Page 42 of The Naughty Elf

He opens a paper bag on the seat between us and hands me a foil-wrapped breakfast burrito. Oh my God, I take a bite and moan at how much flavor he managed to layer into it.

Sawyer is practically grinning at me, red creeping up his neck and into his cheeks.

We sip and eat for a few minutes before he puts the truck in gear. Once I finish my breakfast, I prop my arm across the cooler between us and open my hand to wait for his. It takes two seconds for his fingers to slide through mine.

The drive is quiet but companionable. Soft rock music plays on the radio.

It feels right.

When we make it to the falls, Sawyer and I unpack at the small campground while Gracie eats her cold breakfast burrito with a soda. She’s full of energy by the time everything’s unloaded.

“I can help with the tent. Grandpa taught me last year, and I’ve been practicing.”

I laugh as Sawyer blinks at her. It only takes him a second to nod, because she’s already stomping her way to the tent. He lets her take the lead as I set out the lanterns and chairs, staking them around the fire pit. I also put up a tarp that catches the wind and redirects it from our little spot.

It’s cold, but it’s a mild kind of cold when the wind isn’t piercing us.

“Missed a step,” I hear Sawyer say softly behind me. Glancing back, I see that he and Gracie are holding the tent poles. She’s concentrating, and he’s letting her think through it.

God, this man knows how to squeeze my ovaries.

By the time we finish setting up camp, the sun has started to warm us. I plant my hands on my hips and survey the tent. “Good job. It looks sturdy. We just need to put up the food, then we can go fishing.”

Sawyer has the cooler and sealed bags in hand before I finish my statement, hoisting them up to keep animals from breaking into them.

I gather the poles and tackle box and let the two of them lead the way to the bottom of the falls. Gracie holds his hand the whole way down, and he stops her from tumbling twice. Her giggles send the birds flying through the branches.

And I love the way she smiles up at him, but more so, the way he smiles down at her with his eyes.

I don’t really fish. I can. I’m competent enough to bait my hook and pack my fish in ice. Never cleaned one though. Guts are not my favorite part of food.

Sawyer does well sitting beside her, nodding as she talks, tells stories, asks questions. He answers them when he knows it, which is most of the time. When he doesn’t have an answer, he tells her.

I lean back against a tree behind them and watch the falls in the distance. The sky is a pretty blue with a few white puffy clouds here and there. Bare branches and evergreens surround the landscape.

The gentle burble from the creek has me daydreaming about the shape of Sawyer’s back. It’s wide and full of muscle. I want to see what he looks like fully naked. The parts I got to see were stunning enough to leave an impression.

He peeks at me over his shoulder, and I send him a cheesy smile. Sawyer will keep doing it. Glancing at me, keeping stock of what I’m doing—he does that when I’m handing out treats on the rare occasion he’s not alone.

I like how when I catch him, he doesn’t flinch away. He just looks at me.

We sit for a little over an hour and a half, and we catch four fish.

“Are you going to clean them?” Gracie asks, holding my hand as Sawyer carries the fish cooler and poles. He looks like a wilderness man.

“I am.” His eyes shift to me as I help Gracie over a log.

“Will you teach me?”

Sawyer boomerangs that silent question back at me with a look, and I laugh.

“Just don’t let her cut herself.”

Gracie hops up onto a large boulder alongside the trail. “I won’t cut myself. I’m careful.”

She is. Dad already has her chopping wood and mucking out horse stalls. Using the nail gun. All under supervision, but that’s something I trust Sawyer with. He’s safe and attentive. He works with dangerous and sharp tools for a living.

“Okay,” he says in agreement.

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