Chapter 13
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
ALLY
I awoke to the sound of birds. Hundreds of birds, all chirping in harmony on branches of the surrounding trees. My eyes felt glued shut, seduced by the glory of a good night’s sleep. Clay was right—there was nothing like sleeping on the ground with the smells of the forest and the chill of the night air to make a down sleeping bag feel like a cloud.
Hands down, it was the best night of sleep I’d ever had. Slowly, I eased my eyes open, surprised to find light streaming through the gauzy walls of the tent. Not that I thought the thin fabric would block out the sun like regular walls, but this was different. I felt the draw of nature beckoning me outside. The day had dawned and I needed to see it.
Unzipping my sleeping bag, I freed myself from the warm cocoon and pulled a pair of sweatpants on over my pajama bottoms. A hoodie over my top.
When I spied my hiking boots in the bottom corner of my tent, I felt grateful Clay had advised keeping them inside. I felt confident no critters had unzipped my tent and hidden themselves in my shoes, but I turned them upside down and shook them for good measure.
I unzipped my tent and shoved my feet into the hiking boots before standing up and inhaling the biggest, most cleansing breath I’d ever experienced in my life. This right here—this air—was the reason people came to the mountains.
I looked around Clay’s yard with a new appreciation for the outdoors. This small patch of grass under the stars had transformed itself into a wilderness wonderland. No, Clay had done that, with his walk to the lake and his knowledge of the star maps and his handiness with a campfire.
Which had the effect of giving me a new appreciation for him .
Before last night, before we’d almost kissed, Clay was just Clay—a guy I’d known forever and long ago decided was not for me. Now he was Clay, the rugged outdoorsman who rocked a flannel shirt over corded muscles better than any guy I’d ever known. He was the guy with the sharp jawline and smoky hazel eyes who cared enough to make sure I felt comfortable in the woods before I had to show my stuff on a school trip. He was...
I needed to stop. It was all just the mountain air getting to my head. The air was thinner up here, wasn’t it? Less oxygen. That did a number on a person’s brain.
It certainly wasn’t because I had actual feelings for Clay. All these years of being colleagues and sort-of friends, I certainly wasn’t smitten with Clay Meadows. I was just...completely smitten with Clay Meadows.
Well, shit.
There it was.
If I wasn’t already standing here fully overcome by just how smitten I was, the view before me pushed me right over the top —Clay in a pair of navy-blue hip-hugging joggers and a plaid flannel jacket standing next to the flames of a roaring campfire. Poking at it with a stick, he made the logs pop and crackle while he stared into a metal cup of some sort of steaming beverage.
With the bright yellow rays of early morning sun dancing across his cheekbones, Clay looked more at home than I’d ever seen him on campus. Instead of the greyhound I always saw dashing from place to place and running laps around the track, Clay exhibited a stillness that looked so beautiful it hurt.
I approached him slowly, not wanting to disturb his peacefulness, but the light crunch of pine needles beneath my feet gave me away. Clay turned and smiled, and with the way the sun hit his face, he glowed in the soft amber light.
“Thanks,” I said, still a bit overwhelmed by how well the wilderness treated him. Looking down at my baggy sweats and patting the sloppy waterfall of hair, I had no doubt I looked a mess.
“How’d you sleep?” he asked.
“Like a rock. Oh my God, Clay, I had no idea how hypnotic it is to sleep on the ground. What is that about?”
A low chuckle warmed me from head to toe. “Do I detect a wilderness convert?” he asked, his smile morphing into a smirk.
“Hold your horses, buddy. I just said I slept well. Now, what is that delicious-smelling brew?”
He gestured to a French press sitting on one of the stones surrounding the campfire. “Bandit Lake’s finest.”
“Is the French press an officially sanctioned piece of camping equipment?” I teased as he picked up a second cup and poured coffee for me. Our hands brushed when he handed me the cup, and the jolt of electricity against my skin startled me, confirming that what I felt last night in the tent was no fluke.
I yanked my hand back so quickly that the coffee sloshed over the rim of the cup. Clay’s radiant morning glow slowly faded into a look of concern. “You okay?”
Shaking myself out of my spiral of confusion, I blinked away the images of Clay as the fairy-tale prince he’d all but sworn he would never be. So the heat creeping across my skin needed to stop and the romantic in me needed to calm herself. “Um, yeah. Great.”
“You sure?” He looked unconvinced.
“Yeah. I, um, just realized I don’t need a fairy-tale prince.” My eyes went wide at the unintentional admission. “I mean...I need to get back. Tell me what I can do to pack up the camping equipment. I want to help.”
Clay looked down at his hand where it had brushed mine. His jaw dropped open, then he shook his head. “No worries. I’ve got this. If you have somewhere you need to be, it’s fine.”
Pushing the still-full coffee cup against Clay’s chest, I stammered, “Okay...I do. This was great. Thank you, but it’s late and I should go.”
Then I pulled the cup back and took a long, satisfying swig of the coffee. Because...coffee. “French press. I’m a convert.”
I returned the cup to Clay’s outstretched hand and jogged out of his yard before I did something stupid. Like reach over to kiss a greyhound who’d only break my heart.