Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 29978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 150(@200wpm)___ 120(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 150(@200wpm)___ 120(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
Barron doesn’t even glance at it. “It’s lichen. It’s everywhere.”
“Not like this, it’s not,” I say, standing and brushing off my knees. I bite back a grin as I walk past him, deliberately brushing against his arm. His body goes stiff, his eyes following me as I move ahead, and there’s that tightening in my chest again, that pull between us I can’t seem to shake. I could swear he feels it too, no matter how hard he tries to ignore it. “You don’t appreciate it, Barron,” I say over my shoulder. “You’re missing the magic.”
“I’m missing my sanity,” he mutters, but I catch the twitch of his lips, that almost-smile he tries to hide.
I spin around to face him, walking backward now as I tease him. “Are we here to hike or run a botany class?” His voice is low, rough, but there’s something else there too—something that makes my stomach tighten in response.
“Why can’t it be both?” I shoot back, my eyes gleaming with mischief. The truth is, I’m enjoying this—poking at him, getting under his skin. It’s not just fun, it’s… electric. Barron grumbles under his breath, trying to play the gruff, no-nonsense lumberjack, but I see through it now. There’s more to him, hidden beneath that tough exterior, and I’m going to dig it out, one rare plant at a time.
We push deeper into the forest, and the air changes as the trees thicken, their trunks towering like ancient sentinels. It’s cooler here, quieter, the sounds of the forest muted beneath the thick canopy of leaves. I stop again, crouching by a small stream, the water trickling over smooth stones. At the edge of the bank, a delicate flower blooms, its petals a soft, pale pink. I reach out, brushing my fingers lightly over the blossom, and a thrill of excitement runs through me. “Look at this!” I call back to Barron, barely able to contain my enthusiasm. “It’s incredible. Do you know how rare this is?”
Barron approaches, but slower this time. His gaze flickers to the flower, then back to me. “It’s a flower,” he mutters, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
I can’t help but laugh. “You’ve seen it a hundred times, huh?”
“More,” he says, adjusting the axe on his shoulder. “A thousand.”
I shake my head, biting back a smile as I stand and brush off my hands. “You don’t appreciate anything.”
His eyes narrow at that, his jaw working like he’s fighting back a retort. Instead, he just grunts and turns back to the trail, leading the way again with those long, determined strides. I follow, but I can’t resist pushing him further. “You know, for someone who spends all his time in nature, you don’t seem to see it.”
“I see it fine,” he growls without turning around.
“No, you see it. You don’t feel it,” I say, and I know I’m pushing, but I can’t help it. There’s something about the way he locks himself up, like he’s afraid of what might happen if he lets himself soften, even just a little. I want to crack that shell. I want to know what’s underneath.
We walk in silence for a while, but it’s not peaceful anymore. The air between us is heavy, charged with something neither of us wants to acknowledge. I steal glances at him as we hike. His jaw is still tight, his eyes set forward, but there’s something about the way he’s walking now—slower, like he’s more aware of me behind him. The tension between us is almost unbearable, like a rope pulled taut, waiting to snap.
The forest opens up as we reach a small clearing at the top of a ridge. The view takes my breath away—the valley sprawls out below, a sea of green stretching all the way to the horizon. I stop, my chest rising and falling as I catch my breath, and for a moment, the world feels still.
Beside me, Barron slows to a stop, his breathing steady, but I can sense the weight of his presence. I don’t have to look at him to know his eyes are on me.
“You see it now, don’t you?” I ask softly, my voice barely above a whisper. I don’t know why I ask, but I need to hear him say it. I need to know he can feel it too, this connection to the land, this pull between us.
He doesn’t answer right away, and the silence stretches between us, thick and palpable. Then, finally, he speaks, his voice low and rough. “Maybe.”
I turn to look at him, my heart pounding in my chest. His eyes are dark, unreadable, but there’s something there—something deeper than just frustration or irritation. Something I recognize because I feel it too. I take a step closer, and for a second, neither of us moves.