Page 103 of Roughing It

“You’ll find out at six.” With that, I leave her pouting on the porch swing. I’ve got a date to plan and a woman to woo.

“Blakely, you ready?”

She’s sitting amongst the exploded debris of her suitcases. Her side of the cabin is always messy, but this is akin to a disaster zone. Shirts, pants, and dresses are scattered and spread from the bed to the wall and everywhere in between.

She jerks when I say her name and shakes the dazed look from her face. “Shit, is it already six?”

“Yep.”

A string of curses falls from her mouth, and she throws a pale pink top to the already heaping pile on the floor. “I lost track of time. Sorry. I’ve been trying to figure out what to wear for hours. It’s stupid. I tried on everything I brought. Then, I thought checking my socials would be a good idea, but that was a mistake. Internet trolls always suck, but it’s worse when it’s your fa…” She cuts off mid-ramble.

My eyes trace over her features, and what I see has my jaw tightening. Her hair is disheveled, and she’s wearing cut-off shorts and one of my flannels. And while that combo ranks pretty fucking high on my fantasy list, it’s clear it’s not intentional. But worst of all? Her eyes are red and puffy, and the tip of her nose is red. “Have you been crying?”

“A little.” She waves her hand in the air in a dismissivemotion. “Hormones. Or maybe a high pollen count.” When I don’t break my stare, she shrugs. “Really, I’m fine now.”

She’s lying. And even if she isn’t, it doesn’t diminish my concern. Anything that makes my Spitfire cry is on my shit list.

“Blakely.”

“Can we talk tomorrow?”

She used that line with me yesterday, too.

“I want to enjoy tonight with you. Give me five minutes, and I’ll be ready. I can’t wait to see what you planned.”

I can tell the moment she processes the sight of me. My ego gets a firm stroke when her cheeks pinken and her breath hitches.

“Wow.” The single word comes out as an awed whisper. “Handsome. How did I miss you coming in?”

My lips quirk into a half smile. She missed me earlier this afternoon, but I keep that secret for now. “I used a camp shower and got dressed on the porch.” The tips of my ears burn, and I cough. “Wanted to surprise you.”

“You nailed it.”

I’m far more dressed up than she’s ever seen. My go to are jeans, a flannel, and hiking boots during the day, and joggers or sweatpants in the evening. But tonight, I pulled out all the stops. Or as many stops as I can stand. Bo ran a white button up and the only suit jacket I own out to me. He gave me shit for the first hour he was here, and the group chat with him and Gray has been going off since he left. Fuckers.

But I’ll take their harassment for her.

She rises from the floor, drops a kiss on my lips, and smooths a hand over my furrowed brow. “I promise to tell you. Tomorrow.”

Blakely takes her time changing clothes. It doesn’t bother me that she wasn’t ready. Doesn’t even surprise me. Whatisbothering me is that she’s holding back. But hell, I can’t blame her. We haven’t put a label on whatever this thing is between us. The clock keeps ticking on her departure. I consider myself lucky she’s opened up as much as she has.

With a groan, I run my hands down my face. I’m not buying the bullshit logic I’m selling myself. The truth is, I don’t care about anything except wiping those tears away, showing her she’s safe, and making her happy. Keeping her.

I’m waiting by the door when I spot her phone. It’s a good ten feet away from where she was when I came in, like it got tossed across the cabin. I consider kicking it even further. Maybe itaccidentallylands in the fireplace. That fucking thing is nothing but trouble.

A pair of slender arms wrap around me, and Blakely kisses the center of my back and runs her fingers along my shoulders. “Alright, Bear. Show me what you’ve got.”

I spin and press my face into her hair, inhaling her sweet floral shampoo. “Can’t seem to deny you anything, Spitfire.”

In a wordless answer, Blakely crushes her mouth to mine, her tongue slipping between my lips, her hands twisting in the material of my shirt. Her smaller frame molds against me, a perfect fit.

There’s nothing like the feel of her.

When she moans around my mouth, I break the kiss, then rest my forehead on hers, waiting for our hearts to slow. “If you kiss me like that again, we’ll never make it out of here,” I whisper, close enough for our lips to brush with every word.

“Would that be the worst thing?”

Would it? My eyes travel her body, committing each delicate inch of her to the deepest part of my memory. Fuck off, division. So long, state capitals. All my brain matter is for one thing and one thing only: Blakely Bradshaw.

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