Page 25 of Bloom

Honestly, I can't afford to look—he was right about the last bit being a scramble. I have to grit my teeth and use every ounce of strength and concentration in an effort not to fall on my ass.

As it is, that one tiny glimpse of glistening back dimples almost costs me; a loose rock makes my foot slide, a small yelp escaping me as I teeter backward. But before I even come close to hitting the ground, a hand hauls me upright, lingering even when both my feet are firmly planted on the ground. Cheeks flushed, I stare at the thick, tan fingers wrapped around my lower arm, making me look pale and puny.

“You okay?”

I nod slowly, not really able to focus on the words coming out of Hunter’s mouth because all my attention is on the warmth of his palm. Warmth that spreads when that palm moves up, across, and down to rest flat against the middle of my back, oh-so-briefly brushing against the sliver of bare skin between my bra and my shorts as it pushes me forward slightly. “You go first.”

I do as he says, expecting him to fall back, to let me take the lead and put a healthy distance between us again.

I'm learning very quickly that Hunter never does what I expect.

Instead, he lingers right behind me, practically at my side, what feels like a million miles closer than he was before. Watchful eyes burn a hole in me, probably making sure I’m not about to go down and take him with me. I'm so focused on making sure I don't do exactly that, I almost don't notice when the trail evens out.

Not until my name is muttered quietly and another touch grazes my lower back do I look up, sucking in a tiny breath at the sight that greets me. “Woah.”

Hunter hums in agreement, the sound so close to my ear, it makes me shiver. “Worth it?”

“Definitely.” My memory did not do this place justice. It didn’t adequately capture the rugged terrain, the tall trees scattered around the lake’s edge, the glass-like water that screams for me to strip off and wash away the arduous past few hours.

I probably would, if I didn’t have a one-man audience. Imagining my less-than-impressive naked body next to Hunter’s makes me want to laugh.

Or cry.

When Hunter starts towards the lake's edge, I follow close behind. Wiggling one arm free from my backpack, I swing itaround so I can fish out my camera. It’s by memory alone that I find one particular spot next to the lake. I’ve stared at the picture of mom standing right here so many times, it’s ingrained in my brain. Lifting the same camera she once used to capture the place, I snap a few shots, but mostly, I just stare. Take it all in. Think about my mom.

I jump when a gruff offer rings out. “Want one of you?”

“No.” On the list of things I’m terrible at, posing for photographs is surely near the top. Trudging back to Hunter, I sit beside him. “Thank you, though.”

Surprise, surprise—he grunts.

Pretending to fiddle with the camera, I discreetly watch my hiking partner. As he squints at the lake, he looks peaceful. Pensive. Not at all fatigued, which I try so very hard to not find so very annoying.

I wonder how long this will last. The oddly amicable silence. It’s not awkward or uncomfortable, but still, I itch under the weight of it. Pleasant but unbearable. If Hunter had it his way, we probably wouldn’t speak at all.

I, on the other hand, can only take so much. “So you're from Georgia?”

His head whips towards me, dark brows furrowed.

Okay.

Maybe not such a safe topic.

“I saw your license plate,” I rush out. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry, I was just—”

“Caroline,” he cuts me off in the gentlest tone I've ever heard leave his mouth. “Relax.”

I drop my gaze to my lap, wrinkling my nose. “Sorry.”

The silence settles again, heavier this time. Twiddling my thumbs, I’m seriously debating taking that swim after all, fully clothed if it means I have an excuse to be somewhere else, when his quiet drawl grabs my attention.

“Yeah.” The word is strained, and when I glance aside I find his expression twisted, like making small talk is some great challenge for him. “Just outside of Blue Ridge.”

“Pretty.”

“You’ve been?”

“No.” I’ve never left Haven Ridge, let alone the state. “I’ve seen pictures.”

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