Page 17 of Lost in the Wild

Heart in my throat, I hang back in the doorway. Rowan glances down at me then squeezes past, our bodies brushing together in a fleeting, tickly rush of warmth. As soon as his back is turned, I sag against the door frame, weirdly dizzy.

No one has ever had this effect on me. Ever.

The room is on the top floor—a converted loft. The ceiling is high and arched, supported by wooden beams, and the bed tucked against the wall has a patchwork quilt.

No brown pelt on the floor, but there is a woven cream and black rug.

There’s a wooden chest of drawers too. A rickety side table and a hard pine chair.

Aaand… that’s it.

It’s nothing.

“We don’t have to stay in here the whole time, obviously.” My arm swipes across my flushed forehead. “We can drop our stuff and go hang out in town. Or, um. Go for a walk along the river. Or something.”

I’m babbling. Rowan walks slowly across the room, hands in his pockets, while the floorboards groan under every step. He stops by the bed, head tilting to examine the pattern on the quilt.

He’s silent.

I’m so nervous I feel a little faint.

“Or there are cafes and coffee shops and bars in town. We could—are you hungry?”

I’m starving. A bag of berries isn’t much for a five hour hike, and it’s not like I usually skip lunch. Back home, I’m a snackosaurus.

Rowan clears his throat, wheeling around like he’s just remembered I’m here. He looks guilty, though all he’s done is walk inside and peek at the bed.

“Food?” I prompt.

Rowan nods. “Yeah. Of course. But first… Evie, would you do me a favor?”

It’s probably lame, but I would do literally anything for this man.

“Sure,” I say.

Rowan gusts out a long breath. “Will you cut my hair?”

* * *

Thirty minutes and one quick supply run later, we’re set up with a pair of scissors in my hand. The rug is rolled against the wall, and the pine chair is set in the middle of the floor, on top of a spare sheet to catch the hair.

Rowan sits bolt upright, a towel draped around his sturdy shoulders. I’ve dragged the side table close and spread it with my brand new hairdressing supplies.

They didn’t cost much, but Rowan insisted on paying for everything. When I was shocked that he had money tucked in those jeans at all, he rolled his eyes and said, Grabbed some before we left. I’m not clueless, Evie.

My stomach rumbles loudly.

Rowan glances around, concerned, his gaze roving down my body. I swear, everywhere he looks, tingles explode across my skin. “Should we eat first?”

“Hell no.” Gathering a handful of tangled dark hair, I point my scissors at him. “Don’t you dare take this moment away from me.”

With a huff of laughter, Rowan faces forward again. “Do your worst, Daniels.”

Oh, I will.

How many times over the last twenty-four hours have I peered at Rowan, desperately trying to picture him without his caveman hair and beard? How many times has he caught me staring, lips parted, trying to mentally airbrush all those tangles away?

It’s on.

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