Page 39 of DFF: Delicate Freakin' Flower

His eyes met mine again, and this time, they didn’t dart away. They dropped, trailing slowly from my mouth to my collarbone to my stomach and then lower before he caught himself and looked sharply to the side.

Ohhh!

I stood and took a slow, deliberate step closer. “You sure everything’s fine?”

He swallowed like his throat had suddenly dried out. “No.”

I smiled, a little too pleased with myself. “Wanna try some yoga?”

“Not really.”

“Scared?” I teased.

His gaze snapped back to mine, intense in a way that immediately turned my stomach inside out. “Not of yoga.”

Everything shifted at that moment. One second, we were exchanging sarcasm, the usual sharp-edged back and forth. The next, we were standing toe to toe, the tension between us thick and buzzing with electricity. Webb tilted his face down toward mine, and I could feel the heat radiating off him. My breath caught as the tip of his fingers brushed against my hip, featherlight but deliberate.

I tilted my face up toward his, and he leaned in until our noses brushed. The air between us shifted—charged and expectant. I knew he was going to kiss me. I could feel it in every nerve, every cell, every heartbeat.

And then it happened—a loud snap cracked through the air, followed by the rattling clatter of tin and the unmistakable screech of a flare igniting.

The sound echoed through the trees like thunder. We both froze for a heartbeat, then jerked apart as instinct took over. Webb was already moving, his gun in hand, his stance sharp and alert.

“Shit,” he muttered, his eyes scanning the tree line beyond the clearing.

I looked where he was looking and felt the blood drain from my face. A thin streak of orange smoke rose between the trees, curling skyward from the direction of the eastern trail.

“Is that—” I started.

“One of the traps,” Webb said grimly. He was already stepping off the mat, his entire body coiled with purpose. “Something tripped it.”

My heart was suddenly pounding in a very different rhythm now. The kiss, the yoga, the teasing—all of it evaporated in a second. The warmth of the morning sun felt distant, washed out by the chill of what that flare meant.

Someone—or something—had just crossed the line.

The flare was still burning out in the trees, leaving an orange streak in the sky like a firework sent up by fate to ruin my morning.

I turned to Webb, who was frozen beside me, eyes wide, lips parted like he hadn’t decided whether to panic or punch something.

I didn’t budge.

“Inside,” Webb hissed. “Now! Go to the pantry and lock the door. You know the drill.”

I folded my arms. “Webb?—”

“Gabby, go.”

He looked like he was ready to throw me over his shoulder and haul me off like a sack of flour, but I planted my feet and stood tall. “No, I’m not hiding like a hostage in a cereal box. I’m staying.”

“We talked about this?—”

“I’ve got your back,” I told him as steadily as I could.

“With what?” he whisper-shouted, gesturing wildly like I was the crazy one here.

I pointed toward the crate by the firepit. “The sardines and those out-of-date wieners from the pantry.”

He just stared at me, his mouth opening and closing like he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “You’re going to fight off armed men with expired meat?”

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