Page 10 of Down Knot Out
“The water’s too cold for swimming. Pacific Northwest, remember? That water comes from the glaciers.”
She shudders, her happiness dimming. “Oh, yeah. One dip in those icy depths was enough for me.”
I kick myself for reminding her of her one and only time in the ocean, fleeing from Louie’s grasp, and I point to a bush as we pass. “Have you ever picked wild huckleberries?”
Her lips form an oh of excitement. “No! Do they grow here?”
“They do, though it’s a fight to pick them before the wildlife does.” The path narrows, forcing us to walk closer, and her body brushes mine with each step, sending electricity across my skin. “If we’re lucky, Holden will get enough to make us ice cream.”
“That man is a wonder.” Her brow furrows. “But what if the wildlife eats them all first?”
I bend to whisper in her ear. “Then we can order them online and pretend we picked them.”
She giggles. “Deal.”
We move away from the cleared paths, entering the tunnel of trees that leads toward the shoreline, and afternoon light filters through branches in dappled patterns, painting her skin in shifting gold.We fall into a comfortable silence, twigs breaking beneath our shoes, leaves rustling, and birds calling in the distance.
Every so often, her face turns upward, watching sunlight struggle through the canopy. And each time she smiles, small and private, like she’s sharing a secret with the island where I built my best memories. My gaze lingers on the curve of her jaw, the slope of her neck disappearing into the collar of my jacket, and hunger that has nothing to do with food tightens my gut.
She catches me staring and turns that secretive smile on me. “What’s that look for?”
Heat rises in my face, caught in my appreciation. “My jacket looks good on you.”
The words are inadequate for the possessive satisfaction I get seeing her in my clothing, but they’re all I trust myself to say.
She tugs at the sleeve, bringing it to her nose in a subtle movement. “Smells like you.”
The simple statement draws a purr from me, along with a deep satisfaction that she’s surrounding herself with my scent.
The trail begins to slope downward, the first hint that we’re approaching the water. Through breaks in the trees, glimpses of blue appear, the ocean shimmering under the midday sun.
“Almost there.” I guide her around a fallen log draped in emerald moss. “Careful of your step.”
Chloe stops, tugging my hand. “What are those?”
I follow the line of her finger to a cluster of mushrooms growing at the base of a cedar tree, small, cream-colored caps with gills the color of coffee.
“Oyster mushrooms.” I crouch, tugging her with me. “They’re edible. Holden forages for them sometimes.”
Her fingers hover near the cluster without touching, her expression caught between fascination and uncertainty. “They grow just anywhere?”
“They have preferences. Dead logs, certain trees.” I reach out, brushing a finger over one cap to show its velvety texture. “These like the moisture and shade.”
An earthy, sweet scent rises from the disturbed mushrooms, and Chloe leans closer, her shoulder pressing to mine, pink hair tickling my neck as she inhales.
“They smell like… rain,” she decides, looking up at me with an impish wrinkle of her nose that hooks behind my ribs and tugs.
I stand, helping her up with our still-joined hands. “There’s more to see. Come on.”
The trail curves around a massive Douglas fir, its trunk wider than both of us together. Sunlight breaks through more often now, the canopy thinning as we approach the water.
“Look here.” I point to a bush with spiky green leaves. “That’s a salmonberry bush. In May, they’ll bear orange and red berries.”
Chloe stares at it. “I’ve never heard of salmonberries.”
“They’re similar to blackberries and raspberries, but tart and not as sweet. Holden gathered enough to bake a tart last year.”
Chloe steps closer to the bushes, her free hand reaching out to touch the leaves with careful fingertips. “You can just eat things from the forest?”
