Page 28 of Make Mine Sweet
Does the sun have to be this bright? I should have grabbed sunglasses and sun hats for both of us, but I didn’t think a short hike could be this grueling.
“Mama,” August whispers. “Come look.”
He’s stopped at the edge of the path on the side that slopes down—it’s not especially steep, but I don’t like him so close to it. I gently take his shoulder and encourage him to take a step back.
“What do you see?”
“Shh!” He crouches, duck-walking closer to the edge. “Down there.”
I follow his pointing finger, but I don’t see anything. My hand goes to my belt, where I clipped a brand-new canister of bear repellent, my brain flooding with images of bobcats and snakes, bears and cougars. I never thought I’d have to be vigilant about predators this close to my own back yard.
Thank you for that, Ian Vaughn.
My caution is crowded out by the memory of Ian’s tentative smile the other night in the grocery store when he’d thanked me again for the cupcakes. It wasn’t much—the barest lift at the corners of his mouth—but I’m counting it.
My heart certainly had. It’d sped up and fluttered and generally behaved like it thinks we’re seventeen again.
I’d told him it was no problem, and we’d gone our separate ways. Or as separate as you can get in a smallish grocery store. We’d crossed paths three more times before I reached the checkout aisle, but we hadn’t stopped again to talk.
He hadn’t smiled again, either, but I’m not taking it personally. I don’t think he’s trying to be a jerk. I suspect he’s just out of practice with people. It’s kind of sweet, even though nothing about that should be endearing. Serial killers probably get out of practice with people, too. But those moments where he shows a glimpse of uncertainty behind his gruff exterior make me want to befriend him even more.
Befriend, Tess. And only befriend.
“Do you see it?” August whispers.
I stare into the sparse trees and shrubs below us. “What do you see?”
He points harder, which is less helpful than he thinks. At last, I spot it—a tiny gray bunny.
I release a huge exhale. “Thank goodness.”
“Can we get him, Mama?” He puts a sinister edge to his voice, like we’re experienced kidnappers lining up our next mark.
“He’d hop away before we ever reached him.” Plus, I’d never let August scale the side of this mountain, so there’s that.
He makes a small sound of acceptance. “I don’t have a bag, either.”
Becausethat’sthe real question when he sees a wild animal—does he have a bag big enough to nab it?
The bunny freezes for a second, then leaps away, disappearing into the scrub brush.
August slumps lower into his crouch now that his quarry’s gone. “Aww.”
“Sorry, buddy.” In a “sorry, not sorry”way.
We stand, but the sound of gravel crunching has me turning to look up the trail. It curves around a switchback just past us, and I can’t see who’s coming.
Orwhat. Footsteps land in quick succession, spiking my heart rate. People don’t run like that. What do bears sound like when they run? I step in front of August, touching the canister on my belt again. Should I take it out? Get the safety off? Maybe I should have done a practice spray in the yard. I never thought I’d actually have to use it, let alone the first day I had it.
I brace myself, ready for anything. Except for the big, brown animal that appears, running full tilt. My heart lurches even as I realize what it is.
“Dutch!” August moves around me and throws his arms out wide in greeting. Dutch stops short of jumping up on him, skidding to a halt so he can soak up the love. His tail wags a steady beat, his panting muzzle open in a maniacal grin. “You found us, boy!”
I put my hand on my chest, breathing hard. Thank goodness I didn’t mace Ian’s dog. There aren’t enough cupcakes in the world to make up for that.
Speaking of…up the trail, Ian comes around the bend at a light jog. Pretty sure my heart jolts even harder than it did when I thought we were about to be attacked by a wild animal.
He’s shirtless. My brain slips into shock as he comes to a stop about ten feet away.
