As I start to drift off, I'm not thinking about tomorrow's problems. I'm thinking about the woman beside me at Crystal Creek. Not visiting—staying. Maybe the lodge could change without losing what makes it special.
“What are you thinking about?” she murmurs, half-asleep.
“The future.”
“Mmm. Good thoughts?”
I hold her tighter, kissing her forehead. “Better than I expected, Mags.”
She stirs, a small, sleepy smile touching her lips. “Mags,” she repeats softly, tasting the name. “I like it.” She burrows closer, a quiet confirmation that the name, like this moment, is something for us. Within minutes, her breathing evens out into the soft cadence of sleep.
I stay awake longer, listening to the mountain sounds and the steady rhythm of her breath. I've always rolled with whatever nature threw at me, but now, for the first time in a long time, I'm actually making plans. Real plans. And they all involve the woman in my arms.
Tomorrow will be complicated—the cameras, Elliott's questions, figuring out what this means when we're back in the real world. Big questions about whether my world and hers can actually work together.
But tonight, with the fire dying down and her warmth plastered against me, those worries feel a lifetime away. What matters is this—finding each other, finding pieces of ourselves we'd forgotten existed.
I kiss her forehead once more before letting sleep take me, making a silent promise to both of us. Whatever comes next, we'll handle it together. The mountain taught me that the things that last aren't the ones that never change—they're the ones that bend without breaking. Maybe Crystal Creek and I can learn that too. That growing doesn't mean giving up who you are. It means becoming something new. Something big enough for two.
Chapter Twenty
LENA
The first sensationis his nearness, a solid, comforting heat against my back. The scent of pine and wood smoke clings to his skin, now mingled with something that’s all him. I lie still, a fragile peace settling over me. The memory of the night before pulses beneath my skin, a secret, vibrant hum.Mags.The low rumble of his voice from last night stirs in my memory. My lips curve. That name. It fits in a way “Lena” hasn’t for years. It strips away the performance, the crushing weight of “Lena Kensington,” leaving bare the woman I am only with him, the one I’m finally, tentatively, ready to discover. The one I want to be.
He moves, turning to face me. His eyes, hazel with flecks of gold catching the early light filtering into the cave, hold a tenderness I’ve seldom witnessed directed at Lena Kensington, actress and persona. A softness resides there, a quiet understanding that transcends the crafted charm and fleeting attention I’m accustomed to. My chest aches with something I can’t name—a pull stronger than desire. It’s like finding something I didn’t know I’d lost. Belonging? Being seen? Maybe.
“Morning.” His thumb traces the line of my jaw. Thecalloused skin, roughened by the elements, rasps against me, a reminder of our different worlds. Yet in that touch, there’s an unexpected intimacy, a grounding presence that steadies something. A tremor traces my spine, a phantom echo of the night’s more intense sensations, a stirring of a newfound awareness of my body in his presence—a vulnerability that both excites and terrifies me.
“Morning,” I say, my voice still thick with sleep, husky in a way that betrays the depth of last night—whispered confessions and shared breaths in the dark. The air in the cave is heavy, charged with things neither of us has said yet. I reach out, my fingers finding the strands of his hair, tangling in their surprising strength and softness. The gesture is small, but it carries weight. A quiet acknowledgment of this moment. Of him.Of us.A promise I’m not sure I know how to keep.
We lie there in silence, the world outside reduced to a distant hum. The last of the embers glow faintly, casting a soft light that blurs the hard lines of dawn and makes everything feel gentler than it should.
For now, this place is a sanctuary—temporary, but real. I study his face. The slight furrow between his brows hints at that quiet intensity I’ve come to recognize. And then, the faint smile when his eyes meet mine—something that hovers between amusement and understanding—makes my breath catch.
A shared secret we haven’t dared to name. This man. So different from the polished charm of Hollywood’s elite, from connections built on ambition and the spotlight. He’s steady in a way that anchors me. Honest in a way that slips past every defense I’ve ever built. He doesn’t see the curated version of Lena Kensington. Somehow, he recognizes Mags—the woman I’m only beginning to meet myself.
Stepping out of the cave an hour later is like waking from a dream into the blaze of reality. The mountain air is crisp,cutting, a reminder of the wildness out here. The world bursts into color—the deep green of the pines, the steely grey of the cliffs, the vast and indifferent sweep of pale blue sky. And with it, reality. Complications. Consequences. But also, something else I hadn’t expected—clarity.
We need to make it back to camp without being seen emerging together from this hidden spot. My tent stands empty, evidence of my absence throughout the night. A complication we hadn’t considered in our rush to solitude, nor in what happened between us after. The path requires careful navigation—both the physical trail down the rocky slope and the social terrain awaiting us. We’ll need a story. A reason for my early morning absence, a plausible explanation for our separate returns.
“Go first,” Finn says, his voice low, already slipping back into guide mode, though his eyes still hold the raw memory of the night. “Circle around the east side of the basin. Make it look as if you were scouting, checking the sunrise, whatever. I’ll follow a different route, come in from the west fifteen minutes later. Act surprised to find me back already.”Act surprised. Right. Back to performing.The thought lands with a familiar, dull thud in my chest, even as I understand the necessity.
I nod, accepting the need for subterfuge.
“Okay. But Finn...” I hesitate, needing to address the obvious. “Your arm. Your ribs. You’re sure you’re able to hike?”
He adjusts the bandage I made, his expression neutral. “Bruised ribs, sore arm. Nothing that’ll stop me. I’ve hiked through worse.” He avoids my eyes, pulling on his professional mask. “Go on. Before the others wake up.”
I want to argue, to insist he let me check his injuries again, but the set of his jaw tells me it’s useless. His pride is back in place. I give him one last brief look, memorizing the stronglines of his face in the morning light, then turn and pick my way down the slope, heading east as instructed.
The walk back to camp is a blur of conflicting emotions. Relief that Finn is alive and somewhat okay. Lingering warmth from the night spent in his arms. Anxiety about facing Elliott and the crew. Guilt over the deception. And a deep, unsettling worry about Finn pushing himself too hard, hiding the true extent of his injuries. Gram always said stubborn men were the quickest to meet their maker because they refused to admit when they needed rest.
I reach the edge of the camp as the first signs of stirring emerge from the tents. I take a deep breath, smooth my hair, and try to look like someone returning from a reflective morning walk, hoping the mud on my boots isn’t too incriminating.
Carlos is the first one I encounter, kneeling by the cold fire pit. “Morning, Lena. You’re up early.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” I say, forcing a casual shrug. “Watched the sunrise from the ridge. It was incredible.” I gesture eastward. “Any coffee started?”
