A woman like Layla doesn’t stay unrooted. She might want one reckless jump. Maybe one reckless man. But wanting a thing in the sun is not the same as living with it when the seasons change.
“Hudson?”
Kelsey’s voice cuts through my thoughts. I glance over. She nods toward the trail behind me. I turn and see Layla standing at the edge of the trees.
She’s wearing dark shorts today, the kind that show off her legs, and a white tank under a lightweight blue shirt left open. Her blond hair is braided over one shoulder, but soft pieces have already escaped around her face. She has a small backpack slung over one arm and a pair of water shoes in her hand -- not on her feet, but in her hand.
Her feet are bare in the grass. She sees me looking and immediately shifts one foot behind the other. Her cheeks color even from twenty feet away.
“I brought shoes that grip.”
I stride toward her. The closer I get, the greener her eyes look. Not soft green. Clear green. The kind that belongs to shaded water and leaves after rain. She looks nervous, but she lifts her chin anyway. Brave little thing.
“Morning,” I say.
“Morning.”
“You eat?”
She blinks. “What?”
“Breakfast.”
“Oh. A granola bar.”
“That’s not breakfast.”
“It has oats.”
“That’s still not breakfast.”
Her mouth tightens like she’s trying not to smile. “Are you always this bossy in the morning?”
“Yes.”
“Good to know.”
I glance down at the water shoes. “Put those on. Trail’s rough past the cove.”
She obeys, but not before turning slightly away like I might be scandalized by the sight of her toes. I crouch before I can think better of it. She freezes.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Checking the soles.”
“While they’re on my feet?”
“That’s usually how soles work.”
Her skin is soft and warm beneath my fingers. Her ankle is delicate in my grip, the arch of her foot high, her toes curling as if they can hide from me by sheer force of will. I turn her foot slightly, checking the tread. Good enough for the dry rock. Not perfect if moss is wet. I’ll keep her on the cleaner path.
“These will work,” I say.
She doesn’t answer. I look up. Her face is pink. Her green eyes are locked on me, wide and startled, as if no man has touched her ankle in broad daylight and lived to tell about it.
My body reacts like an idiot. I release her and stand. Distance. Keep distance. I’m not taking her to the cliffs with my head full of her skin.
“You nervous?” I ask.
