Chapter 6 Signal #3
I tell myself that, and some old, well-worn part of me doesn't believe it for a second. This is real life. This isn't a romance novel.
"I'm going to scout the tree line," I say, already moving, needing an outlet for the feeling before it gets too big to carry casually. "See if there's better shelter than this outcrop for the wait."
"Nora—"
"It's fine, Santi. Good plan. Map. Logistics." I don't look back to see if my voice gave anything away. I'm fairly sure it did.
I make it eight feet when he says my name again, differently this time, and I stop without quite deciding to.
He's still crouched by the radio, map half-folded in one hand, but he's not looking at it anymore.
He's looking at me, and there's something working behind his eyes that wasn't there a second ago, like he's only just caught up to whatever happened in the last sixty seconds and is trying, too late, to read the data correctly.
"I've upset you," he says simply.
"I—"
He crosses the distance between us, and when he reaches me, his hand finds my jaw with exactly the same care it did beside the fire, like nothing about that has changed, like the operational voice was a coat he put on over the top of it rather than a replacement for it.
"I got distracted," he says. "I think I forgot for a moment that I had everything I've ever dreamed of right in front of me, and I seem to have said or done something to upset you.
" He smooths my hair back from my face. "I'm an idiot.
I'm a fool. Please tell me what I did, Nora, so I can never do it again. "
I find myself smiling at him, that awful weight that was building in my chest loosening in an instant. "You didn't do anything. I... was overthinking."
His thumb traces along my jaw. "We're okay?"
I lean forward and kiss him tenderly on the lips, savoring the wild taste of him. "Better than okay."
His eyes stay shut for a moment, seeming to savor the kiss as much as I did. "Good. Good. I... I need to tell you something." He swallows.
There's a sound of voices. We both freeze, wide-eyed. Yes, definitely voices. On the trail below the outcrop.
"That's—" The rest of the sentence never makes it out; I'm already on my feet, scrambling toward the outcrop's edge.
Below us, picking their way up the slope with the stagger of people who have been walking for far too long, we see Ryan with one arm braced under Erica's elbow.
"NORA!" Erica's voice, hoarse but unmistakably hers, carries up through the mist. "Oh, thank God, you're alive. I was about to write your eulogy, and honestly, the draft was excellent—"
"Erica." Relief hits me so fast and so completely that my knees actually go strange for a second. "Your knee—"
"Fine. Mostly fine. Dr. Ryan has been taking great care of me." She pats him on the back. "I'm honestly very sick of him, so it's great to see you guys again. No offense, Ryan."
"The swelling pattern is consistent with a grade one sprain," Ryan says, already climbing toward us, "which is genuinely good news, statistically—"
"Ryan." Erica looks like she might spit fire.
"Good news," he amends.
As they join us in the shelter, Erica's gaze moves from me to Santi and back again. "Okay," she says. "So."
"So," I repeat, with what I hope passes for casual.
"You two look..." She tilts her head, considering, like she's appraising a painting. "Different."
"We've been outside in the rain for eight hours, Erica. Everyone looks different. You look different." I can hear the slightly shrill note in my voice and damn myself for it.
She squints at Santi with theatrical scrutiny. "Santi, you have the face of a man who has recently had a religious experience. I know that face. My boyfriend, Liam, wears it every time I enter the bedroom."
"We found shelter, Erica." My face is blazing.
"I'm sure you did." Her smile turns positively wicked. "I'm sure you found a lot of shelter. Probably more than once, given the time you've had."
"Erica!"
"I'm just saying, as someone who has been trudging through mud with a sprained knee for this whole time, it would be deeply unfair if while I was doing that, you two were over here having the best sex of your respective lives in a national park."
Santi and I exchange guilty looks.
Erica turns to Ryan, entirely unbothered by my glare. "Ryan. Back me up. Statistically. What are the odds that two people who have been secretly in love with each other, alone together for eight hours in a rainstorm, did not finally act on it?"
Ryan actually considers this seriously for a second. "Given the established tension and the proximity—" He stops. Looks at Santi. Looks at me. Understanding dawns, slow and visible, across his entire face. "Oh."
"Also. Your collar is on inside out, Nora," Erica says sweetly.
I look down. My collar is, in fact, inside out.
Santi, beside me, makes a sound that might be a cough or a sign that he's actively dying of laughter.
"I hate all of you," I announce to the jungle in general, and my face is burning almost as hot as the burn between my legs from Santi's... attention.