Chapter 14
chapter
fourteen
DAISY
Monday starts with me trying not to stare at Miles Adler like I don’t want to jump him and his slutty little glasses.
Which is difficult. Because now I know things.
Like the fact that he blushes when he gets turned on.
How cute it is that he falls asleep mid-conspiracy theory.
How his hands feel on my hips and how he tightens his grip in his sleep.
And how underneath all the wilderness competence and leadership energy, there’s this earnest guy who still seems genuinely shocked that anyone wants to stay once they know him.
Dangerous information to possess.
Especially when we’re trying very hard to act like normal colleagues.
As if this is the place for normal colleague behavior.
“Pass the batteries, Podcast Barbie,” Jax says from the equipment table.
Case in point.
I toss them at his head.
He catches them one-handed. “Aggressive. Nice.”
The Mystery Machine hums softly around us while everyone gets ready for the day. Taylor’s making instant oatmeal in a mug that says HOT GIRLS BELIEVE.
Across the Machine, Miles very deliberately does not look at me while reviewing route coordinates with Maya.
Which makes me want to look at him more.
“Daisy,” Maya says without looking up from her laptop, “you still riding with Miles today?”
Before I can answer, Miles says, “She doesn’t have to if she doesn’t want to.”
I glance at him.
He doesn’t look back.
Interesting.
“I’ll survive,” I say dryly.
“Debatable,” Taylor mutters.
Miles finally glances over then, quick and unreadable before refocusing on the maps.
Nearing dusk, we’re deep in the forest again. We’re following another lead tied to the canyon system, this one leading us near the old fire roads Miles and I walked yesterday to come home.
The landscape feels different today.
Heavier somehow, like the woods are waiting.
Pines tower overhead while sunlight cuts through the branches in long gold beams, illuminating drifting mist left over from the storm.
The crew breaks out into their usual roles. Taylor and Jax move farther ahead with drone equipment. Maya stops periodically to mark coordinates and environmental changes. And Miles stays near me without making it obvious.
The trail narrows as we descend into a damp canyon wash where runoff still darkens the earth beneath our boots.
Then Jax stops abruptly. “Whoa.”
The word echoes softly through the trees.
Every single person freezes.
Miles moves first. Always first.
“What is it?”
Jax crouches slowly near the edge of the wash, camera lowering toward the mud. And even from ten feet away, my stomach drops.
“Oh my God.”
The track presses deep into the earth beside the waterline.
Huge. Human-shaped. And yet, not human.
Every rational thought in my brain starts scrambling for explanations. Bear. Distortion from rain. Prank from the Ridgefield guys. Just a dude with really, really huge feet.
I chuckle at that last one.
But the longer I stare at it, the harder it becomes to force the shape into something logical. The proportions are off. Too wide through the center. Long toe impressions. Deep heel compression, as if whatever made it carried impossible weight.
Nobody speaks. Stunned silence settles over the canyon. Miles crouches beside the print.
His hands are shaking.
Actually shaking.
“Miles,” Maya says breathlessly.
He doesn’t answer at first. He just stares at the track like he’s afraid it might disappear if he blinks.
Then: “I know.”
The words crack slightly on the way out.
And suddenly this stops feeling theoretical.
Because this isn’t some loud internet conspiracy guy celebrating being right.
This is a person who, after carrying belief so long it became part of his bones, finally sees something that tells him maybe his belief wasn’t foolish. The relief I feel for him is overwhelming.
Taylor wipes at her eyes. “Okay, rude. I didn’t expect to get emotional over a foot.”
Jax is already filming, movements sharper now with adrenaline.
Maya kneels beside the print with measuring tools and a camera.
“Eighteen inches,” she whispers.
Miles stands abruptly.
“Wait.”
He points farther down the wash.
Another print. Then another. A full line disappearing between the trees.
Every nerve ending in my body lights up at once.
“Oh my God,” I whisper again.
And then, a sound cuts through the canyon. Low and guttural.
Everyone’s head snaps upward in unison. The noise reverberating through the trees is so deep that I feel it in my chest.
Maya grabs Jax’s arm.
The woods go dead silent around us.
No wind. No movement. Just that sound echoing somewhere beyond the ridge line.
My pulse pounds so hard I can hear it.
Beside me, Miles inhales sharply. I turn. The expression on his face almost undoes me. Not triumph or ego. Relief.
“You hear that too?” he whispers. Just needing someone else to stand inside this moment with him.
“Yeah,” I whisper back.
I do. That’s the terrifying part. For the first time since arriving, I finally feel the pieces of this podcast clicking into place.
There’s a story here, and it doesn’t need to be overly characterized or faked like the countless others.
Relief washes over me—not just at the podcast finally feeling right, but at this feeling right.
I grab my recorder from my pocket and press record, hoping to capture any sound bites I can.
The entire crew fumbles into motion, breaking apart across the wash to do their thing quickly and quietly.
Maya documents measurements with laser focus.
Taylor whispers to herself, tracking the footprints further.
Jax films everything with breathless excitement.
And somehow all of it feels distant compared to the way every cell of my body is attuned to Miles.
He’s still standing there, his Henley’s sleeves pulled up around his unnecessarily corded forearms. His glasses sliding down his nose.
I can feel the adrenaline rolling off him.
The disbelief. The joy. The years of fear and grief and ridicule colliding with hope all at once.
He turns toward me again. Too close. Way too close.
Something hot and electric crashes through me all at once. The woods. The adrenaline. Him.
He returns the intensity of my stare and mutters something about giving me sound clips for the podcast before he grabs my arm and pulls me behind a cluster of pines twenty paces off the wash.
“Miles—” I try to put into words what this moment means, my hands digging into the front of his shirt. I can feel the heat radiating off him as his breathing quickens. Then, he kisses me.
And holy shit. This is not soft. This is adrenaline and relief and a week’s worth of tension detonating.
One hand weaves into my hair at the back of my head and the other grips my waist, pulling me flush against him while my fingers knot into his shirt.
The forest spins around us. Everything narrows to heat and breath and the way he kisses like he’s trying not to lose control.
Which unfortunately makes me want him more.
“Miles,” I breathe against his mouth.
“This is a bad idea,” he whispers before pushing me against the tree trunk we’re hiding behind, and he laughs softly against my lips like he can’t believe this is happening.
“Daisy—”
“You started it.”
He shakes his head. But his hands slide under my flannel anyway, warm against my waist, and suddenly I’m not entirely convinced I remember my own name.
Voices drift faintly through the trees nearby.
Taylor yelling something about casting footprints.
Reality crashes back hard.
We break apart abruptly.
Both breathing too fast.
Miles looks wrecked.
Hair messy. Mouth pink. Pupils blown wide enough to swallow the green.
The sight nearly sends me right back into him.
“We can’t do that again,” I pant.
“Right.”
A beat passes.
Then, in an unspoken agreement, we crash back into each other like magnets.
This kiss is even rougher. Hungrier. All the restraint we’ve been pretending to have snapping clean in half. I feel myself letting go with him. Wanting him in the most primal way.
Then Jax’s voice echoes somewhere through the canyon. “Yo, Adler?”
Miles jerks backward like he’s been tased, and I slap both hands over my mouth to keep from laughing.
He runs a frantic hand through his hair, his nervous laughter spilling out in short bursts. “Oh my God.”
Another voice echoes through the trees.
“Miles?” Maya calls.
“We’re coming!” he yells back, his voice cracking on the last word. “Daisy just needed some sound bites.”
I lose it laughing.
“This isn’t funny.”
“It’s a little funny,” I raise a shoulder.
My laughter stops when he closes the space between us, cradling my cheek in his palm.
“This thing with you…” His eyes flick over my face. “I don't want it to impact either of our work.”
I understand now. He’s not worried about the crew’s judgment.
He’s worried about losing something real before it even fully starts. Us, and our work. And so am I.
I know we’re past the point of keeping things casual, but it doesn’t stop me from lying. I loop my fingers through his belt loops, pulling him closer. “So, let’s just keep it between us, and have a little fun?”
Miles brushes his thumb once along my jaw, considering what I said. The movement is so gentle it almost hurts. “I think we’re going to have more than a little fun.”
Then he steps back from me, his entire posture shifting back into field-leader mode. Only the slight blush lingering on his neck betrays him. Then he turns and walks back toward the canyon as if he didn’t just kiss me breathless behind a tree while Bigfoot possibly lurked nearby.
And the worst part? I follow him automatically. Like some instinctive part of me already recognizes the shape of him now—the smell of cedar soap and campfire, the steadiness of his hand, the quiet gravity of him—and decides, without consulting the rest of me, that close is where I belong.