
She moves closer, and suddenly she’s in my arms, legs wrapping around me like she can’t stand any space between us.
“Trying to steal my warmth, I see.” My gaze drags lower—to her throat, her collarbone, the faint shiver that runs through her body. The river swirls around us, cold and merciless, but none of it touches the fire cracking open inside me.
“I’m going to kiss you again,” I say.
“You never have to ask.”
I cup her face, brushing back a wet strand of hair. I read the shape of her mouth like it’s the only map I’ve ever needed. Our teeth chatter against each other, but neither of us cares. Nothing matters but this—her, me, us.
Her thighs tighten around me. Her nails dig into my shoulders. My hand fists in her hair, dragging her closer, as if I could ever get close enough.
“My fox.”
Out in nature. Out in the wild. With fog curling over the mountains and river rocks slick between our toes, I don’t feel like I’m counting steps or summits. I don’t feel like I’m carrying the weight of anything.
I just feel here.
It terrifies me, and it frees me.