Page 95 of One Small Spark
Wren: All he did was ask you to dinner
Shepherd: Where he would have interrogated me about my intentions
Wren: What are your intentions?
Shepherd: Be specific. I have many
Wren: Do you ever play yacht rock on your guitar and stare broodily into the fire?
Shepherd: Come by some night and find out
Wren: Goodnight, Shepherd
Shepherd: Sweet dreams, Wren
TWENTY-SIX
WREN
“You didn’t mentionthe hike we’d have to take to get to the hot springs.” Panting would be unladylike and an embarrassment, but I am breathinghard.
“I most certainly did.”
Shepherd walks in front of me carrying our tote bags full of towels and snacks. The trail through the forest is practically overgrown with ferns and shrubs, and we have to stay single file. When the path isn’t riddled with tree roots and rocks, it’s muddy. My sneakers are already inches deep in it. The smell of pine trees and dirt overwhelms my senses.
It’s also shockingly cold. There’s no snow, thank goodness, but our breath fogs in front of us and I’m already debating the wisdom of stripping down to my swimsuit once we get to the hot spring. I’m about to break out in a full-body goosebump.
I grumble at myself for agreeing to do this in the first place.
Days off are meant for sleeping in until you start to feel gross and wearing pajamas all day long. Burrowing in and reading, only getting up for snacks and emergencies. They were never intended to be used for rolling out of bed at a decent hourand walking through the woods like a lumberjack in search of his next victim.
Shepherd, naturally, is dressed for the job. He’s got a thick flannel jacket on over jeans and boots, his long hair and beard making him look like he yearns for a good clearcut. He’s only missing the axe and ear-flap hat to complete the picture.
I’m dressed less iconically. I opted for baggy sweatpants, a gray sweatshirt withPlease go awayprinted on it, and a messy bun that wobbles atop my head. No makeup because why bother when I’m going to steam it all off. If Shepherd wants an all-natural date, he gets an all-natural Wren to go with it.
An all-natural Wren who has zero trekking-in-the-woods skills.
“I think I’m experiencing some mild cardiac arrest.” All this pounding blood can’t be good for me.
“We can still see my truck from here.”
I spin around. Shepherd’s black truck is just visible through the mass of trees. A little sound of dismay croaks out of my mouth.
“We’re not even going uphill,” he says, amusement coloring his voice.
“So I’m not an outdoorsman.”
His low chuckle drifts back to me. “Would you like me to carry you the rest of the way?”
I purse my lips as he easily maneuvers on the trail. Something comes over me, I can’t explain what. I watch myself as if I’ve been hypnotized, skipping forward a few steps until I’m just behind him. And then, before I can stop it—I smack him on the butt.
He freezes. The utter silence in the woods alarms me as much as my behavior. He turns around in slow motion. I’ve always known giving in to the intrusive thoughts was a bad idea,but the absolute blaze in his eyes proves just how dangerous it can be.
“Oh,” he says low. “Is that how it is?”
He moves a fraction of a step closer to me, and I lunge backward. “No. Butt-smacking is a one-way street.”
“I don’t think so.” He takes another step forward.
