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)
“You’re not so bad when you’re not scowling,” I tease, my voice lighter now, trying to cut through the tension.
Barron’s lips twitch, but he shakes his head. “Don’t get used to it.”
I laugh, but it’s softer this time, and the sound dies on my lips as I realize just how close we are. The heat of his body rolls off him, and I can feel the magnetic pull between us, stronger than ever. My breath catches in my throat, and before I can stop myself, I reach out, my fingers grazing his arm. His muscles tense beneath my touch, and his eyes flicker with something I can’t quite read.
But I know one thing—I’m not walking away from this.
Neither is he.
Chapter Eight
Barron
Tamlyn’s energy is like a damn wildfire. The kind you can't contain, even though you want to. I keep my head down, boots crunching over the thick carpet of pine needles, trying to stay focused on the trail ahead. But every few steps, she darts off, her eyes lighting up at another patch of moss, another flower that, to me, looks like every other one I've seen a hundred times. I grip my axe a little tighter, feeling the weight of it against my shoulder, a familiar comfort.
“This is incredible!” she calls out again, crouched by a fallen log. She runs her fingers over some tiny bloom, her voice filled with awe. “Do you know how rare this is?”
I grunt in response, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice. “It’s a flower.”
Her head whips around, eyes flashing with amusement, and I can already see the comeback forming on her lips. “A flower? Barron, this isn’t just a flower. This is Lysichiton americanus! Skunk cabbage, but this variety—”
“Don’t smell it,” I interrupt, deadpan, as I walk past her. “Trust me. Seen it a thousand times.”
She stands, brushing the dirt off her knees, and shakes her head with that teasing grin that’s been driving me crazy since the moment she stepped foot on my land. “It’s magic, and you don’t care about any of it.”
“Magic,” I mutter under my breath. That’s what she calls it. Magic. The woods, the plants, the trees—it’s all something sacred to her. She talks about it like it’s some mystical place, a temple or a church. But to me, it’s just work. It’s wood, it’s bark, it’s dirt. It’s what I’ve been doing since I was a kid, same as my brothers.
I push ahead, but I can feel her eyes on me, the weight of her presence lingering, like she’s trying to get inside my head, to make me see things her way. It’s frustrating as hell, but something about her energy—her excitement—it’s like a damn magnet. She buzzes around me like a live wire, and no matter how hard I try to stay focused, she’s always just… there.
We keep moving deeper into the forest, the air growing cooler as the trees close in tighter around us. Tamlyn moves with an ease I didn’t expect, her feet nimble over the rough terrain, her hands brushing against tree bark as if she’s greeting an old friend. I catch myself watching her from the corner of my eye, the way her body moves—fluid, confident—like she belongs here. It shouldn’t impress me, but it does.
“Are we here to hike or run a damn botany class?” I growl, stopping to take a breath, though it’s more to slow the knot tightening in my chest. I’m not sure if it’s frustration or something else entirely.
She shoots me a playful glance, not even out of breath. “Why can’t it be both?”
I grumble something unintelligible under my breath, not really having a good retort for that. The truth is, she’s starting to get to me. Not just with her endless curiosity and chatter, but with her… her whole vibe. It’s like she’s part of the forest itself, the way she seems to breathe it in, every damn leaf and rock fascinating her. It’s exhausting to keep up with, but there’s something else, too—something that’s gnawing at me, pulling me toward her even when I want to stay as far away as possible.
We walk in silence for a while after that, but the air between us is thick, charged with something I can’t quite name. My irritation starts to fade, replaced by something more dangerous. I catch glimpses of her—her long strides, her soft laughter when she spots something new—and I hate that it’s starting to feel… natural. Like I’m not just guiding her through these woods, but watching her wake them up in a way I’ve never seen before.
By the time we reach the top of the ridge, my arms are burning, but it feels good. The ache in my muscles, the familiar weight of the forest around me, it’s grounding. I pause, taking in the view—sprawling valleys, the treeline stretching as far as the eye can see. The sky’s a soft blue, the kind that makes you feel like you’ve found the edge of the world.