Page 42 of Love By a Landslide

Chapter twenty-two

Jonathan

You’d better cut that flirting out.

Jonathan traipsed along the perimeter of the clearing, collecting anything that could be used to build a fire. What had come over him? His focus should be on getting Lucy safely back to town, not seducing her. And what was with that nickname?Sunshine. It had slipped out a couple of times in an effort to comfort her, but he hadn’t anticipated how good it would feel rolling off his tongue.

He let out an irritated huff.

Get your shit together, man.

Jonathan stole a glance at Lucy. Her fingers struggled with a knot, face scowling in concentration. The nickname wasn’t inaccurate. She was warm and bright, like the morning sun. Aside from a few understandable mini-breakdowns, her optimism remained respectfully consistent throughout the last day and a half. She was tough and playful.

And sexy.

Being lost provided ample privacy. It’s not like anyone would come upon them if they were just to . . .

Jesus. Why had he reverted to thinking like a horny teenager? The lusty thoughts were altering his common sense, preventing him from conducting himself in the right way, given the risky circumstances. He was acting far too familiar with Lucy, and itwas going to get him—both of them actually—into trouble.

Arms full of tinder, Jonathan walked to where he’d laid out a firepit. Glancing up, he watched Lucy unravel the hammock and attach it to the first rope. He was sure she had never hung a setup like that before, but instead of offering to help, he was curious to see how she would do.

By this point, he would have bet money—and lots of it—that she was never anhonoraryEagle Scout. He’d been skeptical from the get-go but ignored the warning bells in his head and rationalized that stranger things had happened. And it was clear she hadsomeknowledge, but how much was yet to be determined.

By the time the flames crackled steadily, Jonathan had observed Lucy fail four times to set up the hammock. “How’s it going over there?”

“Fine,” she called back in a clipped tone.

“Do you need any help with—”

“No! Build your fire.”

Jonathan shook his head. “Stubborn woman.” His hands itched, the urge so strong to step in and help. Averting his eyes helped quell the impulse somewhat, but he decided to allow her five more minutes of fumbling before he took over the task.

He tended the fire awhile, ensuring it would hold up enough to prepare dinner and last for the remainder of the evening.

“Done!” Lucy called over to Jonathan. “Care to check my work?” she cracked sarcastically.

Rising to his feet, he strode over, observing the dismay that swept away her confident grin. A brief glance at the hammock was enough to deduce how flimsy the hang was. “Are you messing with me?”

Letting out an offended squawk, Lucy jabbed her fists onto her hips. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Jonathan picked up his pack and dropped it in the middle of the hammock without taking his eyes from Lucy’s. Knots unraveled as everything fell to the ground with a demonstrative thud. “You used overhand knots to tie the ropes. A falconer’s knot would have been better, or at least shoelace knots. You should know this, being an Eagle Scout and all.” He struggled to hold back a knowing grin, wondering how she would spin her lack of proper knot-tying knowledge.

Minty eyes flashing, Lucy opened and closed her mouth a few times, emitting no sound. She looked like a fish flopping on the deck of a boat, struggling to breathe. But instead of air, it was excuses she was desperate for. “I . . . It’s just that . . . You see . . .”

Jonathan slowly stepped toward Lucy, reducing the distance between them by half. She had to crane her neck to continue connecting with his gaze. She sure didn’t shy away from eye contact while fabricating her fibs. The mark of a great liar. Except Lucy sucked at it. Really sucked.

She was easy to read, didn’t blink, and vigorously wrung her hands together. Her tells were screams. For whatever reason, this comforted Jonathan. Instead of being angry that she was holding back the truth, he was amused. Watching how she stumbled over her words and stared aggressively with those shimmery fern-green eyes was slightly entertaining.

“Lucy,” he warned with a little more rumble than he intended. If possible, her eyes got even wider. Hands stopped wrenching. Mouth clamped shut. And Jonathan took another ill-advised step closer. Less than a foot separated them, and still, she didn’t look away. He watched her throat bob with a nervous swallow, wondering how she would respond if he reached out and slid a finger from chin to collarbone, tracing the line of motion. “You don’t have to lie to get what you want, sunshine.” The gravelly whisper stayed within the nearness of their proximity.

“Fine. Fine!” The first a broken squeak, the second a sturdier yelp. “I lied.”

She cut the stare between them, leaving Jonathan with a coolness as though she removed a warm hand from his nape. Goosebumps came and went, mimicking the bodily response to a cold gust. Lucy nudged a pebble with the toe of her shoe, her eyes fixed on the ground.

“I was never an Eagle Scout, honorary or otherwise.” The level of shame in her voice was disproportionate to her crime.

Empathy tugged at Jonathan’s heart. He ached to move closer and wrap his arms around her. Instead, he took a small step back, adding a bit of sensible distance. “Then why lie about it?” He was careful to ask without judgment but had to know the reason behind her misrepresentation.

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