Page 91 of Cloudy With a Chance of Bad Decisions
“Nature,” I responded stupidly. “Birds. Um. The wind?”
“That’s my favorite,” Alex replied, voice soft and almost wistful. “Sometimes when I’m overwhelmed it’s the only thing that calms me down.”
“Oh.” I peeked an eye open to look at his nape again, then swiftly shut it, letting the noises of the forest wash over me again. This time, I didn’t speak for a longer period. I absorbed every chirp, enjoying the whistle and woosh of the branches shifting above. “It’s…”
“Nice, right?” Alex murmured. I got the feeling he was listening too.
“Your eyes aren’t shut are they?” I worried.
“No.” Alex laughed and it rumbled through his back, vibrating through me. I squeezed him tighter and he hopped a little to adjust me again.
“Maybe nature’s not so bad after all,” I conceded, giving him an inch because he’d been nothing but lovely today and he deserved it.
“Maybe I can teach you to love it,” Alex said thoughtfully.
“Fat chance of that,” I scoffed.
“Fine. Maybe I can teach you to hate it less,” he corrected himself.
“Maybe.” I didn’t tell him that he just had. That for the first time in my life I could kind of understand why someone would willingly come out here in the woods. It was…peaceful. The rest of the world faded along with my worries. Brendon and my past felt so very far away at present. And the birds, the squirrels—the forest was near.
It was a simpler place.
Softer.
Alex and I didn’t speak again for the rest of the trek back to the campground. At least not about much. On occasion, I’d point out a bird I heard, and he’d murmur his pleasure and tell me he’d heard it too. But aside from that, we simply enjoyed the woods for what they were. And that horrible, awful, mortifyingly embarrassing event at the creek didn’t feel so horribly awful anymore.
Alex’s steps never stuttered, even if they did squelch.
He never dropped me.
And as I listened to the steady thump of his heart, my cheek pressed to his back, I couldn’t help but think that maybe…justmaybeour matchmaking families were onto something, after all.
There was no denying that George and I had reached a turning point. It hadn’t taken long—the close proximity we’d shared since we’d met had definitely helped. He didn’t react to me the same way he had the first day—like he expected me to hurt him. Now…his glares were softer. A silly thing to say about a glare, yes. But still true.
Like he was wary, rather than uncomfortable.
In my book, that was a win.
I’d set George down before we’d entered the meadow, of course, well aware of how bruised his pride already was. I doubted he wanted anyone else to see him vulnerable. And though he stood tall and strode forward with his head held high, George stuck close to me of his own free will—my new adorable, soggy, leggy shadow.
George was silent when I’d taken him back to our tent to gather dry clothes and his first-aid kit.
The majority of the wedding party was out on the hike, and the children and the remaining adults were in the main lodge doing arts and crafts until lunch was ready, which meant that George and I had the communal bathroom all to ourselves.
Made up of logs—like everything else was—the bathroom itself looked like something out of a catalog. Fancy tile. Multiple sinks. Everything was impeccably clean. The back wall housed a line of separated shower stalls thatactuallyhad hot water. And the toilets were in a separate building entirely at the back. Which meant, no one had to listen to anyone else shit while they got themselves clean.
“You need help?” I inquired, setting our dry clothes and the first-aid kit by the sink. I was careful not to inflect too much concern into my tone. I didn’t want my head bit off. But more than that, I didn’t want to ruin the tentative truce between us. George had asked if that was what it was, and I’d been lying when I said it wasn’t.
As fun as I found pushing his buttons—and boy, wow,wasthat my new favorite hobby—the last thing I wanted was to make him feel unsafe. There were invisible lines I didn’t cross. And I was grateful for my natural people skills as it was intuition and intuition alone that was keeping me from accidentally hurting him.
Our conversation in the woods kept replaying in my mind. Believe me, that was surprising. It would’ve been easier to focus on how sexy George had looked with his shirt soaked through, and his hair slicked back. Instead, I thought about the way he’d flinched when I’d said the words “fussy George”—like it physically hurt to hear the name out loud.
It was obvious that mentioning Brendon was painful.
I’d never wanted to punch someone more.
I didn’t intend to bring it up again.
