18. Dannica
DANNICA
brEAKING NEWS: HIKE WAS ACTUALLY FOREPLAY
As I get out of my car, birdsong greets me, soft and peaceful, like the world doesn’t have a single reason to be nervous.
I do.
Which is ridiculous. I haven’t felt this way around him before. Not when he was “mystery man,” not when we were talking, not even when things got… a little more intimate.
But now I know his name. And somehow that makes a difference, makes it real.
Teddy.
I say it in my head again, testing it, turning it over like it might feel different the second time. It doesn’t. It just… fits. Like it always belonged there, and I was lagging behind.
I wiped my hands over my cargo pants, trying to shake off the tension sitting just under my skin.
It’s just Teddy. Just a hike. Just a date.
Just a date with a gorgeous mystery man who has so far been my best kiss—and that was over a mask.
Gravel crunches under my shoes as I open the back door and take out my backpack, the sun dipping just low enough to take the edge off the heat.
The air carries that dry, earthy scent that always lingers out here.
There’s a wooden sign nailed between two posts—something about wildlife and staying on the marked paths—but I barely register it.
Because Teddy’s already here, leaning against his Jeep like he’s got nowhere else to be.
And wow! Holy wow.
He’s got his hands in his pockets, sunglasses hooked into the collar of his shirt, that same slightly effortless, put-together look that should be illegal in small towns where the rest of us are one coffee spill away from chaos. He looks… unfair.
He straightens when he sees me, and a lazy grin spreads across his face. My stomach does a complicated somersault.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” I echo, then immediately formulate a headline.
LOCAL WOMAN FORGETS HOW TO GREET ANOTHER HUMAN. BLAMES ATTRACTIVE MAN.
I clear my throat, suddenly very aware of my hands and having no idea what to do with them. “Thanks for coming.”
Nice, Dannica. Fantastic. Really smooth.
He rocks back on his heels, watching me like he’s already clocked everything. “You’re nervous.”
“You’re not supposed to point that out on a date.”
“Don’t you want honesty? Besides, you asked me if I was a fugitive.”
“That was not a date. And that was when you were Mystery Man. The slate is supposed to be clean now.”
“Is there a rule book I can buy or…?”
I’ve moved closer to him without really thinking about it. Close enough that the nerves ease just a fraction.
I shoulder-check him lightly. “So, how much hiking do you do in…” I trail off.
His eyebrows lift. “Smooth. Wouldn’t have even noticed you were sneakily trying to get information out of me.”
“Hush you.”
“I’m not giving you a good review.”
“For my food or for my dating skills?”
“There’s food?”
I pat the backpack on my shoulders. “You didn’t think I’d punish you without food, right?”
He raises one eyebrow this time. Just one. And then it hits me.
Oh no.
Oh no.
If there was a nearby cliff, I would absolutely consider it.
“I prefer punishments to be doled out on the third date,” he says, biting his lip to hide his laugh.
Oh God, my stomach is doing that stupid flipping thing again.
I spin on my heel. “Okie dokie, date over.”
I make it three steps, three very committed, dignified steps, before his hand gently wraps around my bicep. “Dannica, I’m?—”
I turn back, already grinning. “Gotcha.”
Relief blooms on his face so fast, it almost makes me laugh again.
“Damn,” he exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. “I thought I really fucked up there.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll dig your grave by the end of the day.”
He tilts his head slightly, a hint of a challenge in his eyes. “Wanna put a bet on that?”
I throw both hands up. “Oh no. No more bets.”
He chuckles, and the sound swirls somewhere low, warm, and entirely inappropriate for a public hiking trail.
“That’s fair,” he says.
Focus, Dannica. You can do this. Start with words and normal conversation. “So…” I reach into my bag, pulling out my hiking sticks with what I hope is confidence and not desperation, “you didn’t answer the question. How much hiking do you do?”
His eyes widen, and he turns on his heel. “Date over.”
I laugh, the tension in my chest uncoiling. “I take it not that much.”
“Not enough to carry hiking sticks in a backpack,” he says, turning back to me and shaking his head. “You don’t do anything in small measures, do you?”
“It’s not worth doing if it’s not done right.”
The words come automatically—Grandma’s voice in my head, steady and certain—but as soon as I say them, there’s an uncomfortable twist in my chest. Lately, that hasn’t exactly been true.
Outside the diner, I’ve been… coasting. Starting things, letting them sit unfinished, letting myself sit unfinished.
And maybe that’s the part I hate most. Not the work itself.
I love the diner. I love Grandma and Mom, the regulars and the way this town wraps around people whether they want it to or not.
But lately, whenever someone mentions me taking over one day, my chest clenches before I can stop it, the walls quietly moving inward while everyone else calls it home.
But leaving feels selfish. It would mean leaving Grandma and Mom, my friends, the diner, the people who depend on me.
The truth is, it’s easier to stay and tell myself I’ll go someday than to actually pack up my life and find out whether I can succeed at the dream I’ve had since I could formulate a story.
Because what if I can’t? What if I leave this place, chase the dream I’ve held on to for years, and discover I was never good enough to catch it in the first place?
And the worst part? I don’t know what’s scarier anymore: staying here forever or leaving and finding out I’ve been wrong about myself all along. The thought presses in heavier than it should. I shake it off before it can settle, shifting the moment back where it belongs.
“Okay,” I say, holding out the sticks. “Here. Take these.”
He eyes them with distaste.
“You can tap out whenever you need to,” I add sweetly.
“I just want to know why you think I need these and you don’t.” But he takes them anyway.
“Because you said you haven’t done this a lot.”
He nods. “Good point.”
We fall into step after that. The trail curves upward, deceptively gentle at first and then very quickly proves it has opinions. Teddy uses the sticks, not gracefully, but not badly either.
“You look like you’ve done this before,” I say, watching him adjust his grip.
“I’m a fast learner,” he shoots back.
“Or a competitive one.”
“That too.”
We walk in easy silence, but it doesn’t feel awkward or forced, more like we’re taking in the sounds of nature: the occasional rustle of leaves, the scurrying of something moving through the trees just out of sight.
The air turns cooler as we climb, brushing against my skin and teasing goosebumps out of me.
Damn, I didn’t bring a jacket. Rookie mistake for a non-rookie.
It’s fine. I won’t need one when we move a bit more.
After about ten minutes, I’m right about the jacket, and Teddy slows slightly. He scans the trees, the light filtering through the branches. I see his gaze sharpen. He reaches for his camera and crouches.
I step aside, watching him with fascination.
He moves differently when he’s behind the lens.
There’s a confidence to him, like everything unnecessary drops away and what’s left is just instinct.
He angles himself slightly, adjusting the focus, waiting for something I can’t see.
I’m not gonna lie, he looks damn hot when he’s so completely focused.
I wonder how it will feel to have that intensity turned on me.
Down Dannica, you just found out the guy’s name. Give it half a day.
He clicks a few times in quick succession, then he lowers the camera, checking the screen. His jaw tightens, lips pinch, eyes get a faraway look. That’s not a happy face.
“That bad?” I ask, my voice low so as not to break the moment. Because he seems to be having a moment.
He huffs out a breath. “It’s fine.”
Which is absolutely not what that means.
I step closer, peering at the image without touching the camera, close enough now that I’m aware of him and his sinful scent in a way I wasn’t a second ago. “What made you stop?”
He hesitates, like the answer used to come easier.
“The light,” he says eventually. “The way it was hitting the leaves.”
I tilt my head, trying to see what he saw. All I see is sunlight. Pretty, sure. But not… that.
“Looks like sunlight flirting with foliage,” I say.
He glances at me. “Flirting?”
I shrug. “You know. Casual. Non-committal. Just enough to make the leaves feel special.”
There’s a beat, then he chuckles. Oh my, that’s almost hotter than the intense focus.
Moving on, because jumping him on this trail doesn’t feel like it would be comfortable. I’m not in the mood to have sticks poke my ass while I?—
Goddamn it, Dannica, didn’t you just say you needed to move on?
“How do you know the lighting will work?”
“Used to be instinct,” he says finally. “Something just… hit, and I knew.”
“And now?”
He exhales slowly, gaze fixed ahead but not really seeing the trail.
“Now I think too much.”
The way he says it makes my stomach clench because I know how that feels.
“About what?”
“Everything.” A small, humorless huff. “If it’s good enough. Different enough. If anyone’s going to care.”
I glance at him, really look this time, the tension in his jaw, the way his focus stays fixed somewhere just beyond reach.
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It is.”
We walk a few more steps, and a different quiet settles between us. It’s heavier, more charged.
“Feels like I lost something,” he adds, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud. “The part that made it… mine.”
I pick up a piece of glass that has eroded into a clear stone. I don’t want him to see I’m surprised by him admitting something so personal to me.
I tuck the glass into my jacket pocket, my finger curling around it.