Page 19 of Just Act Natural

I have to fight off a smug grin. I like her jumping to my defense more than I should probably say.

After eating our fill of Mitchell’s surprisingly good pesto pasta, our group scatters to do our own thing as evening falls. Deena offered to initiate some get-to-know-you games, but the couples declined, on the grounds they’ve known everything about each other for forty years.

I sit not too far outside my tent, working my pocket knife against a dry chunk of wood. We can’t have a campfire out here, so I have to use what daylight we have left.

“This many layers of bug spray can’t be good for me.” Lila rubs something into her neck from her chin down to the top of the pale blue fleece jacket she’s thrown over her camp shirt. She sits at the other end of the fallen log I’ve commandeered—I already checked it for ants. “That’s a lot of eucalyptus oil.”

“At least you’ll breathe easy all night.”

“I guess that’s a bonus.” Her gaze skates over me. “Are you whittling?”

“Badly, but yes.”

She scoots a touch closer. “I’ve never seen anyone whittle before. I thought it was a myth.”

“It’s more of a dying art form, which I’m currently bungling.”

“What are you making?”

“I don’t know yet. Something will come to me.”

She squints at the chunk of wood as though she can decipher something in it. “Are you an artist?”

I can’t help the laugh that barks out of me. “Not even close. It’s just something to pass the time.”

It’s surprisingly relaxing on evenings like this. Soothes my mind when it would otherwise be consumed by technical details, route plans, and weather forecasts.

“See, my first thought would have been card games.”

“Cards are useless weight. A knife can be used for a lot of things.”

“One thing, really.”

I pause. “Fair point. But it can do one thing in a variety of scenarios.”

“Did they teach you how to whittle in all your outdoorsman classes?”

“I’m a self-taught whittler, specializing in the boredom technique.”

Laughing softly, she watches me work for a minute. Then she swipes at a mosquito that hasn’t caught wind of her eucalyptus aura yet. “There’s really such a thing as wilderness first aid?”

“Oh yeah. Lots of things can go wrong out here, and it’s not a normal emergency scenario if something goes sideways.” Not that I should point any of that out. She’s already out of her comfort zone, she doesn’t need me outlining worst-case scenarios.

“I guess I’m safe in your hands, huh?”

Do not think about her in your hands.

That warning is several hours too late.

I meet her gaze, and a soft pink washes over her skin.

“You know—in an emergency. Obviously.” Nervouslaughter bubbles out of her. “Do you have to take all those classes to climb mountains?”

My brain is still stuck on the idea of her in my hands, and it takes me a second to recover. “Not necessarily. A lot of peaks are just long hikes. But some involve ice climbing or traveling across glaciers, and you need to learn those technical skills first.”

“Are you a mountain guide on the side or something? With all of those classes, it seems like you could be.”

I focus on the wood in my hands and the knife slicing away each thin strip of bark. “When I was in my twenties, I had dreams of starting my own guiding company.”

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