Page 9 of Marrying the Guide

Crap. I hadn’t known. “Oh. Now I feel stupid.”

“For next time.”

I aimed the camera back at my face. “That’s a funny joke. There will not be a next time. I think I’ve humiliated myself enough, no?”

His face grew more serious than I had expected. “I don’t think you’ve humiliated yourself at all. You tried something new and dared to take a risk. That’s brave. And I was hoping you’d book another tour with me.”

“Oh.”

Not my most eloquent answer, but it was all I had. My English, usually fairly decent, was failing me now.

“I liked hanging out with you,” Howell said.

“Oh.”

“So I was wondering if you wanted to do it again.”

“Oh.”

“Hang out, I mean. Not necessarily on another tour. You don’t have to pay, is what I’m trying to say.”

“Oh.”Somebody slap me.I swallowed. “Sorry, I’m having some trouble finding words.”

“It’s okay if you want to say no. Or if you want to think about it.”

“No! That’s not it. I’m just… Forgive me for being blunt, but are you asking me out? Or am I misunderstanding things and you’re offering friendship?”

He smiled at me, and my belly swooped. “I am asking you out. On a date.”

The word “date” hung between us, charged and buzzing like a live wire. My mind stalled, gears ground to a halt, thoughts stopped. What had he just said? Howell Moorhouse, wilderness guide extraordinaire, with his easy smile, effortless masculinity, and the body of a god, wanted to go on a date? With me?

“Are you…are you serious?” The words tumbled out, each syllable tinged with incredulity. “I thought you were straight, sorry.”

“First, why would you say sorry for that? And second, well, in all fairness, so did I. I messed around with a few guys back in college, but not since then. I never had the urge either, so yeah, I did think of myself as straight. I figured that was a phase since I’d never been attracted to another guy again, not even since my divorce.”

His eyes were earnest, a testament to the truth of his statement.

“But you are now?”

He scratched his beard. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you yesterday and couldn’t stop thinking about you afterward, so yeah, I’d say that counts as attraction.”

“Oh.”

“So I figured I’d give it a shot and see if you felt a spark too.”

“Oh.” I was back to one-syllable answers. Stupid brain.

He chuckled. “Brain not cooperating?”

I shook myself out of the strange stupor. “No. I mean, yes. Maybe? I don’t know.” I inhaled sharply. “Let me start again.Thank you. For asking me out, I mean. I’m more than a little flattered.”

And while my feet hurt, it was nothing compared to the yearning ache inside me—a longing for connection, for the chance to feel wanted, for someone to care about me. I couldn’t believe Howell was offering that.

Howell’s face fell. “But you’re saying no?”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because usually, when people say they’re flattered, they follow it with a rejection.”

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