Page 83 of Roughing It

I rest my chin on the top of her head. “Drink some more water. We’ve got a ways to go.”

She cocks her head to the side. “Really?”

“Yep.”

With a smile and a roll of her eyes, Blakely picks up her things and puts her phone away in her pack. Once we’re rehydrated, I lead us down the mountain.

“While we walk, tell me what you see that could help you navigate back here alone.”

“What do you mean?”

“Directions have been a challenge for you. So I thought we’d try your location-based idea.”

Her pretty eyes narrow. And I’m ready for her to rain hellfire down on me, but she surprises me by blowing a huff of air out of her nose and shrugging. “Give me an example of what you’re talking about.”

“See those trees?”

“Hudson, there are four billion trees.” Blakely waves her hands, gesturing in a circle.

I roll my eyes and grab her flailing hands, guiding the tips of her fingers where I want her to look. “Those two are wound around each other. It’s easy to remember and identify and can help you place your location.”

She studies the entwined trees and, with a grin, nudges me. “Did you point those trees out to help me navigate orbecause you’re secretly a hopeless romantic? Because after that story, I’m leaning towards you being a big, mushy romantic.”

“You’re ridiculous,” I say as I pull her into my arms and kiss the side of her neck.

“Yeah, ridiculously amazing. Okay, show me how to find more wild food.”

Some days, I wonder what it’d be like if Blakely was here without the strings. Would this be our life? Hiking in the forest, foraging for food, sitting on the porch swing until the night comes alive?

She snaps a selfie of us—for her use only—and I remember that without those strings, I never would’ve met her. A dart of ice zaps my heart. I might’ve gone my entire life without this dazzling, exhausting, wonderful, annoying woman.

I hook an arm around her waist as we hike together, Blakely pointing out her markers along the way. Most of them are absurd. A rock that looks like a high heel, a faded warning sign, a stump that would make a great seat, a super cute bush—her words, not mine—and a tree that’s “probably haunted.” So long as it works for her, that’s all that matters.

It’s also cute as fuck. And I’m a smitten bastard.

What the hell am I going to do when she’s gone?

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

blakely

DAY SIXTEEN

I wake, curled up in the bed. Our bed. How quickly I’ve come to think of it that way without question. Hudson must’ve carried me in after I fell asleep on the porch. We spent hours out there last night talking.

Well, I talked. He grunted when appropriate.

I opened up to him about the nightmares, the mix of the lake and ugliness from my socials. It helped. Last night’s dream was much more interesting.

My neck tingles with the heat of Hudson’s stare. With a stretch, I roll onto my side, and sure enough, he’s awake and watching me.

“Good morning, creeper.”

He gathers my hands in his and presses a chaste kiss against my knuckles. “Mornin’.”

“You didn’t deny it.”

Hudson raises one dark eyebrow. “What?”

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