18. Dannica #3
I don’t even break stride, stepping over a small dip in the trail without thinking.
“Mysterious Writer Lures Local Photographer Into Woods Under Guise of Hike. Authorities Skeptical.”
He barks out a laugh, the sound sharp and real in the quiet around us. “That’s dark.”
“You’ll live.”
“Barely, according to that headline.”
“It adds drama.”
He shakes his head, smiling, and the heaviness from earlier loosens, just enough.
We keep walking, the conversation easier now, the laughter even more so.
And somewhere along the way, time slips a little, the trail stretching out without me really noticing when one moment turns into the next.
The sun dips lower, the light softening, shadows lengthening across the path.
A breeze picks up, and I rub my arms absently.
Teddy notices.
“Here,” he says, already shrugging off his jacket.
“Oh, you don’t?—”
“Dannica.”
He drapes it over my shoulders before I can argue, the fabric settling around me, his fingers brushing lightly against my skin as he pulls it into place.
It still holds his body heat. And holy moly, his scent envelops me and my imagination takes off like a herd of hippos and all I can think of is other ways his scent could be enveloping me.
“Thanks,” I murmur.
He nods like it’s nothing. But it’s not nothing.
By the time we make it back to the parking area, the sky is painted in soft golds and fading blues, the last of the light stretching thin across the ground. We gradually slow our pace.
Neither of us says it, but we’re not in a rush to leave. I stop beside my car. He lingers near his Jeep. The distance between us isn’t far, but not close enough to touch.
“So…” I say, tucking my hands into the sleeves of his jacket, the fabric warm against my skin. “This was a good idea.”
“Yeah,” he says, voice softer now. “It was.”
We look at each other, and it’s like the world is holding its breath. Everything else falls away. My pulse ticks up until I can feel it in my throat, in the space between us.
His gaze drops briefly to my mouth, then moves back up to my eyes. And that’s it, that’s the moment everything tilts. The air around us tightens like an invisible chord is wrapping around us and pulling us in.
He steps closer, closing the distance one measured step at a time. His hand comes up, fingers brushing lightly along my jaw, warm against my skin. He runs his thumb along my bottom lip as he leans in. His breath whispering warm against my lips.
“Dannica, can I kiss you?”
“Yes,” I breathe.
“Thank fuck.” The relief is evident in his voice seconds before his lips find mine.
The kiss is softer than I expect. Careful.
I lean into it, closing that last bit of space between us, and something shifts, deepens.
His hand comes up to my jaw, warm and steady, his thumb brushing just enough to make my breath hitch again.
And then it’s not careful anymore. It’s still controlled, still intentional, but there’s weight behind it now.
Heat. Something that pulls instead of asks.
My fingers curl into his shirt without me thinking about it, anchoring myself because the world has gone a little unfocused.
The trees, the trail, the fading light… all of it blurs at the edges until it’s just this, just him, just us.
A small sigh escapes me, embarrassing and involuntary, and it seems to do something to him, because his grip tightens just a fraction, pulling me closer.
The kiss lingers, stretches, turns into something I don’t want to end. And then he pulls back, just enough for me to feel the loss of his warmth, of the heat spiraling between us.
Do not pout, Dannica.
His forehead presses briefly to mine, his breath still uneven, like he’s trying to get a handle on something that slipped.
“Come back to my place,” he says, voice low, rougher than before.
My brain takes a second to catch up because that was a kiss. And now this.
LOCAL WOMAN LOSES ALL ABILITY TO FORM COHERENT THOUGHTS AFTER KISS. INVESTIGATION ONGOING.
I blink up at him. “Wow,” I manage.
His mouth twitches, like he’s not entirely sure how that’s going to go. “Is that a yes or…”
“Yes,” I cut in, because holy hell...yes.
A flicker of something crosses his face. Satisfaction, maybe. Relief. “Okay,” he says. And then, softer, like it means something more than just logistics. “Okay.”
My stomach flips again. Because this doesn’t feel like the end of the date.
It feels like the beginning of something I’m not entirely sure I’m ready for.
I shouldn’t go. I should politely decline, tell him that I shouldn’t be getting involved when I have decisions to make.
But this is just sex. People have one night stands all the time, right?
Even as the thought crosses my mind, I know it’s not true.
Not for me anyway. But don’t I owe it to myself to have one night of reckless fun?
No responsibilities, no looming decisions.
Just a good time with a gorgeous guy who seems to be going through the same thing I am.
Which, of course, means I’m absolutely going to follow him anyway.