Chapter 17
CLAIRE
“If you’re trying to murder me, this is how it happens.” My thighs are screaming, lungs huffing, and I’m gripping a tree root on the side of a mountain trail, hauling myself over a rock ledge. All while sweat runs down my back and my calves burn.
Corey turns on the trail ahead of me, barely winded, his crooked grin way too adorable.
He’s in dark hiking pants, trail boots, and a fitted gray T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, which means his arms are on full display and the sun is illuminating every line of definition from his shoulders to his wrists.
His backpack sits high on his back, straps pulled tight, and his dark hair is pushed from his face with a thin headband that should be ridiculous and is instead infuriatingly attractive.
“Over an hour of walking uphill. I told you I haven’t been to a gym in years.” I laugh at myself.
“But this is nature, fresh air, and freedom.”
“This is a mountain, Corey. They go up. I mean, I climb stairs and get winded.”
He laughs and extends his hand. I accept it, and he pulls me over the ledge.
I straighten up, panting, and take in the view behind us.
The trail winds down through dense bush, dark green and silver-barked, dappled in morning light.
Below, the valley spreads wide and lush, a patchwork of farmland and forest running toward the distant shimmer of the coast. The air is cool and clean and smells of pine and damp earth, and despite the burning in every muscle south of my rib cage, I love it up here.
The silence and being away from everyone else.
“Okay,” I admit. “It’s gorgeous.”
“Wait until we reach the top.”
I adjust my backpack, which contains exactly what Corey told me to bring: one change of clothes, a light jacket, and any toiletries I need, plus a water bottle. I’d also snuck in a small first-aid kit, three snack bars, and a battery pack for my phone.
The trail narrows. Corey steps aside and gestures for me to go first, but positions himself on the drop side, his hand hovering near my back. Not touching me, but he’s just there.
“I do this at least once a week,” he says.
“You’re crazy.” I’m picking my way over a tangle of exposed roots.
“Sometimes twice if my head’s loud.” He’s moving behind me, close enough that I can hear his breathing. “Being up here quiets the noise.”
“I can see that. It’s so peaceful up here.” He pauses as I navigate a steep section, his hand finding my elbow when my foot slides on loose gravel, steadying me.
“I sometimes struggle to sit still, can’t focus on one task for too long unless it’s physical. My mom noticed when I was a teenager, and she sat me down and said, ‘You don’t have to be okay all the time just to make things easier for everyone else.’ And it’s always stayed with me.”
“She sounds incredible.”
“Yep, she’s also the reason I started training, saying if my body needed to move, I should let it.
So I did. Running first, then the gym, then hiking, and it worked.
Not as a fix, but as a release valve.” He reaches past me to hold a branch clear of the path, and I duck under his arm.
“The gym videos came later. I needed a project, and it turned out that people wanted to watch me do impossible shit with exercise balls.”
“Oh, you’re not wrong there. Seen some of your videos and I’m gobsmacked,” I say, stepping over a fallen trunk with considerably less grace than he just demonstrated. “Your muscle control is insane. I don’t understand how a human body does that.”
He’s chuckling, chin high. “I could show you. Start you on the basics, build up the core strength. Wouldn’t take long.”
“You’re saying that because I’m wheezing on a casual hike.”
“You’d surprise yourself if you let me train you.”
I glance at him over my shoulder. He’s looking at me with that directness that strips away pretense, those captivating eyes steady, and the compliment sits in my chest.
I adjust my glasses. “I’d love that,” I say and mean it.
We climb in comfortable silence for a while. The trail steepens, switching back through denser forest, Corey at my back, and I’m leading the way on the narrow path.
Then I hear his voice behind me. “All right, legends, it’s hiking day. Had to get out here and show you this view because screenshots don’t do it justice.”
I glance back to see him videoing himself on his phone as he’s trekking up behind me.
His tone shifts when he’s performing. Still him, but louder, brighter, the energy dialed up to broadcast level.
“We’ve been climbing for about two hours, and my legs are feeling it, which means the workout this week is paying off. Look at this.”
He’s got his phone held out in front of him, face to the camera, taking in the scenery behind him. I turn back and focus on my path before I trip.
“The air up here is unreal. If you haven’t tried hiking as part of your fitness routine, you’re missing out. Cardio, legs, core, mental health, all of it. And the views? Come on.”
I keep walking, letting him finish. “And I’m not alone today. Here, let me give you a sneak peek of my company…”
My spine goes rigid, and I refuse to turn around.
“Yep, for now, all you get is that gorgeous view right there. Those legs. That ass. Trust me, the front is even better.”
My face is nuclear, my smile out of control.
“Okay, that’s it for today. Get outside. Move your body. Hug a tree. Corey out.” I hear the beep of the stream ending and spin around. He’s looking extremely pleased with himself.
“You’re a natural,” I state.
“And the comments are already rolling in.” He holds up his phone, showing me the wall of comments. “Everyone wants to know who you are.”
“Good. Let it stay a mystery.”
“A mystery with great legs. Their words, not mine.” He shoves the phone away and catches up to me. “You know, I could teach you to do that too. The live stuff. It’s easier than you think.”
“I hid with my back to the camera. That’s the opposite of a natural.”
“Everyone starts somewhere.” He bumps his shoulder against mine. “Besides, mystery girl with great legs? That’s already better branding than most people manage in a year.”
The trail flattens into a valley and the trees thin, and suddenly there’s a creek in front of us.
Wide, clear, running fast over smooth rocks, sunlight flashing off the surface.
The banks are mossy and green, and wildflowers cluster at the edges, purple and yellow.
The sound of the water fills the clearing with a constant, musical rush.
“Oh, wow.” I stop and breathe it in. “This is beautiful.”
He scans the creek, hands on his hips. “There’s a bridge about thirty minutes downstream. But it’s in the wrong direction.”
“So we go around.”
“Or we go across.” He nods at a line of flat stones breaking the surface, spaced at irregular intervals. “Stepping stones. Straight shot.”
They’re wet and mossy. The water between them looks about knee-deep at most but moving fast. “Are you sure?”
“I’ve done this a dozen times. Follow me.” He takes off his backpack and tosses it over the water. Then he takes mine and does the same before crossing. Two steps, three, his boots finding the stones, arms out for balance, and he’s halfway across, looking back at me with that grin.
“See? Nothing to—”
His right foot shoots sideways, and his arms windmill. His expression shifts from cocky to pure surprise in a fraction of a second, and then he’s in the water with a splash that sends a spray of creek water three feet into the air.
I scream with laughter.
He’s sitting in the creek, water up to his chest, his hair plastered to his forehead, and he’s laughing so hard his whole body is shaking.
“Nothing to worry about, you were saying!” I’m doubled over on the bank, clutching my knees.
He pushes his wet hair back and grins up at me, water running down his face. “Okay. Maybe there was something to worry about.”
I step onto the first stone, still cackling, taking it slower. The second. The third. My boot suddenly slides and I yelp, and then I’m in the water, the cold slamming into my legs and hips and stealing my breath. Corey is there, arms around me, catching me before I go fully under.
“Oh my God!” The water is freezing. It’s arctic. I’m gasping, clinging to his soaked shirt, my legs numb from the thighs down.
He’s on his feet in seconds and scoops me up as if I weigh nothing, wading through the knee-deep current, water streaming off both of us, and then deposits me on the far bank like a rescued cat. We collapse on the grass, dripping, breathless, giggling.
“Okay,” he manages. “Pants off.”
“Excuse me?”
“Wet fabric on a hike is actual torture. And it’ll slow us down, so we both need to change.”
He’s already dragging his soaked shirt over his head and wringing it out, water streaming between his fingers. Then come the boots, followed by his hiking pants, peeled down his legs and twisted in his fists until they drip onto the ground.
Which leaves him standing there in wet boxers plastered to his skin. And I try not to stare. I really do.
But the fabric is clinging to every hard line of him, molded low across his hips and leaving a very unmistakable shape beneath the wet cotton.
Long. Heavy. Impossibly defined. My brain, unhelpful in moments of crisis, immediately supplies the image of an overconfident cucumber from the farmers’ market.
Not one of the small ones either. One of those ridiculous prize vegetables that looks as if it should have its own table and a blue ribbon.
Heat floods my face because this is him cold. Soaked. Shivering. Presumably at a disadvantage.
Which means my gaze jerks away half a second too late, and now I have questions mostly involving scale, survival, and whether I should start avoiding the produce section.
I really should be rummaging in my bag for dry clothes.