Our breaths have synced, as well as our strides. She notices but remains quiet.
The forest feels alive around us, darker than city nights, even with crew lights throwing shadows on the path. Everything’s sharper out here, pine needles crunching underfoot, August air biting like early San Francisco training mornings, the wild darkness calling to my restless soul.
Her cabin appears too soon.
“Thank you for walking me back tonight.” The first porch step creaks as she steps on it. “You don’t need to go out of your way next time.”
“You never know what’s hiding in these woods, Reese.” I finally hand over her bag that I’d been carrying during our stroll.
“Well, good night.”
I should leave, find something to shake this feeling. Probably indulge in one of the late-night distractions waiting at my cabin. But my feet feel like vines have wrapped around them, attaching me to the earth.
She pauses, fingers trailing along the weathered wooden railings. “Wait,” she says, and my pulse kicks up. “I need your number.” She digs in her bag and holds out her phone. It’s in a simple case, white, no frills or extras.
“For training purposes only, of course,” I say, reaching for it.
“To confirm our training schedule and the scene recordings I promised.” Her eyes don’t meet mine.
I input each digit deliberately. “Purely professional.”
“Exactly.”
“I had fun tonight,” I admit and return her phone.
When she looks up, there’s a quirk to her lips, her curated mask slipping. “Yeah? Me too. Thanks for helping me…youknow. Get out of my head a bit. I have to admit, I didn’t have much faith in you, but you’re not a bad teacher.”
“Oh, don’t flatter me,” I laugh. “You’re pretty good at having fun, even if I didn’t have much faith inyou.”
“Hopefully it’ll help me succeed tomorrow, Mr. Hastings.”
“You don’t have to do that, you know.” The words escape before I can stop them.
“Do what?” She shrugs, playing coy. My eyes flicker down to her wrist, lingering on a freckle I noticed tonight. The way she swayed her hips earlier, how the scent of her thick blonde hair lingered, how it brushed against my biceps every time she turned…it’s all there, clear in my mind.
I take a breath and decide that if I want to break down these walls, my usual charm won’t work. I’ll have to be direct. “Since you love rules so much and we’ll be training together…how about we make some? Starting with dropping the professional act. At least with me.”
“What act?”
“I see right through all your sugarcoating.”
“To what?”
“Something that burns.”
On cue, she finds the end of her hair and spins it between her pointer and thumb. That nervous tic again. “Fine. Then here’s my rule: no distractions.”
“Distractions happen naturally,” I say, thinking of midnight swims and impromptu adventures. “The trick is learning to dance with them.”
She rolls her eyes, jutting her hip out. “Just…keep it professional. No flirting, no jokes, no distracting comments.”
“Kak skazhesh’, milaya.” My Russian is barely proficient, but it’s enough to make her brows furrow.
“What does that mean?”
“Where’s the fun in telling?” I grin, enjoying how she fights her curiosity.
“Not fair.”
