Page 5 of The Blaze Between Us

Chapter 3 - Tasha

I wake up before my alarm, my body humming with an anticipation I haven't felt in years—maybe ever. The early morning light filters through the cabin's wooden blinds, casting golden stripes across the quilt. For a moment, I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, replaying yesterday's encounter.

Brock Sullivan. In the flesh. Finally.

After four years of seeing him through the filter of Facebook photos and Ellie's stories, being in his actual presence was... overwhelming. No curated social media image could capture the commanding presence he has in person. The way he fills a room without even trying. The deep timbre of his voice that seems to still resonate in my chest.

And those eyes—the most striking blue I've ever seen, crinkled at the corners when he smiled. Eyes that seemed to really see me, not just look at me.

I roll over and grab my phone, checking the time: 6:42 AM. Still plenty of time to get ready for our hike, but my hands and legs are still shaking at the thought of spending the entire morning with him. Alone.

"This is not a date," I remind myself firmly as I swing my legs out of bed. "He's just being nice because Ellie has been occupied. And he's literally old enough to be your father."

Though not my father, thank god. My own dad has been a distant figure at best since Mom died when I was fifteen, drowning his grief in bourbon rather than helping his daughter through hers. Nothing like the man Ellie describes, who made pancakes every Sunday and never missed a school event, who rebuilt his life around raising his daughter after losing his wife.

I pad to the bathroom and turn on the shower, catching sight of myself in the mirror. My hair is a wild mess of bed-head curls, and yesterday's minimal makeup has smudged under my eyes. Definitely not the polished look I'd prefer for seeing Brock again.

"Get it together, Tasha," I mutter to my reflection. "It's a hike, not a cocktail party."

Still, I take extra care in the shower, shaving my legs even though I'll be wearing hiking pants and using the fancy shower gel I usually save for special occasions. I blow-dry my hair instead of letting it air-dry into its natural waves, then apply tinted moisturizer, mascara, and a touch of tinted lip balm. Subtle enough to look natural, but definitely more effort than my usual hiking preparation.

Back in the bedroom, I face my limited wardrobe options. I didn't pack for impressing anyone, just for comfort and practicality. After trying on three different combinations, I settle on my most flattering hiking pants—the ones that actually make my butt look good—and a moisture-wicking teal v-neck that brings out the gold flecks in my eyes. I layer a lightweight flannel over it, leaving it unbuttoned. Casual but cute.

As I'm lacing up my hiking boots, my phone chimes with a text.

*On my way. Should be there in about 10. Hope you like breakfast burritos. -Brock*

I type back quickly: *Love them! Can I make coffee to contribute?*

His response comes immediately: *Already have some in a thermos, but thanks. See you soon.*

He's thought of everything. Of course he has.

I finish getting ready, double-checking my small backpack with water, trail mix, sunscreen, and a light jacket. When I hear thecrunch of tires on gravel outside, my pulse quickens. A quick glance in the mirror—I look good. Natural, but put-together. Like a woman who definitely isn't trying too hard to impress her best friend's father.

I open the door just as Brock is climbing the porch steps, and the sight of him nearly makes me faint. He's dressed simply in khaki hiking pants and a navy henley that stretches perfectly across his broad shoulders. His dark hair is slightly damp, and the morning stubble along his jaw makes him look rugged in a way that has me thinking how good it must be to feel it rubbing against my skin.

"Morning," he says with a smile that crinkles those blue eyes. He holds up a paper bag. "Breakfast delivery as promised."

"You didn't have to do that," I say, stepping back to let him in. "But I'm definitely not complaining. It smells amazing."

"Best breakfast burritos in town," he says, setting the bag on the counter. "Made by Madeline at the diner. She's been feeding Cedar Falls for forty years."

Everything about him radiates competence—from the way he arranged our impromptu breakfast to how he carries himself. It's incredibly attractive.

"Did you sleep okay?" he asks, glancing up at me.

"Like a rock," I say, hoping my face doesn't betray how much of that sleep involved dreams about him. "The mountain air knocks me out."

He chuckles, "It does that. Especially after hiking."

We settle at the small table by the window to eat, and I take a bite of the burrito—eggs, cheese, chorizo, and green chiles wrapped in a fresh tortilla.

"Oh my god," I moan before I can stop myself. "This is incredible."

Something flickers in his eyes at my reaction, and I feel the heat creep into my cheeks.

"Told you," he says, his voice a touch lower than before. "She doesn't mess around."

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