My backpack waits beside the bedroom door, zipped and ready. On the nightstand, my camera batteries blink green on the charger. Full.
I stop cold.
Simon must’ve plugged them in while I was asleep. It’s such a stupidly practical thing. Five seconds of effort. No grand gesture. No reason for it to matter.
Except somehow it does. More than the kiss. More than him carrying me down the mountain. More than him memorizing my coffee order. He saw something that needed doing and did it for me before I even realized it needed doing.
Nobody does things like that for me. Not because they have to. Not because they’re paid to. Just because.
My fingers hesitate over the charger before I unplug it and tuck everything back into my bag.
Across the room, sunlight spills over Simon’s back. The sheet is pooled low around his waist. One arm hooked beneath the pillow. His dirty-blonde hair is a mess against white cotton. Even asleep, he looks capable. Steady. Like if the world tipped sideways, Simon would catch it before it hit the ground.
Looking at him feels too intimate. More intimate than last night somehow. Daylight has a way of stripping things bare. Without shadows or adrenaline or kisses to hide behind, he’s just a man asleep in his own bed.
And I’m a woman standing beside it, wondering what he looks like when he laughs before coffee. Wondering whether he sleeps this hard after every shift. Wondering if he always takes up this much space… or if it only feels that way because somehow he’s already taken up room inside me too.
I shoulder my backpack before I can think any harder.
The cabin is quiet when I step into the hallway. Cool morning air lingers in the kitchen. A mug rests upside down beside the sink. One of his flannels is tossed over the back of a chair. My boots wait by the front door, clean and dry, the leather free of dust and mud from the trail.
I crouch beside them and run a thumb over the toe. He cleaned them. Of course he did. The leather feels smooth andsupple under my thumb, the faint scent of saddle soap still clinging to it. Simon didn’t just wipe them down. He’d taken the time to condition them properly. The small kindness hits me somewhere soft and vulnerable. My laugh catches in my throat before it can become sound.
Outside, the mountain is waking under a pale blue sky. Soon Gloria will unlock the visitor center. By lunch I could be filming again. Tomorrow I could be somewhere else entirely.
Back to leaving before anything starts to feel permanent.
Pulling on my clothes in silence feels a little too much like sneaking out after making a mistake. I dress robotically, body moving through the motions, but I pause when I spot Simon’s black T-shirt.
It’s soft between my fingers, the fabric stretchy and cool. My tank top gets shoved in the bag without a care. I’m not one for casual hookups or one-night stands, but stealing one of his shirts feels fair.
It feels like taking a piece of him with me. A stupid, sentimental piece I’ll probably cry over somewhere down the road. I tell myself it’s just a souvenir. But deep down I know I’m already looking for reasons to come back.
I slip it on. The worn black fabric swallows me, the hem brushing cool against my bare thighs. It carries his scent so strongly, that unmistakable masculine warmth that makes my chest ache. I bury my nose in the collar for just a second before pulling back, cheeks heating.
Fuck it. I’m taking the damn shirt.
Simon
I wake up to an empty bed, and my stomach drops straight through the floor.
The sheets still smell like her, wildflowers and sex, but Clover’s gone. A soft creak from the living room has me out of bed in a heartbeat. I don’t even bother with clothes, just stride naked through my cabin, heart hammering.
There she is, by the front door, wearing my oversized T-shirt and trying to quietly pull on her cargo shorts. Her backpack is already zipped and sitting by her feet like she’s planning a quick getaway.
Not a fucking chance.
“Clover.” My voice is rough, low, and edged with something raw.
She freezes, one leg halfway into her shorts, purple scrunchie slipping from her messy blonde hair. Those wide blue eyes snap to mine, guilty and sparkling at the same time.
“Morning,” she says, far too casually. “I was just…stepping out for some fresh air. Maybe grab us coffee from town?”
Liar. My sweet, sunshine liar.
I stalk toward her, backing her against the heavy wooden door before she can think about opening it. Her shorts unbuttoned and unzipped slip right back down her legs to the floor. Right where they belong. The cabin is quiet except for the distant sound of birds outside and my own pulse roaring in my ears.
“You were sneaking out,” I growl. “After last night? After I spent hours buried inside you, making you scream my name?”
