Chapter 3
Clover
By the time the nurse wheels me toward the ER exit, all I can smell is antiseptic and stale hospital sheets.
My throat feels scraped raw every time I swallow, and my body is heavy with exhaustion.
My discharge papers crinkle in my lap beneath my fingers while the automatic doors slide open with a mechanical hiss.
Cool evening air brushes my face and there he is.
Simon leans against a black pickup truck parked crooked beneath the yellow glow of the parking lot lights. One boot crossed over the other with a paper coffee cup resting in one calloused hand.
The mountain sunset behind him paints the sky in streaks of peach and lavender. It catches in his dirty-blonde hair and glints off the silver buckle at his waist.
He looks up, sees me, and straightens immediately. He sets the coffee on the hood of the truck with a dull thump causing the liquid to spill over the sides. A laugh escapes me before I can stop it, but it pulls at my throat enough to sting, so it dissolves into a cough.
Simon is beside me in seconds.
“Easy,” he orders, his carefree tone slipping into that same sternness I overheard when he spoke into his radio.
“I’m okay,” I rasp.
His expression says he doesn’t believe me for a second.
“You’re still here,” I manage to rasp. I didn’t expect him to stay.
His mouth twitches like he wants to smile.
“Yeah.”
The nurse passes him my backpack without hesitation, like obviously the giant firefighter waiting outside the hospital belongs to me. Or maybe I belong to him. Either possibility sends warmth creeping into my cheeks.
Simon swings the bag over one shoulder and reaches for the handles of my wheelchair.
“I’ve got it.”
“I can walk,” I protest weakly.
“I know, but I watched you nearly die today.”
I sink back against the chair, suitably chastened. Fair enough. He starts pushing my wheelchair toward the truck, his boots crunching on the pavement in the parking lot.
“Gloria called a few times,” he says. “She wanted updates on your condition.”
“I worried everyone,” I mutter.
“She also asked if I planned on kidnapping you.”
I laugh quietly, as if the man who went above and beyond to treat, stabilize, and comfort me would lock me up against my will.
At the truck he opens the passenger door with one hand and steadies me with the other. My legs feel shaky beneath me but moving helps. Simon takes my bag and buckles it into the backseat before sliding behind the wheel.
“It’s not fragile,” I tell him with a raised eyebrow.
Simon glances into the backseat.
“It has expensive camera equipment.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“And your things.”
Something warm and soft unfolds in my chest.
“Oh.”
He clears his throat and shifts his weight like he regrets saying it out loud.
“Gloria’s husband, Shawn, drove my truck down while I stayed at the hospital.”
My pulse flutters as we leave the parking lot. He didn’t go back to Crescent Ridge, he stayed.
While I slept through observation and steroid injections and nurses checking my vitals every twenty minutes.
“You didn’t have to stay,” I say softly. “I could’ve called a cab.”
“I know.”
Darkness gathers along the mountain roads as Simon drives with one hand on the wheel. The dashboard glows soft amber across his forearms. Pine trees blur past in black silhouettes against the fading violet sky.
The truck smells like cedar and pine needles and warm cotton dried in the sun. Underneath it all is Simon, his soap, skin, and something woodsy that makes me want to lean closer just to figure it out.
I crack open the window, allowing cold mountain air to slip inside and cool my overheated skin. It’s absurd how quickly I’ve gotten used to him hovering over me like I’m something worth guarding. Or maybe not absurd. Maybe just nice, dangerously, devastatingly nice.
“You can drop me off at any of the hotels in Bramble,” I say after a few minutes.
Simon glances over at me, his gaze filled with concern and an overwhelming amount of suspicion.
“Why would I do that?”
“You’ve done more than enough.”
He lets out a breath that sounds suspiciously like a laugh.
“Clover.”
“What?”
“I’m not dropping you off in Bramble.”
“But—”
“I’m not dropping you off in Crescent Ridge. I’m not dropping you off period.”
My stomach does a little flip, half nerves, half something way too warm and fluttery for a guy I met less than twelve hours ago.
“You’re kidnapping me.”
A giddy little bubble of laughter rises in my chest. This should be terrifying. Normal men don’t joke about kidnapping women. Instead, it’s making my knees weak, because I know I’m safe with Simon. If he wants to flirt and tease I’m down.
“Correct,” he replies without hesitation.
I smile despite myself.
“That seems excessive.”
“You passed out in the woods six hours ago.”
“It’s unfair to bring that up.”
“It’ll stay relevant for at least twenty-four more hours.”
“Noted.”
His grin flashes in the dark.
Streetlights disappear behind us as we climb higher into the mountains. The road curves through dense forest, moonlight silvering the tops of the pines.
I watch him drive. Strong hands wrapped around the wheel, broad shoulders stretching his black T-shirt. A profile sharp enough to make my brain short-circuit every time he glances my way.
This man carried me down a mountain, held my hand in the ambulance while I drifted in and out of consciousness and waited through my entire ER visit.
“Why didn’t you tell anyone in the group you were deathly allergic to bees?”
I slide lower into the seat.
“It slipped my mind,” I whisper, steadfastly ignoring the exact reason it slipped my mind sitting beside me.
Simon exhales through his nose.
“That was reckless,” he growls.
“I carry an EpiPen.”
“You could have died,” he groans.
I smile out the window.
“Sorry.”
He groans.
“No apologizing. Especially not for being stung by a bee.”
“Do you always boss people around like this?”
“Yes.”
“Good to know.”
He glances over.
His eyes catch mine, the humor fading into heat. I pick at a loose thread on my shorts.
“I hate being a problem.”
Simon’s jaw tightens.
“You weren’t,” he growls. The words settle somewhere deep inside me.
I nod because I don’t trust myself to speak. Neither of us says anything for a while. Then Simon reaches over and rests his hand on my knee. His palm is warm with his thumb brushing slow circles against the inside of my thigh. Every pass sends little sparks of heat higher up my leg.
He leaves it there like it’s the most natural thing in the world and I don’t move away.
By the time we pull into Crescent Ridge, the town is quiet.
Porch lights glow along Main Street like scattered lanterns. The bakery is dark. The diner’s neon sign buzzes faintly in the distance. The Firefly Inn, where I’ve rented a room, shines at the end of the block with warm golden windows and flower boxes spilling over the porch railing.
Simon goes right past the inn. He drives us up the mountain, taking a winding road that gradually narrows and turns from smooth asphalt to loose gravel. Maybe I should be nervous about going home with a man, but all I feel is giddy.
“Thank you for saving my life.”
He turns toward me fully, moonlight catching in his green eyes.
His gaze drops to my mouth. I wet my lips without thinking. His eyes darken with unmistakable hunger.
The truck suddenly feels very small, very warm and very private.
“If I kiss you,” he says quietly, “is that a bad idea?”
“Probably.”
“Probably?”
“I almost died today.”
He nods once.
“I have a counterpoint.”
I smile.
“Go on.”
“I’ve wanted to kiss you since Gloria introduced us, and I’m pretty sure you want it just as bad as I do.”
My stomach flips so hard it feels like missing a stair.
I tilt my chin up toward him before I can lose my nerve.
“Simon?”
“Yeah?”
“Kiss me before I overthink it.”
His hand slides to my jaw with surprising gentleness, his thumb brushing just beneath my ear.
Then his mouth meets mine. His lips are softer than I expected. They’re warm from coffee and he moves patiently in a way that makes my chest ache.
I fist my hand in the front of his T-shirt and make a quiet sound against his mouth.
That’s all it takes.
Simon deepens the kiss with a low inhale, his other hand bracing against the seat beside my hip. Heat rushes through me so fast it leaves me dizzy.
He kisses like he’s been thinking about this all day.
Like carrying me through the woods and sitting beside my hospital bed and driving me home with one hand on my knee has been one long exercise in restraint.
When he finally pulls back, we’re both breathing harder than we should be. My pulse is racing, and I can feel the heavy thrum of it between my thighs. Simon’s eyes have gone dark, his gaze dropping to my mouth again like he wants to devour me.
My chapstick is definitely gone and my hair is a tangled mess.
“I would’ve invited you up to my room at the inn,” I hear myself say.
His eyes darken instantly.
“To have sex,” I clarify. “Unless you’re still working.”
“I’m off until tomorrow afternoon.”
“Good.”
His jaw flexes.
“Clover.”
“If my first reckless decision after nearly dying is sleeping with a hot paramedic, I feel pretty okay about that.”
Simon stares at me for half a second, then he laughs. Low, rough and warm enough to curl through me.
“Hot paramedic?”
“You heard me.”
“I did.”
I open the truck door before I lose my nerve. The wind rustles through the trees, carrying the sound of crickets across Simon’s yard.
Simon circles the hood with my backpack slung over one shoulder. He reaches for my hand with the other like it belongs there. I lace my fingers through his as we walk toward his cabin.
We both know what this is. I’m just an influencer touring his hometown and he’s the sexy firefighter-paramedic who saved my life.
He’s too good to be true. Gorgeous, noble, protective to an almost ridiculous degree.
Men like Simon don’t do relationships with girls like me who live out of a backpack always chasing the next adventure.
This is a one-time, adrenaline-fueled celebratory hookup.
Tomorrow I’ll pack my gear, film a few more videos for Gloria, and get back on the road before I do something stupid like catch feelings.
Tomorrow I’ll be gone. Back to solo hikes, solo adventures, solo everything.
Even as the thought crosses my mind, something in my chest tightens at the idea of leaving in the morning. I shove it down hard.
If all I can have is one night, then I’ll take it.
I absolutely refuse to think about how Simon’s fingers stay threaded through mine like he has no intention of letting go.