Page 8 of Just Act Natural

Yeah…no. I probably shouldn’t think about bears too much. Mitchell said sightings on this trail are rare, but I’m sure the more we talk about them, the more likely we are to jinx ourselves. I don’t want to run across a bear mafia looking for a fight.

I’ve snapped dozens of pictures of forest paths and soggy meadows to use for the website mock-up I’m making, but so far,I haven’t witnessed the wonders of the great outdoors. Maybe that’s more of a third-day sort of thing. Wouldn’t want to just hit me with it on the first day and leave me in awe the whole trip.

That won’t stop me from finding a way to write some enticing copy when I get home. Something like:Come to the wilderness. We have bugs!

I think the stitch in my side is affecting my brain. I pause on the trail to dig my fingers just below my ribcage.

Grant stops a pace behind me. “Doing okay?”

Since the couples are up ahead, laughing over all the impressive hikes they’ve been on and stunning mountains they’ve climbed, Grant’s become my default walking buddy. I wish he weren’t—back here, he’s got a front row seat to all the sweat pouring off my body and the excessive panting I’m doing. Plus, I can’t forget the way his smile vanished off his face when we were introduced.

But for now, I’ll focus on the fact I’m not alone, and therefore less vulnerable to the bear mafia.

“I’m good.” I flash a big smile, still hoping for the shot of faux happiness that’s supposed to come with it.

A little line cuts across his forehead. Even that stupid line is attractive on him. “You’re wincing. Do you want to stop?”

“Me? No way. This is the face I make when I’m enjoying fresh air.” I take a deep lungful to demonstrate my enthusiasm for it, but the pain in my side ramps higher. “That’s crisp.”

His low chuckle does criminal things to my insides. Doesn’t my body know it’s in distress out here? I could be dying, and it’s swooning over angular jawlines and pillowy lips. Get your priorities in order, body. Survival first. Then, if we’re lucky, comfort. Somewhere way down the line is reacting inappropriately to strange, egregiously handsome men while in dangerous situations.

I start walking again so we don’t get too far behind. Deenaand Mitchell check in on us periodically, but I don’t want them to have to halt the whole procession for us to catch up. Especially sinceusmeansme. If Grant really hasn’t been on a hike before, he sure doesn’t seem to be feeling the effects of his first one. I’m halfway tempted to ask him to carry me.

Iwouldn’t.

But I bet hecould.

“It should only be another two miles to the campsite.”

If I don’t die from exhaustion, this man is going to kill me with his soft Texas accent.Campsitedoesn’t sound like a place where teens go to get murdered when he says it.

“And that will take us…?” I rasp.

“Longer than average.”

I can’t argue there. We’re dragging, and we haven’t been out here all that long.

“Especially if we see any more birds,” he adds.

I would stand up straighter to glare in his face if I didn’t have a million-pound pack on. When this trip is over, my spine will be so compressed, I’ll be an even five feet tall. I can kiss those extra four inches goodbye.

“Birds are freaky. You saw how close the last one came to me.”

“Yes, I saw.” He’s trying not to smile, which just emphasizes his full lips, and I hate it.

“They have bony feet and sharp claws, and zero reservations about drawing blood.” I shudder as if a creepy little bird just strutted all over my grave.

“Do you get into a lot of fights with birds?”

I purse my lips. “Just once or twice.”

His head dips down as though he’s trying to draw my eyes to his. Ha. No, thank you. I’d be safer with the bloodthirsty birds.

“Once or twice?”

“Birds are territorial! That’s a scientific fact.”Probably.

“And?”

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