Page 6 of Forest Reed
“And then,” I said, “we drive to my world.”
She arched a brow. “And in your world, do vending machines require compliments?”
“In my world,” I said, pushing the curtain aside, scanning the pier before stepping out, “you don’t walk into an ambush without a partner. And you never run downhill on loose gravel unless you know where you’ll stop.”
She followed, shoulder brushing mine. “Translate, Mountain Man.”
I looked down at her, felt the click of pieces landing. “It means I’ve got you.”
She blew out a breath, softer than the surf. “Fine. But if I see a bear, I’m coming back to the city.”
“Noted.” I squeezed her hand once—quick, hidden. “Let’s go meet a switchback.”
5
Zoe
The road to Frasier Mountain was as majestic as the last time I was up here. Forest’s truck climbed up the incline. I loved the beauty of Fraiser Mountain, and today it seemed even more beautiful.
The closer we got to the switchback, the quieter the world became. No sirens, no hum of city lights. Just wind in the pines and the occasional crow heckling us from above. The mountain of Switchback wasn’t Fraiser Mountain, but it was close enough that we had to stop whatever was going on up here.
We pulled off at a clearing, dirt crunching under the tires. The “Timberline” switchback was marked by a faded wooden sign nailed to a tree, half-buried in moss. It should’ve been nothing. Instead, tucked behind the trunk, I spotted a plastic crate wedged into the brush.
“Tell me that’s a cooler full of beer,” I said.
Forest crouched, tugging it out. The lid creaked open to reveal a burner phone, a stack of cash, and a folded map marked with red Xs that made my stomach knot.
“Not beer,” I muttered. “Definitely not beer.”
He straightened, eyes scanning the ridgeline like he expected company. “This isn’t random. They’re staging something up here.”
My pulse kicked. I hated that he looked so calm while my heart was sprinting marathons. “So we log it, cross-check, and—”
“And you stay here tonight,” he said, voice final.
I spun on him. “Excuse me?”
“Too risky to drive back. If they’re already moving pieces on Timberline mountain, nightfall will make it worse. I have a cabin here. You’ll be safe.”
“I don’t need—”
“Yes, you do,” he cut in, stepping closer. His eyes locked on mine, steady, relentless. “You’re not bulletproof, Zoe. You don’t have to be.”
That did it. The crack in my armor I’d been patching since we did it in the closet. All the nights we stole, all the heat I swore was just lust—it burned through every excuse I had left. Let’s go. We climbed back into the truck, and he drove for maybe twenty minutes around curvey roads before stopping. We climbed out of the truck.
I shoved the map back into the crate and stepped into him. “You think keeping me in a cabin’s going to solve anything? The problem isn’t the mountain, Forest. The problem is you.”
His jaw ticked, his breath roughening. “Then we’ve got the same problem.”
And just like that, we collided. We were frigging hot idiots.
His hands framed my face, firm and desperate, and my mouth found his like it had been starving for weeks. The kiss wasn’t soft; it was wildfire, devouring. My back hit the truck door, metal cool against overheated skin, his body caging mine in.
“Zoe,” he rasped against my lips, like my name was both a warning and a prayer.
“Shut up and kiss me,” I demanded, fisting his shirt and dragging him closer.
He lifted me without effort, my legs wrapping around his waist, and carried me into the trees until the outline of a cabin appeared through the pines. Rustic, dark wood,—it screamed Forest Reed.
