Page 60 of Roughing It

Soon, there will be no more hesitation or holding back. No more worrying about what might happen, and I’ll praise her like she deserves.

I just hope I’m not left holding a shredded heart when Blakely’s time here comes to an end.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

blakely

DAY ELEVEN

I wake up in our bed with a pounding head and a fuzzy brain. Stupid whiskey.

Hudson and I kissed. A lot. More than all the past few days combined, but then he pulled back. Again. And I finished what was left in the bottle.

This song and dance—one step forward, two steps back—is getting old.

Despite my mental haze, I clearly remember Hudson’s concerns. It stings thinking he doesn’t trust my motives, but I guess I can’t blame him. I haven’t given him a ton of reasons to believe me.

“How’re you feeling?” Hudson asks, coffee already in hand.

“Shhh. Why are you yelling?”

He smirks. “I’m talking in a normal voice. You’re hungover.”

“Ugh, why aren’t you?”

His low, rumbly chuckle makes my stomach flip. “Some ofus can handle our whiskey,” he says. His handsome face grows serious. “If you’re worried we did more than kiss, you shouldn’t be. I wouldn’t take advantage of a situation like that.”

“I trust you, Bear.” I pause and swallow. “And you can trust me, too.”

Hudson kisses my temple. “I believe you, Spitfire. Now get dressed while I make you a coffee.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Why? Isn’t it still too cold to do anything?”

“Nope. Cold front moved out. It’s a balmy forty-seven out there.”

Groaning, I pull the blanket up over my head. “And what does this mean for me?”

He yanks the cover down. “We’re going fishing.”

One brisk shower, two cups of coffee, a dry piece of toast, and a tiny disagreement about what to wear while fishing later, Hudson and I are on our way. His arms overflow with a small styrofoam cooler, his backpack, fishing rods, and a trowel.

“What’s the little shovel for?”

He shakes the cooler at me. “Bait.”

My feet come to a stop. “What?”

“Fish won’t bite an empty line.”

“Don’t you have those fake ones?” My words squeak out.

“Sure, but digging for worms builds character.” He raises his eyebrows at me.

I blanch. “I amnottouching a worm.”

“You’re too good to do some digging, Princess?”

“Yes?”

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