Page 32 of A Vine Mess
My forehead creased as I turned to him. “Why not?”
He cleared his throat awkwardly, a flush appearing high on his sharp cheekbones. “I’m a man,” he growled. “I can’t—”
Helplessly, he gestured at his crotch, and it took everything in me not to allow my eyes to drift there. It all clicked anyway.
I was turning him on, and he was asking me to knock it off.
Putting the van in gear, he drove around the building and rolled us to a stop in a little lot along the tree line where a silty path disappeared into the woods.
The tension between us was so thick, you could cut it with a rusty spoon.
“Sorry,” I murmured.
Liam huffed out a laugh. “It’s okay. Just…part of the job description.”
“Of being a guy?”
“Of being around you,” he said quickly, then clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
I gave him what I’d hoped was a reassuring smile but it felt forced and brittle. “It’s okay.”
Clearing his throat again, he unceremoniously opened his door and threw himself from the van in an effort to get away from me.
I met him at the back of the vehicle, which he’d already opened and began digging through in search of his things.
“What will you need for tonight?” he asked, his tone clipped.
I stared at the side of his face, equal parts annoyed and confused by his change in mood. I couldn’t fucking control how people reacted to me, and the fact that he’d so quickly gone from…flirtingwith me—there was no other way to describe it—to this was disconcerting and disheartening.
When he didn’t acknowledge me further, I surveyed my luggage and pointed at one of the duffels, my backpack, and the reusable shopping bag I knew was layered at the bottom with a sweat suit and my toiletries.
He raised a skeptical brow but still kept his eyes off my face. “That’s it?”
I shrugged. “That’s it.”
Liam pulled the bags free and, arms laden with both my things and his, he jerked his head in the direction of the path, a sign pointing us toward Paddler’s Village.
“Wow,” I breathed when the wooded area opened up onto a large swath of sand, several yurts constructed sporadically along the water. They were a mix of red and green, draped in some sort of waterproofing material, and bigger than I expected.
Liam shot me a quick smile over his shoulder—though it was forced and brittle. “Pretty neat setup.”
Neatwasn’t the word I’d use.
Peacefulwas more like it.
It was early enough in the season that no one was here but us, and I relished that fact. That we had this entire stretch of beach, with the cold Lake Superior waters gently lapping at the shore, a canopy of budding trees at our backs, and the soft sand between my toes.
“This one is yours,” Liam said, walking up the steps to a yurt with an iron number two affixed beside the door.
I followed him, excitedly dancing on the balls of my feet while he unlocked it, then handed me the key before he pushed inside.
Truthfully, I had no idea what to expect. I wasn’t exactly well-versed in the camping experience. But I was pleasantly surprised.
“This isn’t so bad,” I told him as I pushed past—careful not to come into contact with his body; he didn’t need any more ammo to be a jackass—and into my home for the night.
First, I was most surprised by its spaciousness given its circular shape and how small it appeared from the outside. The walls were treated wood, stained lightly to let the natural grain shine through. The scent of fresh pine hung in the air, mixed with some sort of artificial freshener that reminded me of fall. It was clean, well lit, and both the bunk beds and sofa pushed to opposite sides looked plenty comfortable.
Liam snorted. “Don’t get used to it, Wildflower. There are some points on this trip when we’ll definitely be roughing it.”
