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Sterling jerked back, one hand flying to his eyes. “Sienna—shit⁠—”

“Oh, my gosh,” I gasped, immediately horrified but also vibrating with adrenaline. “Oh no. Oh no, no, no—sorry—so sorry! Reflex! Trauma reflex!”

He coughed, blinking rapidly, his lashes clumped with tears. His eyes went red around the edges, watering like he’d just watched the saddest ASPCA commercial known to man.

“For the record,” he rasped, “I deserved that less than most men do.”

I made a helpless squeaking sound. “You followed me into the woods!”

He opened his mouth, then shut it quickly when the air hit his eyes again. He winced, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Okay,” he muttered, blinking like he was fighting through literal flames. “That’s fair.”

My hands wouldn’t steady, but it wasn’t him I was shaking from. It was the disappointment blooming like a bruise under my sternum. A familiar ache. A hated one.

That sinking recognition, that somehow, yet again, a man had lit up the old wiring of my fear before I could stop it. It grated over something unhealed deep inside me, the part that still carried echoes I wished I’d left in Boston.

Sterling blinked at me through watery, reddened eyes, squinting like he was trying to see through the pain. “Sienna,” he said, his voice still rough, “I wasn’t trying to scare you. I was just worried about you.”

“Why would you do that…” I gestured vaguely at the trees, as if they’d back me up. “You can’t follow people. That’s—that’s weird. That’s…stalker behavior.”

“Is it?” he asked, like that idea had never occurred to him.

“Yes!” My voice had finally found volume again. “That’s literally the definition!”

“It’s also the definition of guarding. Staying close to protect. The only difference between a stalker and a bodyguard is intent.” He stepped closer, but not enough to crowd me. His movements were still cautious, like he was giving me space to back up if I wanted to.

It only made me marginally less afraid. “What makes you think I need protecting?”

He inhaled sharply, which was apparently a mistake because he sucked in more pepper-spray air and coughed once, turning away to blink hard. “I stopped by the inn,” he said hoarsely.

My stomach did a weird flutter. “Why?”

“To see you,” he said, like that should have been clear to me. He pushed on in a voice rough with both honesty and capsaicin. “Hattie told me you were hiking. And⁠—”

He blinked hard again, another tear slipping free. “There’s a drifter in the area. Trail cams picked him up the last few nights.”

The woods went quiet around us—too quiet.

“What exactly is a…drifter?” I asked, hearing the tremor in my voice.

“The type of hiker you don’t want to bump into.” He met my eyes through the red, watery haze. “He’s been leaving pieces of himself across the woods. Ripped shirts, blood on a few branches. Doesn’t stay in one direction long enough to make sense of it.”

My pulse thudded hard.

Sterling’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t like the idea of you out here alone with that going on.”

I squeezed the pepper spray in my hand as regret, fear, and some ridiculous spark of warmth tangled inside me.

“So you came looking for me,” I said, softer now.

He nodded once, slowly. “Yeah,” he said. “To make sure you were safe.”

“I can handle myself,” I responded automatically, although my life would definitely say otherwise.

His gaze darkened, a quiet heat threading through it. “You shouldn’t have to,” he said. As if the world expecting anything different was personally offensive to him.

The words punched straight through the brittle armor I’d been taping around myself since Boston. I tried to pull back, emotionally if not physically…but I was worried it was a doomed endeavor.

“Did you get dizzy?” he asked abruptly. “Back there?”