Page 22 of Just Act Natural

That voice rumbles through me like a cat’s purr. My stomach goes weirdly fluttery. I’m going to think of it as the wonder of the great outdoors finally hitting me. Right in the fluttery feels.

I turn around, and holy moly, I am not prepared for the sight of Grant Irwin first thing in the morning. His hairis askew, dark stubble coats his jaw, and the hint of sleepiness in his eyes almost makes my heart hurt from cuteness overload.

Grant’s definitely not having a two-day old pizza morning. It’s disgusting how little effort men can get away with. His eyes could be crusted over, and I bet it would work for him. And me? I gave myself an even messier messy bun, swiped my face with a cleansing wipe, and pretended I didn’t see the beginnings of dark circles under my eyes in my tiny travel mirror.

Take that, beauty influencers.

I mumble a close approximation of “Good morning” and sip at my tea.

“Not a morning person?”

“I’m more of a hurkle-durkler, myself.” There’s nothing better than snuggling back into bed after the alarm goes off. Sometimes I set my alarm early just so I can get cozy in the covers one more time.

He looks at me like I made that up. Grant must not watch TikToks about the joys of indulging in lazy mornings.

“No, I’m not a morning person.” In absolute perfect timing, my mouth cracks into a huge yawn behind my hand. “Especially when I didn’t sleep very well.”

“Were you too cold?”

“The sleeping bag was the exact right temperature, surprisingly. I was as snug as a little burrito.” I opt not to tell him how much the spooky sounds bothered me. “I just couldn’t get comfortable. There was a rock under my mat, and it might as well have been in my sleeping bag for all the good the mat did.”

“You don’t like the sleeping mat?” His teasing tone says he knows very well there’s nothing much to like. “It’s the finest four-inch-thick mattress on the market.”

“Anything that rolls up to the size of a Stanley cup can’t possibly cradle my hips and shoulders the way I’m used to. Ispent most of the night longing for my brand-new memory foam queen bed.”

His mouth curls into a smile. “Are you sure it wasn’t a pea underneath your mat, princess?”

I narrow my eyes into slits and take another sip of tea. I willnotthink about how much I might like that nickname if he said it under any other circumstances. No way.

“We can’t all be experts at sleeping in gruesome situations.” He’s probably camped in all kinds of crazy places. Maybe even one of those trips where they sleep right on a cliff wall, and one wrong move meanssplat. Sounds about right.

“Is this a gruesome situation for you?”

I grumble some more. “So far, I’ve carried all my stuff like a pack animal, been attacked by an army of ants, and was forced to sleep on anincomprehensibly largerock all night. This forest has some room for improvement.”

“The camp toilet didn’t make the list?”

My glare turns murderous. “I am actively trying to block that from my mind. Please don’t ruin it for me.”

“My apologies.” He holds eye contact with me a beat. “Any positives so far?”

He’s not flirting, right? No. Maybe? The bigger question: do I want him to be flirting?

This guy? Who manages to be absolutely gorgeous first thing in the morning, is apparently more than capable in the woods, and when asked for his best memory on a mountain climb, responded with someone else’s emotional achievement? This guy?

Magic Eight Ball says:Ask again later.

“Dinner was surprisingly good,” I finally say. Nice and neutral.

And completely honest. My expectations were low, but Mitchell’s pesto pasta might be the best I’ve ever had. Thatcould have been the total-body exhaustion talking, but I stand by it.

“We need to find you a few more positives to add to that list.”

Yesterday, I would have said it was an impossible mission. Now, I suspect Grant’s up to the task.

This landscape doesn’t look real. It’s what I imagine whenever a sci-fi movie uses the word “terraforming”—a weird approximation of Earth.

Volcanic rock tumbles everywhere in bumpy mounds left over from the last eruption several thousand years ago. Every now and then, a skinny, bright green pine tree shoots up out of a rocky pile in a way that makes zero logical sense. Like nature saw this desolate landscape and said, “You’re not the boss of me.”

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