Page 10 of S'more Mountain Man

"Fine. Maybe I was. But in my defense, this whole situation is straight out of a Lifetime movie.‘Single Young Female Lost in Woods, Rescued by Brooding Recluse with Abs of Steel.'You can't blame me for staring."

That almost-smile again. "Steel, huh?"

"Oh my god." I buried my face in my hands, mortification warring with inappropriate laughter. "Can we please pretend I didn't just say that?"

"If you want."

"I want." I dropped my hands, trying to regain some dignity. "So, the plan for today? My car, the camp, all that?"

"Roads should be clear enough now. We'll head out after breakfast, see what we're dealing with."

"Thank you. Seriously. Mandy—my friend—will kill me if I don't show."

"And you agreed to this... when?"

"Yesterday afternoon," I admitted. "Last-minute substitute. Their regular instructor got food poisoning."

He shook his head. "That's reckless."

"Excuse me?"

"Heading into unfamiliar terrain, no preparation, wrong equipment, no backup plan." He gestured at me with his fork. "That's how people die out here."

"I wasn't planning to get lost," I defended. "And I had backup equipment in the car."

"Let me guess. Telescope, sleeping bag, and enough sugar to put a grizzly in a diabetic coma."

I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it. "That's... disturbingly accurate."

"No first aid kit? Compass? Topographical map?"

"I had the GPS on my phone!"

"Which works great until it doesn't."

I bristled. "Not all of us grew up knowing how to track deer and make fire with our bare hands, Mountain Man. Some of us have other skills."

"Like getting lost in yoga pants?"

"Like teaching kids about space and science and wonder," I shot back. "Like making learning fun." I broke off, realizing I was getting genuinely angry, which was ridiculous given that he had, in fact, rescued me from my own poor planning.

I reached for my water glass, but it slipped from my fingers, toppling toward the floor. Leif's hand shot out, catching it with reflexes that would make a cat jealous, water barely sloshing over the rim.

Our fingers brushed as he handed it back to me, callused skin against my softer palm. A jolt of awareness shot up my arm,and our eyes met over the glass. Time seemed to stretch, the air between us going thick and heavy. I gulped.

He pulled away first, clearing his throat. "We should get going."

"Right. Yes. Going." I stood too quickly, almost knocking over the chair. "I should, um, check if my clothes are dry."

They were—mostly. My yoga pants still had stubborn mud stains at the knees, and my tank top was wrinkled beyond salvation, but they were wearable. I changed in the bathroom, reluctantly swapping Leif's comfortable flannel for my own rumpled clothes. My reflection in the small mirror was horrifying—hair a wild tangle, mascara smudged under my eyes despite my best attempts to wash it off last night.

"You look like you stuck your finger in an electrical socket," I muttered to my reflection. "Very attractive. A+ survival chic."

When I emerged, Leif had put on a shirt—a faded henley that clung to his torso in ways that were frankly unfair—and was packing a small duffel bag.

"Ready?" he asked, not looking up.

"As I'll ever be."

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