“You know,” Hawk said without turning around, “no one said Henry David Thoreau was stupid when he went out to the woods.”
I glanced up from pouring one of the water bottles I’d brought into his small kettle. “He went to the woods to livedeliberately. Not to stop Evola from bringing necessary funding to his small Vermont town. And pretty sure Thoreau lived in a cabin, not a tent or a cold-as-fuck cave.”
He settled himself on the sleeping bag just inside the tent and dug out a bag of trail mix. “He lived like twenty minutes’ walkfrom his parents’ house, but you don’t hear stories about people trying to draghimhome every time it rained.”
“Twenty minutes? Hm. That’s… less impressive than the Walden experience I’d imagined,” I admitted. I chanced another glance in his direction. “You look good.”
He paused with a handful of snack mix in his hand.
My face went hot. “I mean, you lookbetter. Calmer. Than the last time I saw you. More confident, maybe.”
He tossed the trail mix in his mouth and crunched thoughtfully, staring into the middle distance. “I think… there are things that have been bothering me for a while,” he said slowly. “And I’ve been waiting for other people to wake up and notice them and come up with a plan for us to fix them, then getting progressively angrier when no one did. Crys called me on it the other night. She reminded me that if I want things to change,Ineed to change them myself. Or at least try.”
I hated that working with me, talkingto me, was something he needed to change, but… “I’m glad it’s working.”
Hawk nodded and smiled suddenly. “Can’t lie, though. I’m dying for a shower and a good meal. Splashing in the creek and eating rehydrated stew is getting a little old.”
“Well, I don’t know if it counts as a good meal, but I brought some sandwiches from the diner if you’re hungry.”
Hawk looked at me intently, like he was trying to peer into my skull and read my mind. Good luck to him trying to find any clear thoughts in there. I’d been running on instinct and desperation all day.
“You came up here to drag me back to town… but also brought sandwiches? Why?”
“Seven years,” I croaked.
“Huh?”
“That’s how long we’ve been friends, right? And when we hike, I bring snacks. That’s my job. That’s… what I do. Youdecide where we’re going, I make sure we get there safely. I’m kind of a creature of habit if you hadn’t noticed.”
He swallowed. “I noticed,” he said softly.
The air felt heavy. Charged. I tried to play it off. “Besides, it’s not a big deal. I didn’t go to any trouble,” I lied. “Just some Havarti-and-apple paninis that were left over from lunch. I can heat them up if you’re hungry. They’re in there.” I nodded to my backpack.
Hawk reached for it at the same time I remembered?—
“Wait just a second,” I said, holding out a hand, but it was too late. Hawk tilted the bag, and out tumbled not only the foil-wrapped sandwiches but also two thick paperbacks.
He looked down at them, bewildered. “You brought meWhat Jane Austen Ate and Charles Dickens Knew? AndMr. Darcy’s Perfect Match? Did you get these at the library?”
“Not exactly.” I shrugged and poured cocoa into two mugs, making sure his was equal parts cocoa and mini marshmallows.
“Youdidn’tget them at the library? So, what, you just had these kicking around your house?” He laughed.
I ignored his question and handed him a mug of cocoa. “You’ve probably read them before. I just… I wasn’t sure how long you were planning to stay up here, and I didn’t know if you could charge your Kindle. I wanted to make sure you had what you needed in case you decided to be stubborn.”
“Thank you,” he said almost shyly. “This means a lot.”
You mean a lot, I wanted to say, but I held myself back.
Instead, I nodded and busied myself with reheating the sandwiches on the camp stove because I didn’t trust myself to look at him. Not when he was so damn sexy. Not when he was so damn close. Not when the rain had begun falling in earnest outside, creating the feeling that he and I were in a world of our own. Not when I’d missed him so damn much.
As I fussed with the sandwiches, he told me about his Save Fogg Peak Instagram, and I pretended I hadn’t looked it up and greedily scrolled through the dozens of pictures he’d already posted.
Then I told him that the diner had been slammed since Evola’s new surveying crew had landed in town two days ago, filling the Apple of My Eye Inn to capacity.
“Yeah, some of their crew has been hanging around up here, too,” Hawk said. “One of ’em gave me some trouble the other day. Nothing physical,” he added quickly when he saw my outraged expression. “Just telling me I didn’t have a right to be here or to post signs at Glassy Ridge, like he wasn’t aware that Evola didn’t actually own the land and the project hadn’t been approved yet. Means my protest is pretty timely.”
“That’s not okay. We should call someone?—”
