Page 17 of DFF: Delicate Freakin' Flower

She stomped up to me with the look of someone who’d just gone twelve rounds with nature and lost every single one.

“There arethingsin there,” she snapped, her voice sharp and scandalized.

“Yep,” I agreed, tossing another piece of wood onto the pile. “That’s why it’s outside.”

“You said snakes and spiders after I went in.”

“Well, yeah. I had to wait for that dramatic timing.”

She gaped at me like I’d just confessed to war crimes. “Ipanicked,Webb. I thought I saw a leg. Not aspider leg, aperson's leg.”

“Was it moving?”

“No, but it had a vibe.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. She looked down, suddenly realizing she was completely barefoot, standing on pine needles, twigs, and the vague possibility of a venomous reptile.

Her eyes snapped back to mine. “You didn’t remind me not to go out barefoot.”

I shrugged. “Didn’t think I had to. You’re in a bayou-adjacent forest, Gabby. We’ve got copperheads, fire ants, palmetto bugsthe size of small sandwiches, frogs that scream when you step near them, and raccoons withattitude.You’re lucky nothing took your toes for rent.”

She, of course, picked up on the thing I hadn't expected her to. “Frogs thatscream?”

“Like banshees. They're total drama queens.”

She froze, looked at the grass between us and the cabin, then back at me.

“I’m not moving.”

I raised a brow. “You’ve made it this far. Ten more steps won’t kill you.”

“Theymight.There could be, like, athousand snakes and spiders watching, just waiting for me to take a single barefoot step. I haveterrible luck if you haven't noticed,Webb. I’ll be the one who gets bitten on the pinky toe and has to be airlifted out of here.”

“And you want me to... what? Throw down a carpet?”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re gonna have to carry me.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“Like in my arms?”

“Princess-style,” she clarified, her eyes daring me to say no.

I stared at her, arms crossed. She crossed hers right back.

Then, in a quiet voice, she added, “Please.”

And just like that, sigh included, I set the axe aside, walked over, and bent slightly. “All right, let’s go, menace.”

“You’re a saint,” she praised me quietly, climbing into my arms like this was a scene in a romance movie gone horribly,horriblywrong.

“Don’t push it,” I warned, stepping carefully over a patch of grass. At the same time, she clutched my neck and dramatically lifted her feet like the ground was lava. Because of course she did.

Carrying Gabby wasn’t hard. She didn’t weigh much, not with how skinny she was from stress, adrenaline, and God-knows-what kind of PI diet she’d been surviving on. What made it weird was the way she curled into me like a panicked possum, legs tucked, arms looped around my neck like she was clinging to a life raft.

Every time I stepped over a stick, she made a little noise in her throat like she was expecting it to rise up and bite her.

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