Page 11 of S'more Mountain Man

The morning air outside was already thick with humidity, the aftermath of the storm evident in puddles and debris scattered across the clearing. Leif led me to an ancient Jeep Cherokee parked beneath a lean-to at the edge of the property.

"This thing actually runs?" I asked, eyeing its mud-caked exterior skeptically.

"Better than your car at the moment."

Fair point.

The drive back to where I'd left my Kia took about twenty minutes of jostling down trails I would never have recognized.Leif navigated with the confidence of someone who knew every tree personally, barely glancing at the crude map he'd sketched for reference.

When my powder-blue car came into view, its cheerful color a stark contrast to the serious forest around it, something in my chest constricted. It looked so small and vulnerable, half-buried under fallen pine needles, the flat tire giving it a dejected, lopsided appearance.

"Oh no," I whispered.

"What?"

"It's just..." I swallowed hard, unexpected emotion welling up. "I was supposed to be responsible. I was supposed to show those kids the stars and make them love science as much as I do. And instead, I got lost like an idiot and ended up imposing on a complete stranger and—"

My voice broke, embarrassingly. I pressed my fingers to my eyes, willing the tears not to fall. I was not going to cry over a flat tire. Or disappointed tweens. Or my own incompetence.

"Hey." Leif's voice was softer than I'd heard it before. "Look at me."

I did, reluctantly. His expression had lost some of its edge.

"Getting lost happens to everyone. Even people who know these woods."

"Even you?"

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Once. Long time ago."

"What happened?"

"Found my way back. Same as you will." He nodded toward the car. "Let's see what we're dealing with."

To my surprise, he was methodical as he assessed the damage to my tire. He had a patch kit and portable aircompressor in his Jeep, and within thirty minutes, he had my tire holding air again.

"It's not perfect," he warned, wiping his hands on a rag. "But it'll get you to the camp. Just don't try driving back to Missoula on it."

"I wasn't planning to," I said, leaning against the car. "But the kids were planning a fun overnight adventure. We're supposed to do stargazing tonight, s'mores, the works."

"Good news is, weather's clearing. Should be perfect for stars."

I smiled at that. "Small mercies."

He hesitated, looking from the Jeep to my patched tire. "I'll follow you up. Make sure you get there."

"You don't have to do that."

"I know."

Our eyes met, and I saw something shift in his—a decision being made.

"I can help with the supplies, too," he added, glancing at my overstuffed trunk. "Looks like you've got enough in there to feed a small army."

"Twelve tweens plus chaperones. So, basically, locusts with smartphones."

That earned me a genuine chuckle, a low, rusty sound that suggested it didn't get much use. "Let's get you on the road, then."

We transferred some of the heavier items from my car to his Jeep—the telescopes, my duffel, and boxes of stargazing equipment. As we loaded the last bag, our shoulders bumped. I looked up, suddenly aware of how close we were standing.

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