Chapter 4 #2
"That's a nice thought," I say, "but my advisor would murder me if I came back with 'I found something unprecedented' and no clear causation."
"What's your advisor like?" Hunter asks, and I get the sense he's genuinely curious about my life beyond this research.
I smile despite my frustration. "Dr. Venkatesan? She's brilliant. Tough, but fair. She pushes me harder than anyone else ever has, but it's because she knows I can handle it." I pause. "At least, I hope I can handle it."
"Why Environmental Science?" Hunter's eyes are on me now, not the notes. "What made you choose this path?"
The question catches me off guard. Most people don't ask about the why, just the what.
"I grew up hiking with my parents. We'd take these weekend trips into the mountains.
The Smokies, the Blue Ridge, anywhere we could get to from Rock Hill.
My dad would point out different plants, explain how the ecosystem worked, how everything was connected. "
I'm surprised by how much I want to tell him this.
"One summer, we went back to a favorite spot and found it completely changed.
A nearby factory had been dumping waste upstream, and the whole area was dying.
Brown plants, dead fish, this weird chemical smell.
I was twelve, and I remember thinking that someone should have stopped this. Someone should have known."
"So you decided to be that someone," Hunter says softly.
"Yeah. Naive, right? Thinking I could make a difference."
"I don't think it's naive." His voice is serious, intense. "I think it's exactly the kind of person we need. Someone who pays attention, who cares enough to dig deeper."
The way he's looking at me makes my breath catch. There's an intensity in his gaze that has nothing to do with my research and everything to do with me.
"What about you?" I ask, needing to break the moment before I do something stupid like lean closer. "Why land management? Why dedicate your life to protecting these mountains?"
"Same reason as you, I guess. It's home.
It's where my family has always been, where we belong.
" He pauses, something flickering across his face.
"My great-great-grandfather was one of the founders of Willow Creek.
He chose this location specifically because it was remote, protected, surrounded by wilderness.
That was important to him. To all of them.
Preserving this land, keeping it wild, that's not just a job. It's my responsibility."
"That's a lot of pressure," I observe.
"Sometimes." He leans back in his chair, and I feel the loss of his proximity like a physical thing. "But it's also a privilege. How many people get to wake up every morning knowing exactly what they're meant to do?"
"Not many," I admit. "Most of my cohort is still figuring out what they want to specialize in, whether to go into academia or industry or government work."
"But you know what you want."
"I do. I want to understand how ecosystems respond to stress, how to identify threats before they become catastrophic. I want to—" I stop, suddenly embarrassed. "Sorry, I'm rambling."
"Don't apologize. I like hearing you talk about your work." Hunter's smile is genuine, warm. "You light up when you talk about it. It's obvious this matters to you."
The compliment makes me flush. "Well, it helps that I'm talking to someone who actually seems interested instead of glazing over after the first mention of phenotypic variation."
"I find it fascinating," he says, and the way he's looking at me suggests he's not just talking about the research.
The air between us feels charged, heavy with something unspoken. I should say something, break the tension, but I can't seem to form words.
Hunter clears his throat, looking away first. "So, these samples you're sending to Clemson. How long before you get results?"
"Two to three weeks, probably. The lab is always backed up." I'm grateful for the return to safer territory. "In the meantime, I need to document more locations, establish a broader pattern."
"Which means more fieldwork."
"Once my ankle heals, yes."
His expression darkens. "About that. I don't think you should go back into those remote areas alone."
"Hunter—"
"I'm serious, Ava. Those woods can be dangerous. You already got hurt once. And what if I hadn’t found you? You could have been stuck out there overnight."
"I'm aware of the risks," I say, trying to keep the defensiveness out of my voice. "I've been doing fieldwork for years. I know how to stay safe."
"Do you?" His voice is sharper now. "Because from where I'm sitting, you went out alone, too late in the day, into unfamiliar terrain, and ended up injured. That's not staying safe."
My temper flares. "I didn't exactly plan to slip on wet rocks. Accidents happen."
"They do. Which is why you shouldn't go alone.
" He runs a hand through his hair, and I can see him physically trying to rein in his reaction.
"Look, I'm not trying to tell you how to do your job.
But I know these mountains, and I know what can go wrong.
If you're going to continue this research, let me help.
Let me take you to the locations you need, keep you safe while you work. "
"Why?" The question comes out more confrontational than I intend. "Why do you care so much about what happens to me? You barely know me."
Hunter is quiet for a long moment, his jaw working like he's physically holding back words. Finally, he says, "Because I found you injured and alone, and the thought of that happening again—of no one being there to help you—that bothers me. A lot."
There's something he's not saying, something deeper beneath the surface concern. But I can't quite figure out what it is.
"I appreciate the concern," I say carefully. "But I can't have a babysitter every time I need to collect samples. That's not practical."
"Then let me show you the safe routes. The areas where you're less likely to get hurt, where you'll have cell service if something goes wrong. I can mark them on a map, show you where to avoid." He leans forward again, and his intensity is back. "Please, Ava. Let me help."
The ‘please’ does it. There's something almost desperate in the way he says it, and I find myself nodding before I've fully thought it through.
"Okay. Once my ankle heals, you can show me the best locations for sampling. But I pick the sites based on research needs."
"Deal." The relief on his face is palpable. "I can take you out this week if you want. Easy terrain, nothing that would stress your ankle. To give you a sense of what's available."
"This week?" I look down at my walking boot. "The doctor said at least five to seven days before I should even think about hiking."
"She said a week or two. We don't have to hike. I can drive you to some accessible spots. Places where the terrain is flat, where you can collect samples without risking your recovery." His eyes are bright with something that looks like hope. "Unless you have other plans?"
I think about my week of transcribing notes, analyzing data, responding to my advisor's increasingly pointed emails about my timeline. The idea of getting out of this rental house, seeing more of the area and spending time with Hunter is more appealing than it should be.
"I don't have other plans," I admit.
"Good. How about tomorrow? I can pick you up around ten, show you a few spots, have you back by early afternoon."
"Tomorrow works." I'm trying to sound casual, professional, like this is purely about research access and not at all about the way my heart rate picks up whenever he's near.
Hunter's smile is genuine and just a little bit devastating. "Great. It's a date."
"A research excursion," I correct, but there's no heat behind it.
"Right. A research excursion." His eyes are dancing with amusement now. "Purely professional."
"Purely professional," I echo, and we both know we're lying.
He stands, and I realize with disappointment that he's leaving. "I should let you get back to work. But call me if you need anything before tomorrow. Anything at all."
"I will. And Hunter?" I catch his attention before he reaches the door. "Thank you for checking on me and for the groceries. You didn't have to do any of that."
"I wanted to," he says simply, and the honesty in his voice makes my chest feel tight.
After he leaves, I sit at the kitchen table for a long time, staring at my research notes without really seeing them. My mind keeps replaying the conversation, the way he looked at me, the protective edge in his voice when he talked about the dangers of the woods.
The way he said ‘It's a date’ like he meant it as more than just a figure of speech.
I pull out my phone and open my email, finally reading Dr. Venkatesan's message. She wants a progress report, a timeline for sample analysis, and preliminary findings.
I start typing a response, updating her on my sample collection and the plan to document additional sites. I don't mention the wolves, or the mysterious man who found me, or the fact that my research is increasingly tangled up with questions that have nothing to do with plant mutations.