Page 107 of Bloom

I don’t think a takeaway coffee and a croissant breakfast sandwich should cause quite so many warm-and-fuzzy feelings, but here I am, weak in the knees anyway. Taking both from him, I only briefly hesitate before rising on the balls of my feet and kissing him, murmuring my thanks against his lips before shyly retreating.

Toying with the end of my braid, Hunter glances over his shoulder, and I know he spots the pink tent I’ve yet to stuff into my backpack because the curve of his mouth gets less soft, more teasing—more stiff too, oddly. “Got everythin’ you need?”

“Think so.” Is it awkward? I feel like it’s a little awkward, like some uncomfortable tension thickens the air. Or maybe that’s just me being hyper aware of how hard I’m fighting the urge to ask him to join me; how close I am to losing that battle. “I should probably get going.”

I definitely don’t imagine Hunter’s nod being a little jerky. Is he mad I didn’t tell him? I didn’t know I had to. It’s not like we had plans. We haven’t had plans for a couple of days now; I haven’t seen him since the morning I woke up in his bed. In fact, I’ve barely heard from him at all because I’ve been too busy at Bloom to go to the ranch and he’s been too busy at the ranch to come into town, and he issonot a texter.

It dawns on me just then that maybe, just maybe, this might be a petty camping trip. A demonstration ofcasual. A greatalternative to staring at Bloom’s front door all weekend, waiting for Hunter to walk through it.

Instead, he walks me to the driver’s side of my truck. He opens the door for me, shuts it for me too. Leaning in through the open window, he kisses me once, twice, three times, pecking away at resolve before stepping back. And as he waves me off, I convince myself I imagine the disappointed look on his face.

I should’ve brought the dogs.

It’s too quiet. Beautiful and serene, but so,soquiet. The trail was busy, but it seems like most people are camping at Pear Lake—which is exactly why I circled back to stay at the Emerald Lake campsite. Except for a couple other tents in the near distance, I’m pretty much alone.

I feel it. Alone.Lonely. It’s been a while since I hiked by myself, since the quiet trills of nature weren’t accompanied by the heavy footsteps and even breaths of a companion. And what’s weird is the solitude doesn’t strike me as all that familiar. As if over the summer, I slowly, bit by bit, unlearned what it felt like to be by myself all the time.

It’s unnerving how much I dislike it. How much slower the time seems to pass; I could’ve sworn dusk was only around the corner when I found a spot to settle for the night, but when I checked the time, I found sunset still hours away.

I set up my tent. I paddled in the lake, hoping the fresh water would wash away the weird restlessness itching my skin as well as a late summer’s day worth of sweat. I watched the sunset, stared at the star-speckled sky, flicked through my mom’s journal, and still, I couldn’t settle. Still, I find myself sighing atthe mesh roof of my tent, willing the low buzz of cicadas to lull me to sleep.

When the insectile clicking turns to the chirp of awakening birds and the oppressive darkness of night begins to fade, I fight the urge to scream.

Throwing off the thin sheet I brought in lieu of a sleeping bag—God knows I don’t need one of those in this heat—I start to get up, figuring I might as well get an early start. I should probably just go home. I planned for two nights in the wilderness, but what’s the point? How is this any less pathetic than moping around in my apartment? If I leave now, I can make it back in time to open the store and give Nova the day off. Yes, I’ll—

I pause mid-reach for the tent’s zipper, frowning. I could’ve sworn I heard…

Rustling. Lots of it. Loud rustling caused by something heavy, something that sounds like it’s heading in my direction.

Of all the things in the world that scare me, wildlife has never been one of them. I know a whole lot of it lurks in Sequoia—Lux doesn’t keep a shotgun in a locked cabinet for no reason—but it’s always been a hypothetical danger. Never once have I touched the bear spray permanently clipped to my backpack. I’ve never reached for it like I do now. I’ve never all but accepted my fate as bear food like—

Thebearsays my name.

Unzipping my tent, I stare incredulously at the definitely-not-a-bear crouched in front of me. “Hunter?”

What’s also definitely not a sleep-deprived hallucination reaches out to tuck a strand of mussed hair behind my ear. “Hey.”

“What’re you doing here?”

Hunter shrugs, too nonchalant. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Couldn’t… I blink. “So you hiked out here?”

He nods.

An astonished noise leaves me. And another when I glance around him to see the sun still kissing the horizon. “In the dark? That’s so dangerous!”

“Yeah, well.” He’s smiling. I almost just sprayed red pepper oil in his eyes, and he’ssmiling. He’s quipping, “I’m abig guy. Could take on a bear, don’t you think?”

Aldo. I’m gonna kill him.

Hoping my scowl takes the attention off my flushed cheeks, I reach out to poke Hunter’s chest, but he catches me by the wrist, kisses the back of my hand, and my scowl melts right off. When he tugs, I go, crawling out of the tent and letting him tug me to my feet.

Now that the shock of his presence is wearing off, I can take in the bare-chested glory before me. The sweaty sheen. The loose gym shorts—emphasis onshort. The criminally,criminally, attractive backwards baseball cap. Shoulders, pectoral muscles, and biceps flex in unison as he shucks off a small rucksack and drops it to the ground, and I’m wondering if he brought a tent or if he plans to try stuff himself in mine when he takes my hand again. “Sorry,” he mutters gruffly, and I frown.

“For what?”

“Crashin’.” Dare I say he lookssheepish? Staring at our hands, a little pink in the cheeks—and I don’t think it’s sunburn. “Tried to leave you alone.”

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