My hands are still shaking.
I tell myself it’s exhaustion rather than fear. It’s not the memory of seeing her disappear between the trees. Not the image of an empty kayak drifting downstream.
Definitely not that.
Building the fire takes longer than I’d like, but eventually the small flames catch. The warmth is immediate, even if it isn’t much.
I wave Paisley over.
Her shoulder presses against mine and I have no idea what to do with the way my chest tightens when she leans into me.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
I shake my head immediately.
“Don’t apologize.”
“But—”
“No.”
My voice softens.
“Don’t ever apologize for needing help.”
She goes quiet. The fire crackles in front of us. She lifts her arms obediently when I help her remove the yellow lifejacket. Doesn’t complain when I pull out my emergency first aid kit and order her to strip down before wrapping the thermal blanket around her shoulders.
It’s lightweight, thinner than a slice of bread, and it looks flimsy as fuck, but combined with the fire it’ll keep her warm.
Slowly, color starts returning to her face as the warmth reaches her skin. Even soaked to the bone, wrapped in an emergency blanket, and sitting on the ground in the middle of nowhere, she’s still the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.
“I can’t get us home tonight, but I’ll get us some dinner,” I tell her.
I always travel prepared. I’m so glad that my dad drilled that into my brain. You can’t predict an emergency, but you can take measures to prepare for it.
Every one of us carries a first aid kit, fishing supplies, and a flare gun just in case.
It’s not perfect but at least I can keep Paisley warm and fed until we get back to civilization.
Paisley
I always thought being stranded in the wilderness would feel different. Terrifying even.
Instead, I’m sitting beside a fire in the middle of the Viridian Mountains, next to Dean, listening to the Etowah River rush through the darkness and the strangest part is that I’m okay.
Not completely. I’m still aware that my phone has no signal. That there’s no road nearby. That my little day trip down the river has turned into a survival lesson.
But the panic I felt when my kayak disappeared is gone, because Dean is here.
The realization should probably bother me more than it does.
I’ve known him for less than a day and somehow, he makes me feel completely safe.
He crouches beside the flames, carefully spinning the fish he caught on a stick.
The wilderness doesn’t intimidate him. The darkness doesn’t make him nervous. He knows which branches will burn, how to position the fire so the smoke doesn’t blow directly into ourfaces, and how to make a meal out of whatever he can catch in the river. He makes it look so easy.
A breeze moves through the trees, carrying the scent of pine and smoke. My damp hair still smells like river water, and the blanket around my shoulders is scratchy, but I don’t care.
