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We both turn at the sound of approaching footsteps.
I’m grateful for the interruption.
Finn and Holden are carrying armfuls of kindling into the clearing and stacking them by the fire.
“I’ll go see if they need some help,” Brooks says, setting his cup down.
I nod, my gaze dropping to the bins of food stored beneath the table. I’m impressed by the amount of provisions here. My assumption was Holden and his friends ate beef jerky and drank beer on these trips. But there are lots of snacks, including chips and dried fruit. Granola bars, which is what I focus on.
I squat to grab one out of the plastic bin.
“How’d you sleep?”
I pull in a deep breath as soon as I hear his voice.
“Shitty.” I straighten, keeping my focus on ripping the wrapper. It tears to the side instead of straight down, and I grit my teeth with irritation.
Warm fingers close around mine, taking the bar and easily opening it.
A thrill sneaks up my arm in response to the contact. This is the first time we’ve touched in…unfortunately, I knowexactlyhow long it’s been. Could tell you down to the day. Which is just as embarrassing as the realization I’m this affected by his hand brushing mine.
“Thanks,” I mutter, when he passes it back to me.
“You’re welcome.”
I finally meet his gaze, dreading and anticipating the moment our eyes connect. He’s even closer than I was expecting, his blue gaze intense and searching.
My inhale is ragged and unsteady. “How didyousleep?”
“Great.”
I huff a laugh. “Great. Good for you.”
He continues talking like I never spoke. “You were a couple of feet away, instead of eight hundred miles.”
My mouth goes dry, tongue turning to sandpaper.
I’m still mad at him—so mad.
Hurt—extremely hurt.
But those two primary emotions are beginning to wear through, revealing everything underneath.
Reminding me that thereasonI’m so mad and so hurt is he was gone, and I missed him in a visceral, painful way that kept me depressed even when I wasn’t consciously thinking about his absence. That scared me, honestly, because I’ve always known Holden has the power to devastate me but never experienced it to that extreme degree.
“You wearing a swimsuit?” he asks.
“Uh, no?” It comes out like a question, even though I’m certain I’m not.
“Well, unless you wanna skinny-dip, which I’m totally not opposed to…” His voice trails suggestively, my skin warming automatically in response to hearing that tone.
I glance away in an attempt to hide that reaction. “I’m not skinny-dipping.”
“Then go get changed.”
“What’s the rush? Almost everyone is still asleep.”
“They’re not coming.”
