Before I can do something stupid—like walk over and kiss that smug, adorable look off his face—I slip into my room and close the door gently. The second I’m alone, I lean back against it, clutching his shirt like a lifeline. Without thinking, I bring the fabric to my nose and inhale.
A few deep breaths later, I peel myself off the door and flip on the bathroom light. The harsh light makes me squint as I head for the sink. I splash cold water on my face, watching the clay mask crack and wash away.
Too bad I can’t rinse away the butterflies.
Because I’m screwed.
And the scariest part? I think I might like it.
Chapter Eighteen
Sienna
I’m not usuallya breakfast person—my default is coffee to go—but after watching Milo make perfect plates the last few mornings, I feel this ridiculous urge to return the favor. Especially since we’ve got a full day of jungle chaos ahead.
My knee bounces against the cabinet as I crack eggs into the pan and crank the hob to high. High heat cooks faster, right?Obviously.
The eggs immediately start sizzling. I ignore the warning signs and move on to the next task, popping bread into the toaster as I pack the picnic basket I found yesterday. I stuff it with sliced fruit, water, sunscreen, and snacks—all courtesy of the resort’s very generous “help yourself” snack bar by the pool that I raided.
My fingers tap restlessly on the counter. The usual chaos in my head feels different this morning—lighter, almost giddy. Like the idea of spending an entire day alone with Milo on an ATV in the jungle doesn’t completely terrify me.
The eggs are starting to smell… questionable. I peek into the pan and curse under my breath. They’re sticking to the bottom and browning like they’re trying to make a break for it.
“Come on, don’t betray me now!” I grumble, pushing them around aggressively with the spatula.
Behind me, the soft sound of bare feet on wood makes me spin. Milo walks in, hair deliciously sleep-mussed, wearing nothing but those low-slung gray sweatpants. His chest is bare, golden in the morning light, every line of muscle on full display.
Fuck me sideways.
He looks unfairly hot for someone who just rolled out of bed. My eyes do a quick, traitorous sweep of his chest down to the obvious morning wood in his sweats before I pull them back up.
“Morning,” I say, trying to sound casual and failing miserably. “I’m making us breakfast.”
Milo stops in his tracks, his eyes flicking from me to the smoking pan. One dark brow lifts. “You are?”
“Yeah. I’m trying, anyway. Mostly burned it. I told you yesterday I can’t cook,” I wave the spatula dramatically. “I usually skip breakfast and get coffee-to-go. Turns out high heat isn’t the move when you have no idea what you’re doing.”
He crosses the kitchenette in three strides. His hands land softly on my hips from behind—warm, steady, sending a spark racing up my spine. He gently shifts me to the side, reaches past me, and pushes the pan off the burner.
“Eggs on high heat will always betray you,” he says, his voice low and amused right next to my ear. “You have to give them time to cook gently.”
I swallow hard. “Noted. I was going for speed.”
He doesn’t step back right away. His hands stay on my hips a beat longer, thumbs brushing slow circles over the fabric of his shirt I’m wearing. “You look better in this than I do.”
My stomach does a full cartwheel. I roll my eyes even as my cheeks heat. “Flattery this early? You’re getting bold.”
“Observation,” he murmurs, finally stepping back to rescue the eggs. He dumps the ruined ones in the trash and startsover, moving with that confident efficiency that shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. “And you’re the one being domestic now, huh?”
I laugh, turning back to the basket so he can’t see how much that comment flusters me. “You’ll thank me later. Aria and Ethan are definitely sending us on a wild goose chase for this ATV treasure hunt. Better to be prepared than starving and sunburned.”
He glances over his shoulder, that almost-smile playing on his lips. “So, what you’re basically saying isyou’retaking care ofmenow?”
“Don’t let it get to your head,” I answer, stuffing two more water bottles into the basket because hydration matters, okay? “It’s purely selfishness.”
Milo chuckles. “Noted. Selfish picnic… I can live with that.”
“Good,” I grin. “Because you have no choice.”
