I shoot him a look. “Don’t give her any ideas.”

He doesn’t say anything. He just smiles and stares at me while I fumble with my shoelaces. I try not to notice, but I hate it, because he looks at me like my embarrassment is endearing. It’s anything but. I hope the sales lady doesn’t try to talk to me about anything other than these boots because, at this rate, Sawyer will know everything about my bodily functions before we even hit the trail.

Chapter Six

Sawyer

Reese has been quiet since we started our hike, which is worrying. She usually has a clever comeback to my silly jokes, and her eyes work overtime when I’m near because of all the rolling they need to do. So far, nothing—no words, no eyerolls, no nothing.

“You doing okay, Reese? No signs of expanding feet yet?” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.

Finally, she gives me an eyeroll so dramatic that I’m surprised she doesn’t get dizzy.

“There it is,” I say, grinning. “I was starting to worry you’d been replaced by a robot or something. A very quiet, non-sarcastic robot.”

“I’m fine,” she says, but her voice sounds tight. “Just focusing on not tripping over roots.”

I glance down at the relatively smooth trail we’re on. There aren’t many roots to speak of, but I don’t call her out on it. Something’s bothering her, and it’s not the terrain.

“You know, if you need to take a break or slow down, just say the word,” I offer. “This isn’t a race. We can have a snack and rest for a few minutes.”

She shoots me a look that’s half grateful, half frustrated. “I said I’m fine, Sawyer.”

Right. The classicI’m fine, meaning she’snotfine. I’ve heard that tone from enough people to know that whatever’s bugging her is bigger than being out of shape or inexperienced. Something’s bothering her, but she doesn’t want to tell me what. I’ve guided enough nervous hikers to recognize the signs. The way she keeps glancing up at the trail ahead instead of enjoying the scenery around us. The slight tension in her shoulders. The too-careful way she places each step, like she’s bracing for something.

“Reese.” I stop walking. “What are you afraid of?”

She purses her lips. For a second, I think she might tell me. But then she shakes her head and starts moving again. “I’m not afraid of anything. I just don’t want to make a fool of myself in front of the guy who does this for a living.”

Nice try, but that’s not it. I’ve seen plenty of people worried about keeping up or looking inexperienced. This is different. This is the kind of fear that runs deeper than embarrassment. I need to know what fear we’re dealing with. After all, it’s my job to keep us safe, and I can’t do that if I don’t have all the details.

“How high up are we going today?” she asks after another half mile.

“Okay, I get it,” I say. “You’re afraid of heights.”

Her face goes red, confirming my guess. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Actually, it kind of is a big deal if we’re hiking up to those tram cables you wanted to see.”

“I wouldn’t use the word ‘wanted.’ You kind of pushed me into it, remember?”

I hold up my hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, you got me. I may have been a little too enthusiastic about the whole ‘let’s go see some old cables’ thing. I honestly didn’t realize you were terrified and too nice to tell the pushy mountain man to shove his hiking suggestions where the sun don’t shine.”

That gets me the tiniest hint of a smile, which I’m counting as a victory.

“So here’s a crazy idea,” I say. “What if we don’t go up to the cables? I know, I know, revolutionary concept. But there are plenty of other things to see that don’t involve you clinging to rocks while hyperventilating.”

Her shoulders relax a fraction. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“Reese, I’m a hiking guide. My job is to make sure people have a good time, not to traumatize them with their worst fears. Besides.” I grin. “I’ve seen those cables a million times. Next time I go up there, I’ll snap some pictures for you. Maybe I can even get them featured inHistorical Gems Quarterly.”

The moment the words leave my mouth, I realize I might’ve pushed my joke too far, because her expression goes from relieved to angry.

“Right,” she says, her voice flat. “Historical Gems Quarterly. Because that worked out so well the last time.”

The temperature between us drops about twenty degrees. She starts walking again, faster this time, and I can practically see her walls going back up in real time.

“Reese, I didn’t mean—”