Page 12 of The Blaze Between Us

"Perfect timing," I say, trying to sound upbeat despite our waterlogged state.

Tasha pushes back her hood, revealing her damp hair clinging to her neck and cheeks. She's breathing hard from our rushed descent, her chest rising and falling visibly, and despite the chill in the air, I feel suddenly warm.

"How long do these storms usually last?" she asks, wiping rainwater from her face.

"Hard to say. I didn’t expect it to start this fast. Could be twenty minutes, could be a couple of hours." I set my backpack on the bench and rummage through it. "Here," I say, pulling out a small towel I keep for emergencies. "It's not much, but it's dry."

She takes it gratefully, dabbing at her face and hair. "Always prepared, aren't you?"

"Occupational hazard," I reply with a small smile.

The shelter is tiny—no more than eight by eight feet—forcing us into closer proximity than I'm prepared for. I can see the raindrops clinging to her eyelashes, the way her wet clothes cling to the curves of her body. I force myself to look away, focusing instead on the downpour outside.

"I'm sorry about this," I say. "Not exactly the hiking experience I promised you."

"Are you kidding? This is an adventure." Her voice holds genuine enthusiasm despite her shivering. "How many people get caught in a mountain thunderstorm with the fire chief as their personal safety guide?"

I laugh despite myself. "When you put it that way, I guess it's not so bad."

"It's not bad at all," she says, "Actually, being stranded here with you is kind of perfect."

Chapter 5 - Tasha

The moment the words leave my mouth, I want to call them back.

"I just mean it's better than being stuck out here alone," I clarify quickly, feeling heat rise to my cheeks despite the chill of my wet clothes. "You know, with someone who knows what they're doing. Wilderness-wise."

Great recovery, Tasha. Super smooth.

Brock nods, his attention focused on the sheets of rain falling just beyond our shelter. "Still, not how I planned your first visit to the falls."

I try not to watch the water dripping from his dark hair or notice how his soaked shirt clings to his broad shoulders. Instead, I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly conscious of how my own wet clothes must look. The thin fabric of my t-shirt is probably revealing way more than I'm comfortable with, especially to a man who is literally my best friend's father.

A shiver runs through my entire body, betraying my attempt to seem unbothered by our situation.

Brock notices immediately. "You're freezing," he says, concern in his voice as he unzips his backpack and pulls out a compact silver emergency blanket. "Here, take off your wet jacket."

"I'm fine, really—"

"Tasha," he interrupts, his tone gentle but firm. "Hypothermia is a real risk, even in summer. Wet clothes will drop your core temperature quickly."

The authority in his voice leaves no room for argument. This is the fire chief speaking, the man who keeps his communitysafe. It's oddly comforting, even though being the focus of his attention makes me nervous.

I shrug out of my soaked jacket, immediately feeling the cool air against my damp arms. My t-shirt is wet too, clinging uncomfortably to my skin, but there's no way I'm removing that, no matter how practical it might be from a safety perspective.

Brock unfolds the emergency blanket—a thin, metallic sheet that crinkles loudly in the small space.

"It's not exactly luxury," he says with a slight smile, "but it's remarkably effective."

He moves behind me, draping the blanket around my shoulders. I feel the warmth of his presence at my back, so close that his breath stirs the damp hair at my neck.

"Thank you," I say, pulling the blanket tighter around myself.

Brock moves to the far end of the small bench, maintaining a respectful distance as he sits down.

"We should be able to wait out the worst of it here. The lightning's the main concern—once that passes, we can head back even if it's still raining."

I nod, sitting on the opposite end of the bench. The small shelter suddenly feels very intimate, the sound of rain creating a curtain of white noise that seems to separate us from the rest of the world.

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