Page 59 of Trapped with the Forest Ranger
"For me, either." The truth slips free without resistance. It feels right here, in the dark, in the warmth of him. "I don’t want to lose this."
He searches my face. Not pushing. Just present.
"What do you want?"
The question lingers in the air, heavy and full of dangerous hope.
"I don’t know." The words tremble, real, and rough. "Everything’s happening so fast. The National Geographic offer, us... I haven’t had time to think clearly."
"I understand." And somehow, I believe him. There’s no edge in his voice, no expectation—just steady, unwavering patience.
"But I’ve never felt this way before." I flatten my palm against his chest, feel the warmth of him, the rhythm I’ve already memorized. "Not with anyone."
"Even with such a short timeline?" A flicker of his earlier wariness returns, softened now by something warmer. Something that wants to believe.
"Maybe because of it." I lower myself back to him, cheek to his chest, letting the steady thrum of his heartbeat pull me under. "No time for masks or games. Just... us. Stripped bare."
His fingers start moving again. Slow. Soothing.
"Kim and I dated for two years before getting engaged. Thought we had it all figured out." Her name doesn’t wound him anymore. It drifts between us like a leaf in the current. "But looking back... I’m not sure we ever had the kind of honesty that happened between us this week."
"Different circumstances," I murmur.
"Maybe." His hand stills on my lower back. A breath stretches between us. "Or maybethisis something else entirely."
We fall silent again, each lost in private thoughts about possibilities and limitations, desires and realities.
His breathing steadies. The heat of his body wraps around me like a cocoon, anchoring me to this impossible moment. I try to memorize it all—his scent, the way his chest rises and falls beneath my cheek, the lazy drag of his fingers along my spine.
Sleep creeps in at the edges, soft and insistent.
"I don't want you to give up your dream." His voice is a low murmur, threading through the haze of almost-sleep. "That National Geographic assignment—it’s everything you’ve worked for."
"I know." My reply is drowsy, slurred by exhaustion and the ache of goodbye.
He’s quiet for a beat.
"But I don’t want to lose you before I’ve properly found you either."
That—that—breaks something open inside me. The vulnerability in it reaches past my slipping consciousness. I want to answer, to offer him something true, something brave—but sleep pulls me under before I can shape the words.
The last thing I feel is his arms tightening around me. Holding on. Just a little longer.
But morning comes too soon.
Pale light filters through the window, illuminating the tangle of sheets and limbs. I wake slowly, reluctantly, letting awareness wash over me in slow, aching waves.
Caleb breathes steadilybeside me, one arm draped across my waist, his body warm where it presses into mine. I lie still, letting myself pretend—just for a heartbeat—that this is normal. That we have more mornings like this ahead.
But reality seeps in. The sound of an approaching engine, too steady to be wind or wildlife. A Forest Service vehicle, right on schedule.
Time’s up.
Caleb stirs. His arm tightens around me for one last, instinctive second before he exhales and pulls away.
"Morning." His voice is sleep-rough, deep, and intimate.
"Morning." I don’t move. Not yet. I want to hold on to these last seconds where we’re still anus.
