Page 12 of Love so Hot

I feel my cheeks flush, and not just from the heat of the campfire. Sage knows my past—the constant struggle for my parents' attention, the desperate need to prove myself. I just smile ruefully and shake my head. "You probably understand me better than I do, Sage."

She nods, her eyes warm with empathy. "Many of us have pasts we're running from. It's what brought us here, to this place. We're all seeking acceptance in our own ways."

I stare into my bowl of stew, watching the vegetables swirl as I push them around. "Yeah," I murmur. "And some of us are also seeking love."

Sage reaches out, placing a comforting hand on my arm. "It's okay to seek those things, Willow. But remember, the more youshow yourself acceptance and love, the less you'll need to seek it from others."

I swallow hard, fighting back the sudden sting of tears. "Thanks, Sage. Really."

She smiles, then shifts gears. "So, did you and River agree on a strategy for tomorrow?"

I straighten up, grateful for the change of subject. "Actually, he left it up to me. I do have a plan."

Sage's eyebrows rise with interest. "Oh? What did you come up with?"

I open my mouth to respond, then hesitate. The plan I've concocted suddenly feels both brilliant and terrifying. Am I really ready to share it? To commit to it?

My stomach does a little flip and I force a smile. "Well, it's not exactly... finalized yet. I think I need to mull it over a bit more before I share it with anyone."

Sage's eyes narrow slightly, and I can tell she's picked up on my nervousness. She reaches out and squeezes my hand. "I hope you find peace with your actions and intentions, Willow. Whatever you decide, make sure it aligns with your heart."

I nod, grateful for her understanding. "Thanks, Sage. I'll keep that in mind."

As she walks away, I slump back against a nearby tree, my bowl of stew cooling in my hands. The camp bustles around me, a hive of activity as fellow Earth Defenders chat, laugh, and prepare for tomorrow. I should be out there, pumping everyone up for our big stand against the pipeline. Instead, I'm hiding in the shadows, second-guessing every decision.

I spoon some lukewarm stew into my mouth, barely tasting it. My eyes keep drifting to the far side of the camp, where River is animatedly discussing something with a group of newer recruits. Even from here, I can see the fire in his eyes, the passion that drew me to him in the first place.

God, I'm pathetic. Mrs. Sullivan and Sage are right—I shouldn't be seeking his approval. But how do you turn off feelings like a faucet?

With a sigh, I set my half-eaten stew aside and push myself to my feet. Maybe some yoga will help clear my head. I make my way over to where a few others are stretching by the trees, their silhouettes backlit by the setting sun.

"Mind if I join?" I ask, trying to shake off the weight of my conflicted emotions.

One of them pats the ground beside her. "The more the merrier! We're just about to start some sun salutations."

As I settle into the familiar poses, I try to focus on my breathing, on the stretch of my muscles. Anything to quiet the voice in my head that keeps whispering, "What would River think?"

Chapter Seven

Willow

10 yearsold

I clutch the bundle of dandelions in my sweaty little hand, their sunny yellow heads bobbing as I race across the manicured lawn. The flowers are my treasure, plucked from the untamed edges of our property where wildness still reigns.

"Here, Mom!" I thrust the bouquet towards her, beaming with pride. She's perched on a fancy wrought-iron chair, looking like a queen on her patio throne next to Dad.

Mom's face lights up as she takes the flowers. "Oh, they're beautiful! Thank you, sweetheart." She brings them to her nose, inhaling deeply.

I'm basking in the glow of her approval when Dad's gruff voice cuts through my happiness like a machete. "Margaret, those are weeds. You shouldn't encourage her."

My heart sinks faster than a stone in our fancy fountain. I want to disappear into the perfectly trimmed hedges.

Mom gives him a look that could wilt my dandelions. "She's ten, Robert. She doesn't know any better."

I do know better, though. I know those aren't fancy florist flowers, but I thought they were pretty. I thought Mom would like them because they're alive and growing freely. Now I just feel dumb and small.

Desperate to escape the awkwardness, I spot my cousins splashing in the fountain. Maybe they'll let me play.

---