Chapter Twenty-four
I’m honestly not sure I ever in my life want to see a cloud that Jed considers to have bite.
The storm rages overhead, pouring water in sheets over the whole campsite. The fire Jed built that we ate dinner around is not even smoking embers any more, and from inside the tent I can hear what sounds like a bucket of water tip from the top of the tarp every five minutes.
Inexplicably, I can also hear someone snoring. It sounds like it’s coming from beside me, so it must be Bri. The tarp covers both of the tents and about two square metres in front, which is where the men have set themselves up.
I can’t sleep. I keep telling myself that it’s just the rain, but it feels like my skin is buzzing.
And I’m not sure if it’s because of the interview, or because of the crowd today, or holding Declan’s hand, or knowing that there are comments about me on the internet, but it’s the same feeling that crept up on me in the forest a few days ago.
The restless urge to do something, to discover what’s at the end of the stillness.
And I swear it’s probably just Yumi rubbing off on me, but, for a stupid second, I want to feel the rain on my face.
Before I can overthink it, I unzip the tent and climb out.
Only to almost run into a dark shape right by the door. My chest leaps in shock and I barely manage to stop myself from squealing. Wilderness Clarrie strikes again.
Declan reaches out to steady me, his hand cold and wet.
My heart feels like it’s going to pound its way out of my chest, and he unfurls himself from where he was crouched by the door of my tent.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ I hiss at him, my voice harsh from shock.
Declan drops my arm and runs a hand through his hair, flicking droplets of water between us. As my eyes adjust to the dark, I can see that he is saturated. His hair is dripping, his clothes wet.
‘Apparently this tarp isn’t quite big enough for two,’ he says dryly, his teeth chattering slightly.
He nods to the ground in front of the tent. Jed is completely sprawled out across the space, his arms and legs fully extended in every direction.
‘Sitting up straight by the tent door seemed preferable to the other option, which was out in the rain,’ says Declan conversationally. ‘Though I’ll admit to having tried both.’ He shivers, the movement racking his body again. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I wanted to feel the rain on my face,’ I say, which sounds ridiculous now that I can see the rain on Declan’s face and the impact that it’s clearly having.
More ridiculously, I want it more. Like something in my chest is aching to feel the moment of shock, to at least stumble on purpose.
I want to take a deep breath, to be right where I am.
I want to know the right thing to do about the bookshop. I push the last thought down.
Even in the dark, I see Declan’s raised eyebrow.
‘It’s really more of a waterfall,’ he says, another shiver running through him, but the pounding has softened to less torrential drizzle against the tarp now.
I steel my shoulders. I take a step towards Declan and he stills.
I’m close enough now that I can smell his skin, the scent of him mixed with rain.
Then I take a breath, and step around him, out into the rain.
And it is so freaking cold. Something between a squeal and a laugh bursts out of me, my chest pounding and swelling.
I close my eyes and take a breath, and it’s somehow both stupid and freeing.
Like for just a second, anything is possible.
Like there’s still hope in the unexpected.
When I step back under the tarp a moment later, I’m shivering too.
Declan just watches me, the whites of his eyes bright in the dark.
‘Was it everything you dreamed it would be?’ he asks dryly.
‘It was,’ I say.
The air prickles against my skin, the relative warmth of the tent beckoning as cold seeps deeper under my skin.
I’m seconds from stepping back inside and changing my top and I pause .
I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to warm up again.
But Declan will be out here all night. Whatever I’m feeling, Declan has been feeling for two hours at least. And there’s space in the tent; Bri has most of the bags in hers, so it’s just my bag and me in mine.
‘Doyouwanttosleepinthetent?’ I ask quickly, before I can second guess myself.
Declan is silent – like I’ve literally stunned the words out of him.
‘It’s not because I’m into you,’ I blurt out, shivering again. ‘But I’m just cold. And I thought that you might be cold too.’ I realise what I’ve said. ‘I mean, not that we’ll warm each other up, just that it will be warmer for you inside the tent.’ What the actual hell am I doing?
‘Makes sense,’ says Declan, and there’s that amusement in his voice even as he shivers again.
Jed murmurs something in his sleep and rolls, one arm shooting up in the air and landing with a thud on the other side. Then, like his body has realised it’s not taking up enough space, it kicks a leg out behind him.
It’s enough to dampen the awkwardness slightly.
‘Seriously, Declan,’ I say, my teeth chattering now. ‘You can’t spend the night like this.’
Declan hesitates. He glances down at Jed again, then looks back up at me. It’s hard to see his eyes properly in the dark, but we stand like that, frozen for a moment. I don’t want him to say yes . . . I don’t think. I also don’t want him to die of hypothermia.
Then finally, he nods, and my throat closes.
‘Just let me get changed first,’ he says.
Even with the rain hammering against the tarp, the sound of the tent door opening feels loud and my spine stiffens. I burrow further into my sleeping bag. The rest of me feels like it’s starting to warm up, but my hair is still damp, and the lingering smell of rain is strangely hopeful.
‘Hey,’ whispers Declan.
‘Hey,’ I whisper.
‘Are you okay if I come in?’ he says. I can just make him out, crouching in the dark.
I nod, then I realise that he probably can’t see me nodding.
‘Fine,’ I say. ‘That’s fine.’
He moves slowly, like he’s giving me the opportunity to yell suddenly that I’ve changed my mind about sharing the tent. The ‘extra-large single’ that felt ample ten minutes ago doesn’t even have enough room in it for a second sleeping mat. My hand tingles with the memory of his.
Then Declan is inside, tugging the zip closed. The sound of the rain muffles, just a little, and when he turns back round to face me the air is so still that I swear he must hear me swallow.
He doesn’t say anything, just lowers his body carefully down beside me, as far on the other side of the tent as he can. Which is not very far.
‘Did Bri say that this is an extra large?’ he asks after a moment, his voice too warm and too close.
‘I think she might’ve been overselling it a little,’ I say, and he huffs out a laugh that I feel .
We both stop talking, but the silence is heavy. Every whisper of movement, every intake of breath pulses in the space between us.
This was a terrible idea.
The sleeping bag I’m burrowed inside starts to get hot, and I try to slowly wriggle my shoulders out, but it’s not enough. I slide one arm out just as Declan turns over, and my bare skin brushes against his.
His skin is like ice, and this time I actually do squeal, piercing the tension.
‘You’re freezing!’ I tell him.
‘I wanted to feel the rain on my face,’ says Declan.
‘Hilarious.’
‘Also, my sleeping bag got wet,’ he says.
‘Did you also find a freezer somewhere and sit in it for a while?’ I say, wriggling all the way out of my sleeping bag before I can overthink it. I unzip the side and open it so it spreads out like a blanket.
‘Clarrie,’ says Declan, his voice low and firm. ‘I’m fine.’
‘You’re really not,’ I tell him, settling the sleeping bag over the top of us.
‘I’m . . .’ Declan groans as it covers him, and it dissolves the lingering tension in the air. ‘Oh, it’s so good,’ he says. ‘I had forgotten what it was like to be warm.’
He tugs on his side of the sleeping bag, sliding it away from my side, and I pull it back.
‘You can’t have the whole thing,’ I say.
‘Do you not remember that I’m dying of hypothermia?’ says Declan, tugging it back again.
‘You didn’t even want it a second ago!’ I say, pulling on my side.
It lands almost evenly, and it stays like that for what might be five minutes.
I’ve closed my eyes and am just starting to imagine that I might be able to forget the large, solid male in the half-a-person tent with me and actually get to sleep, when the sleeping bag starts moving infinitesimally, creeping over to the other side of the tent.
I hold the corner tightly, tucking it under my side so there’s no way he’s going to be able to get it out, and the sleeping bag pauses.
‘That’s rude,’ says Declan, his deep voice warm.
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ I say.
There’s another pause, and then Declan yanks. The sleeping bag slides out from underneath me, rolling me to my opposite side and making me gasp with startled laughter as I scramble to stop myself.
I land against Declan’s chest, and we both freeze, the laughter dying in my throat.
The material of his shirt is soft, and I can feel the heat of his body through it.
For a moment we both just lie there. I can see the bright of his eyes in the darkness, and the shadows playing along his cheeks. His hair is still wet. I moisten my lips, and Declan shifts beneath me, the muscles in his body taut. He doesn’t take his eyes off mine.
And maybe I’m still feeling a little reckless from the rain, or maybe I just can’t contain whatever has been building in me for the past few days, but I run my hand lightly along the hard plane of his chest. Declan inhales sharply.
Then he slowly, tentatively reaches up a hand to cup my cheek.
His eyes dip to my mouth, and my pulse flutters in my neck.
I can feel the whisper of his breath against my lips. My heart is beating so loudly that I’m sure he must be able to hear it.
Stuff it.
I lean forward, my eyes fluttering closed.
But before my lips touch his, Declan shifts beneath me. Away from me.
‘Clarrie,’ he whispers apologetically.
The rejection is like a knife in my gut. I push myself immediately off him, trying to get as far away as humanly possible in a one-man tent.
He’s not interested. Whatever I’ve been feeling the last few days . . . it was one-sided. Embarrassment burns hot and cold through my body, and I seriously consider climbing out of the tent and back into the rain just to get away from him. What the hell was I thinking?
‘Clarrie,’ Declan says again, his voice soft. ‘I’m so—’
‘It’s fine,’ I mumble into my pillow, even though it’s clearly not. ‘I just misunderstood the situation. All good here, though. Totally, absolutely good. Night, Declan.’ I inch deeper into the corner, like my whole body isn’t burning up with mortification.
‘Thanks for doing the interview today,’ Declan says quietly after a while.
‘You’re welcome,’ I say, as cheerily as I can.
I don’t tuck the sleeping bag under me, and he doesn’t pull on it again.
But I’m pretty sure we both lie there for what must be hours, pretending to sleep.