The drive back to the station is quiet, save for the hum of the engine and the occasional crackle of the radio. I sit in the passenger seat of Flint’s truck, the weight of exhaustion settling over me. My body feels heavy, my muscles aching from hours of hiking and filming, but my mind is a storm of thoughts.
“You’re quieter than usual,” Flint says, breaking the silence.
“I’m just tired,” I hum softly.
He glances at me, his expression softening in a way that catches me off guard. “Guess a few orgasms wipe a girl out.”
I giggle, thankful for his lighthearted banter.
The corners of his mouth lift in a small, almost imperceptible smile. It’s not much, but it’s enough to make butterflies batter behind my ribs.
When we finally reach the station, the crew gathers around a makeshift table, laughter and banter filling the air as they recount the day’s events. Flint hangs back, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, watching his team with a faint smile.
I can’t help but watch him, my camera forgotten in my lap. There’s something magnetic about the way he carries himself—quiet, steady, and unshakable.
“You’ve got it bad,” Hudson says, sliding into the seat next to me with a knowing grin.
I blink, startled. “What are you talking about?”
He nods toward Flint, his grin widening. “That.”
“I don’t?—”
“Relax,” he interrupts, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
“There’s no secret,” I insist, my cheeks heating.
“Sure there isn’t,” he says, standing and clapping a hand on my shoulder. “But just so you know, he’s a good guy. Stubborn as hell, but good.”
I watch him walk away, his words settling in my chest.
A while later, as the station quiets and the crew drifts off to their bunks, I find myself standing outside, the cool night air a welcome relief from the heat of the day.
“Can’t sleep?” Flint’s voice rumbles behind me, and I turn to see him leaning against the doorframe, his hands shoved in his pockets.
“Too much on my mind,” I admit, my gaze shifting to the stars.
He steps closer, his presence a warm, grounding force. “Like what?”
“Everything,” I say with a sigh. “The fire, the film, you.”
The last word slips out before I can stop it, and I clamp my mouth shut, my heart racing.
Flint’s eyes narrow slightly, but there’s no mistaking the flicker of interest in them. “Me, huh?”
I shrug, trying to play it off. “You’re a lot to process.”
He chuckles, the sound low and rough. “I could say the same about you.”
We stand in silence for a moment, the air between us heavy with unspoken words. Finally, he speaks, his voice softer than I’ve ever heard it.
“You’re not what I expected,” he says, his gaze fixed on me.
“Neither are you,” I admit, meeting his eyes.
He takes a step closer, his hand brushing mine. “Maybe that’s not a bad thing.”
I don’t pull away. Instead, I let his words settle, the truth of them sinking deep.
