She exhaled slowly, resting her chin on her knee. “I didn’t want to make a big deal out of things, Ben. I just thought maybe... You wanted to have dinner with me.”
“I did. Ido.”
She looked at me then, and for the first time since I met her, she looked unsure. Not in that flustered, I-tripped-over-a-chicken way, but in a quiet, careful way. As if she were waiting to be told that what she hoped for was too much.
“I got a call from work,” I said. “And it sent me right back into that place I’ve been trying to escape.”
She nodded slowly. “And I reminded you of that place?”
“No. You reminded me I wantedout.That maybe there’s something more than living for deadlines.”
She didn’t say anything, but her eyes didn’t leave mine.
“I panicked,” I admitted. “Because this,you,you’re real. And I didn’t come here expecting real.”
“Neither did I,” she whispered.
I reached for her hand, slow and careful.
She let me take it.
Her fingers curled around mine like they belonged there.
“I can’t promise anything,” I said, the words burning a little as they left me. “I don’t have all the answers. But I know I don’t want to leave this place without knowing if there’s more to find here.”
She smiled then. Soft. Hopeful.
“You’re not the only one scared,” she said. “But I think I’d regret not finding out, too.”
And just like that, the air between us shifted again.
We sat there for another minute, hands still tangled, as the breeze played with the loose strands of her hair. She had that smile again, the one that came with teeth and dimples and a raised brow, but something about it didn’t feel right.
It was too perfect.
Polished, practiced.
“Want to help me restock the s’mores bin?” she asked suddenly, pulling her hand away gently and pushing to her feet. “You look like a man who knows his way around a Graham cracker.”
I blinked, caught off guard. “I… I guess?”
She grinned and reached down to haul me up. “That’s the spirit. Come on, Florida. We’ve got chocolate to organize.”
We walked toward the lodge, her steps quick, her laugh too light.
And I couldn’t ignore it.
She was doing the thing I’d seen her do with guests all week: filling the space with energy, jokes, and noise so that no one noticed the silence hiding underneath.
“You always like to sprint when things get serious?” I asked as we stepped through the back door into the storage hallway.
“Sprint?” she echoed, already yanking open the cabinet markedCampfire Treats.
I leaned against the wall. “You were quiet five minutes ago. Now I’m being recruited for marshmallow duty like we’re in a lodge-themed relay race.”
She gave me a tight-lipped smile, but didn’t meet my eyes. “You were being sulky and apologetic. I figured sugar would help.”
“I wasn’t that morose.”
