36. Rue
rue
. . .
one tent
“We’ve passed this tree before, Princess.”
“No, we haven’t.” I stop and frown. “Wait. Have we?”
Laughter rides his voice. “You said the roots were dinosaur feet and the moss was nail polish.”
I study the tree’s roots, then sigh. “I stand by my assessment. Definitely a dinosaur pedicure.”
“I think it’s time to admit we’re lost.”
I give him a dubious look. “Why do you sound so cheerful about it?”
His smile widens. “I’m lost with you.”
My heartbeat quickens, sending a rush of blood to my cheeks. I turn away, my hands clenching on the straps of my backpack.
Ever since he said… everything he said, I’ve been a nervous, tongue-tied wreck.
He broke my brain and it’s still on the fritz, sluggishly adapting to a massive paradigm shift—provided this is real and not a hyperrealistic dream, that is.
The verdict hasn’t come in yet, but if a porcupine in a tutu waltzed in front of me right now, I’d be both devastated and categorically unsurprised.
Adjusting the backpack on my aching shoulders, I walk past the gargantuan redwood with the aforementioned dinosaur feet.
The trail forks ten feet beyond it. Both directions offer nearly identical views of stoic redwoods and fern-bordered paths.
A familiar sign invites us to turn right for Bird Grove Trail, which apparently looped us back here, and left for Ghostwood Creek Campground.
My spine tingles as River walks up behind me.
I clear my throat. “And we’re positive Kirk didn’t say Ghostwood Creek?”
“I think we would’ve remembered that name, don’t you?”
I sigh. “Valid.”
His hand slides under my ponytail, his thumb finding and massaging a knot at the base of my neck. My head falls forward in relief while a different kind of pressure builds in my lower abdomen.
“There’s more bad news,” he murmurs.
“What’s that?” I ask distractedly.
“Even if we retrace our steps perfectly, it’s unlikely we’d make it back to PAC before sunset. And given our combined lack of navigational skills…”
“There’s a hundred-percent chance we’ll end up wandering around in the dark,” I finish with a sigh. “I can’t believe Kirk didn’t give us maps. Or compasses. Or anything remotely useful.”
“I can, but I am a little insulted no one noticed we’d fallen behind.”
“They were probably glad to be rid of us. Maya said—” I choke, stiffening, and finish lamely, “something about us being annoying.”
“Hmm. I wonder if her ‘something’ was anything like what Dan told me yesterday, which is that everyone’s sick of our unresolved sexual tension.”
My stomach swoops, robbing the breath from my voice. “Maybe.”
River squeezes my neck one more time, then releases me. I turn, expecting to see his smile, but he’s frowning at the sign ahead of us. The tip of his tongue glides across his lower lip before he nibbles on the lush slope.
A vivid memory of what his mouth can do throws gasoline on the flames inside me. Under the pretense of shifting my weight, I squeeze my thighs together—and that, of course, is when his lips curve into a familiar smirk.
My eyes fly to his. In the ambient light of the forest, they’re a smoldering bronze.
“What are you thinking about?” he croons.
My throat dries, my mind blanking—and for the first time ever, my stomach comes to my rescue, growling loudly.
“Food,” I blurt.
He grins and pulls a packet of trail mix from his pocket, tearing it open before handing it to me.
“At least we have a tent, right? It’s only three miles to the campground. There’s bound to be one of those information kiosks with maps. If not, we can borrow one from someone and take a photo of it.”
“What if no one’s there?” I ask between mouthfuls.
“It’s summer in one of the most popular national parks in the country—there will definitely be people. Chances of finding an empty site are probably nil, but unless they’re assholes, they’ll let us set up for one night.”
I crunch more cashews, muttering, “Ah, the classic one-bed trope.”
“What?”
My head jerks up. “What?”
A smile heats his eyes. “Nice try, but I heard you. One question—does it count if it’s a tent, not a bed?”
Ignoring the renewed throbbing between my legs, I shrug a shoulder. “Sure, but it only really counts if we have to share a sleeping bag, and since we have two… no dice.”
“I have a feeling that won’t be much of an obstacle for us.”
I nearly asphyxiate on a dried cranberry. Not bothering to hide his amusement, River offers his water bottle. I take a quick sip and hand it back.
“Thanks. Clump of cranberries went down the wrong pipe.”
His dimple peeks at me through six days’ worth of stubble, and I try really, really hard not to think about how his jaw would feel scraping my inner thighs. Or how good he looks with facial hair. Or how badly I want to kiss him.
He makes a low, rough sound. “You have to stop looking at me like that.”
“Or what?” I whisper.
“Or we’re not making it three miles, much less three days.”
A few seconds later, River chuckles and taps my chin. Flushing, I close my gaping mouth. His smile devilish in the half-light, he takes my hand and guides us onto the trail.
“Next stop, Ghostwood Creek.”
The creek is beautiful, the water shallow and clear, gurgling over pebbles and around small boulders. Tiny fish dart along the bottom, fins flapping fast in the current as they hunt for food in patches of moss.
The campground itself is small, a somewhat leveled area backed by a copse of trees. There’s a fire barrel, a stump to sit on, and space for two tents, three at the most.
And it’s completely empty.
There’s no kiosk. Nothing but a dusty, half-used bundle of firewood beside a metal locker to store food.
In the time it takes us to set up the tent, the sun sinks behind trees to the west, its retreat splashing the sky with streaks of gold and violet.
River rummages through the supply bag attached to his backpack.
“You don’t happen to have a lighter, do you?
Everything in here is useless to us. No food, no lanterns or flashlights.
We have fishing poles but no lines, bear spray, a set of grilling tools, a fucking dice game…
but hey, at least we have six tubes of biodegradable toothpaste and enough toilet paper to wipe the asses of fifty people. ”
Laughing, I look up from my own pack. “No lighter, sorry. But I do have a can of ravioli and a can opener Maya must have missed, so we don’t have to eat jerky and trail mix for dinner.
And I found water purification tablets. The directions say they take four hours to work on cold water, so I’ll consolidate what’s left of ours into one bottle and fill the other from the creek. ”
“Music to my ears.”
He sends me a quick grin before glancing at the dimming sky and standing. Hands on his hips, he surveys the campsite from the creek to the trees, then turns his attention to me. I’m too tired to pretend I wasn’t staring.
His pensive expression gives way to a soft smile.
“My best guess is we have about a half hour until full dark. That means if I can’t start a fire in the next ten minutes, we’re on a ticking clock.
We’ll need to eat fast, put everything edible into that locker, and get into the tent before we’re blind.
We can use my phone’s flashlight if we really need it, but we should conserve as much battery as we can. ”
For the hundredth time today, I wish I’d brought my phone.
I’ve used it so little over the last weeks, it didn’t occur to me to pack it, especially since Kirk told us he had a satellite phone for emergencies.
I’ve taken mental photos all day, capturing the beauty of the hike, but it would’ve been nice to have literal ones. And a backup flashlight.
I push to my feet. “Sounds good. I’ll handle the water and excess food, then get our sleeping bags set up while you… Wait. How are you going to start a fire without matches or a lighter?”
He scratches his jaw. “No promises I’ll be able to do it, but my dad taught me how when I was a kid.”
“I believe in you, Boy Scout.”
He smirks, shadowed eyes flickering down my body before lifting. I hold back my shiver until he turns and heads for the woodpile, then release a slow breath and get to work myself.
Ten minutes later, I’m capping a water bottle at the creek when there’s a shout of victory. Spinning on my heel, I find orange light flickering in the fire barrel and River’s enormous smile.
“Look! I did it.”
He points to the fire, all boyish delight and uncomplicated joy, and it hits me like a punch—
If I don’t kiss him now, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.
I rise on shaky legs and walk toward him. “I knew you could.”
He chuckles softly. “That makes one of us. Pretty proud of myself though.”
I pause to set the water bottle on a flat rock, then continue around the fire barrel. My bones are weightless, my skin humming with purpose. When I’m a few feet away, River opens his arms. It’s the most natural thing in the world to step into his hug.
“River?”
“Yes, little storm?”
I smile into his chest. “That nickname is off the table. It’s used in way too many fantasy books.”
“That’s disappointing,” he murmurs. “What about tornado? Tempest? Typhoon?”
My shoulders shake with laughter. “I think two nicknames and my actual name are more than enough.”
“No way. That’s like asking me to describe your eyes as blue, or your hair as red, when there are dozens of shades in each.”
My heart shudders. Another layer of scar tissue sloughs off.
River gives me a gentle squeeze. “You were going to ask me something?”
I lift my head. He smiles down at me, firelight and curiosity dancing in his eyes. My gaze roams his face, absorbing every detail with the same breathless awe I felt the first time I saw him.
I trace his lips last. As my gaze lingers, his smile fades, his fingers clenching on my waist.
“Rue?” he whispers.
Sliding my hands to his shoulders, I rise onto my toes.
“Shut up, River.”
I brush my lips lightly against his. The sound he makes lights every nerve in my body—hope and shock wrapped in shining threads of desire. Hooking an arm around his neck, I pull myself closer and kiss him fully, taking his soft lips how I’ve always wanted to. Like he’s mine.
River lets me set the pace, his body strung tight with restraint as I savor him. I sip and taste, inhaling his tender replies.
The first languorous stroke of my tongue against his is a revelation.
For him, it’s a breaking point.
I’m claimed by his hands first, one on my ass pulling me tight to his body, the other beneath my ponytail to angle my head. There’s a brief pause. A breath in which he looks down at me with possessive promise.
Then his lips lay claim to mine.
Thorough and commanding, reverent and ravenous, River kisses me like he’s consuming a feast rather than a rushed appetizer.
I’m only peripherally aware of him lifting me and sitting on the stump, of my legs wrapping around him, of the line of hard heat against my inner thigh.
My hips move restlessly and futilely, his grip keeping me from finding friction.
But I barely notice that, either, because his mouth owns my senses so completely.
The world could end around us, and I’d kiss him with my last breath.
Reality returns in stages—a breeze triggering a shiver, a cramp in my calf from holding him so tightly, pangs of thirst and hunger.
A slow, lascivious swirl of River’s tongue becomes a lingering kiss. My mouth tingles in the cold air as he withdraws to kiss my cheek, my temple, and the bridge of my nose.
I open my eyes.
The sky is moonless, a swath of spilled ink strewn with winking stars. Everything beyond the reach of the fire is veiled in unrelenting black.
River’s eyes are molten gold, brimming with an emotion too vast to name.
He whispers, “Do you feel it?”
“Yes,” I whisper back.
It’s everywhere.
Magic.