Page 58 of Mating With My Grumpy Alphas
More than that, I wanted to show her that what I had to offer was just as valuable as Rhett's dramatic gestures. Maybe I couldn't take her on afternoon rides to hidden waterfalls, but I could give her something else. Something that connected to who she was becoming, to the artist she was rediscovering.
The fact that she'd said yes immediately, with genuine enthusiasm in her voice, had been both thrilling and panic-inducing.
I'd spent the last hour making and remaking sandwiches, trying to find the perfect balance between impressive and approachable. Turkey and swiss on homemade bread, with the good mustard I usually saved for special occasions. Not too fancy, but showing that I'd put thought into it.
The fruit salad had been washed and cut with probably unnecessary precision. Local strawberries, even though they were expensive this late in the season, because I'd noticed her snacking on them at work. Grapes and apple slices that wouldn't brown too quickly. The cheese was a local variety from the farmer's market, paired with crackers that weren't too fancy but weren't grocery store basic either.
I'd even packed cloth napkins instead of paper ones, then second-guessed myself and added paper ones too, just in case. And a small cooler with ice packs to keep everything fresh, because nothing would ruin a romantic picnic faster than warm food and wilted fruit.
I settled on keeping it thoughtful but not overwhelming. Good sandwiches, fresh fruit, plenty of water, and a thermos of spiced apple cider that smelled like autumn. If she was hungry for more, we could always stop somewhere on the way back. Theimportant thing was the experience, not my amateur attempts at romance.
At least that's what I told myself as I packed everything into my hiking backpack along with a soft blanket I'd borrowed from my living room.
I picked her up at nine, as promised. She was waiting on her front porch with her camera bag and a small daypack, wearing jeans and hiking boots that looked like they'd actually seen some use. Her hair was pulled back in a practical ponytail, and she had that eager expression I'd come to associate with her artistic side.
But there was something else too. A glow to her skin, a lightness in her movements that hadn't been there before. Rhett's doing, probably. The thought should have made me jealous, but instead I found myself grateful that someone was making her happy, even if it wasn't me.
Yet.
"Ready for some adventure?" I asked as she climbed into my truck, and immediately winced at how that sounded. Adventure. Like I was promising something exciting instead of a nature walk with an overprepared lunch.
"More than ready. I've been looking forward to this since you first mentioned it."
The admission made something warm settle in my chest. I'd been looking forward to it too, probably more than was reasonable for what was supposedly a professional collaboration. But was that what this was. It definitely wasn’t what I wanted it to be.
"I thought we'd start at Hawk Ridge," I said as we headed out of town. "Good elevation for landscape shots, and there's usually decent bird activity in the morning. Plus the views are..." I trailed off, realizing I was about to say "romantic" and catching myself just in time. "Spectacular."
"Sounds perfect. What should I be watching for?"
I found myself relaxing as we talked about photography techniques and wildlife behavior. This was territory I understood. I could explain about golden hour lighting and the patterns of local bird migration without stumbling over my words or second-guessing every sentence.
"The red-tailed hawks use the thermals that rise up from the valley," I said as we wound through increasingly forested roads. "Best chance to see them is between nine and eleven, when the sun starts heating up the rocks."
"Do they have predictable flight patterns?"
"Generally, yeah. They'll circle the ridge looking for prey, then use the updrafts to gain altitude before moving on to the next hunting area." I glanced over at her, taking in the way she absorbed information. She was genuinely interested, not just being polite. "If you're patient and position yourself right, you can get some incredible shots of them against the mountain backdrop."
"I love that. Patience has never been a problem for me when it comes to getting that perfect shot."
I believed that. I'd watched her work with the injured owl, seen the way she could wait for exactly the right moment to capture what she was looking for. It was one of the things that had drawn me to her, that understanding of how to work with wildlife instead of trying to force it.
"Sterling never understood that," she said, looking out the window at the passing forest. "He always wanted me to focus on things that would sell quickly. Landscapes for hotel lobbies, flowers for greeting cards. Pretty but safe."
It was one of the few times she'd mentioned her ex-alpha voluntarily, and I felt my protective instincts stir at the dismissive way she described his attitude toward her art.
"Art isn't supposed to be safe," I said.
"No, it's not." She looked over at me with something like gratitude. "Thank you for understanding that."
"Your photographs should be whatever moves you. Whatever story you need to tell."
"That's exactly what I've been thinking lately. That maybe I've been playing it safe for too long."
The drive to the trailhead took thirty minutes on increasingly winding mountain roads. Willa was an easy passenger, commenting on the scenery without constant chatter, asking intelligent questions about the conservation work being done in the area. By the time we parked at the base of the trail, I was feeling more confident about the day ahead.
"The hike's about two miles to the first good viewpoint," I said as we shouldered our packs. "Moderate incline, nothing too challenging. But there are several spots along the way where we might want to stop for photos."
"Lead the way."
