Page 92 of Chasing the Sun
Swoon.
I helped Cal pluck a few from the log, and he placed them in a small mesh bag inside his backpack. “Always leave some for the next foragers,” he instructed. “Could be other humans like us, or animals or bugs.”
My heart squeezed—only he would think about the animals and bugs. My eyes caught on something bright orange clinging to the side of a tree. “Oh, what about that?” I pointed.
Cal’s smile stretched across his face, hitting me with its full, devastating power. “Good eye.”
We walked toward my find. “Do you see how it grows together like a shelf? The color is really special too. Lookhere.” He pointed to the underside. “There aren’t any gills. This one’s called chicken of the woods. I like it with pasta.”
I kept my expression perfectly serious. “Is it a bad time to tell you I’m allergic to mushrooms?” I asked, and watched as Cal’s face fell, visible heartbreak washing over his features. His whole body tensed. His mouth parted slightly, his brows drawing together.
I tossed my head back in a cackle. “I’m kidding,” I laughed. “Oh man, you werereallybummed there for a second.”
Cal’s jaw flexed before he wrapped an arm around the back of my neck, pulling me into him. “You are such a little shit.”
His arm was solid around me, his body a wall of heat against mine. My breath stuttered, caught between laughter and something heavier, something I wasn’t sure how to name. His thumb skimmed along my jaw, the rough edge sending a delicious shiver through me.
For a moment I stood, staring up at him, our bodies flush, our breathing sawing in and out in tandem. His thumb moved to brush across my eyebrow, then down the side of my face, as though his fingertips were memorizing every plane and curve of my features. My lips parted, begging to feel his mouth on mine.
“Do you hear that?” he asked, staring into my eyes.
I blinked up at him, trying to stay in the moment while my senses were on overload. All I could hear was the pounding of my own heart. I could have pulled away. I could have made some joke, or teased him like I always did, but I just stood there, looking up at him with my pulse in my throat.
His thick fingers lacedthrough mine.
“Come here,” he said, his voice lower than before. “Let me show you something.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
CALLUM
The creek waterwas warmer than I expected.
Not warm, exactly—cool enough to take the edge off the heat of the day—but with the sun dipping lower, the shallows had absorbed just enough of the July warmth to be comfortable.
Elodie bent down, brushing her hand through the running water. She toed off her boots with quick, practiced motions, then balanced on one foot as she peeled off her socks.
She shot me a mischievous look over her shoulder. “Come on, Blackwood. Live a little.”
I huffed out a breath but followed suit, stepping out of my boots, rolling my socks down, and shoving them inside my boots before following her into the water. The smooth river rocks were slick beneath my bare feet, but Elodie moved like she belonged there, like the water had always been a part of her.
Elodie waded in deeper, the hem of her jeans darkening as the water lapped against her calves. She tilted her headback, letting the last golden rays of sunlight spill over her face, andfuckif it didn’t do something to me.
I wasn’t the kind of man to talk about beautiful moments. I’d seen too many things, lost too many people to believe that life handed those moments out freely. But standing there, watching her with bare feet in the creek, laughter on her lips, water glistening on her skin—hell, I wanted to believe in them.
“El,” I called, my voice rougher than I meant it to be.
She turned, blinking those big bright eyes at me, and smiled. “Yeah?”
I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I took my time, drinking her in. The curls that had escaped from her bun, damp at the edges. The flush high on her cheekbones from the warmth of the day. The way she fit here so damn easily, like she was always meant to be part of this place, like she belonged right there—with me.
I wanted to reach for her. Pull her into me. I wanted to get my hands on her skin and feel the soft, wet press of her against me in the water.
“Shh.” My finger pressed to my lips when a sound broke through the stillness and my ears pricked. “Do you hear that?” I whispered, searching for the source of the sound.
She stilled, concentrating on the sounds of the forest.
A low, breathy moan. A woman’s voice, punctuated by the sharp, repetitive grunts of a man.
