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She chews her plump lower lip in contemplation, gaze distant. For a moment, I think she's going to refuse outright, that the old hurts are too impossible to overcome.
But then Aspen meets my stare head on, her jaw setting in that telltale sign of stubborn resolve I've seen a thousand times. "One day. That's it. And if you can't convince me in that time, I'm listing this place with the first developer who'll take it off our hands."
Relief washes over me, my shoulders sagging slightly. "Agreed. I'll pick you up at the cabins tomorrow at eight am sharp. Don't be late."
She arches one eyebrow. "Me? Late? I don't think you know me at all, Zane Bishop."
My lips quirk in an answering grin, that same reckless spark flaring between us yet again despite everything. And just like that, a pivotal shift occurs—an unspoken agreement to shove aside the burdens of our fractured past, if only temporarily.
Tomorrow, there will be no boundaries holding us back from the wildness that has always defined our connection. I'll reawaken that adventurous spirit within Aspen that's been shackled for far too long.
And she'll finally understand why I could never abandon the sanctity of these mountains—why Camp Silverpine will eternally course through my veins no matter how much time passes. This place was our genesis and our destiny all along.
I'll make her see it, even if it's the last thing I do.
Chapter 3
Aspen
The next morning, I arrive at the edge of the overgrown campgrounds precisely at 8 a.m. I catch sight of Zane waiting by the trailhead, his broad back to me as he adjusts some gear slung over his shoulders.
A tremor of trepidation courses through me. After our conversation yesterday, I'm not sure what to expect from this impromptu expedition. Part of me wants nothing more than to turn on my heel and walk away, to sever this tangled thread with my past once and for all. But that same stubborn spark that always got me into trouble back then flares defiantly.
I'm here now. I might as well see what he has up his sleeves.
As I approach, Zane pivots to face me, his rugged features momentarily unreadable. Then, the faintest ghost of a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, and I feel an involuntary flutter low in my belly. Dammit. Even after everything, I can't deny the effect he has on me. That raw, primal masculinity I was so recklessly drawn to as a teen hasn't ebbed one iota.
"Cutting it a little close there, Red," he rumbles out in a tone far more playful than our terse standoff of yesterday.
I glance at my watch. "Eight on the dot."
He chuckles, a deep baritone that sends an unexpected shiver down my spine.
"Well?" I prod him, gesturing with an impatient wave. "You dragged me out of bed before sunrise for... what, exactly?"
"You'll see," is all he says before pivoting on his worn boot heels and striding onto the trail.
I hurry to match his long strides, my own legs carrying me forward with an ease born from muscle memory. This path was as familiar as the freckles on the back of my hand once—the gentle slope, the sharp turn at the halfway mark where the pines give way to an overlook of the valley below. We must have hiked it a thousand times as kids.
But now, I'm acutely aware of each step, each breath, the rhythmic sway of my hips and the damp heat building between my thighs with every subtle brush against Zane's bulk. It's a delicious friction I haven't allowed myself to feel in years.
We crest the overlook, and Camp Silverpine spreads out below in a panorama of ramshackle disrepair, untamed forest encroaching all around it like nature reclaiming its territory. Zane pauses, chest rising and falling as he takes in the view with an unreadable expression.
I can't help drinking in the sight of him from this angle—those powerful shoulders squared, every ridge and plane of his muscular back defined in stark relief beneath his worn henley. My gaze drifts lower, tracing the grooves of his spine to where it disappears beneath the snug waistband of his cargoes, hugging the swell of his...
"Take a look at that," he murmurs gruffly, gesturing to the camp below and shattering my lustful reverie.
Swiftly averting my eyes, I focus on the scene before us. "It's a mess," I admit with a resigned sigh. "I don't know how we'd even start to—"
"That's because you can't see it yet," Zane interjects, stepping closer until the crisp scent of pine and campfire smoke washes over me.
"What am I supposed to be seeing?" I ask.
"Potential," he says simply. "The potential for Camp Silverpine to be reborn into the place we loved. The place where we learned to survive, to test our limits and find strength in conquering our fears. Where we learned to respect the sanctity of nature and our place within it.”
His words weave a hypnotic spell. The more he talks, the more I can almost envision the camp of our youth materializing in place of the ramshackle ruins below. Log cabins with fresh coats of varnish glowing warmly in the morning sun. Lush green fields neatly trimmed, canoes bobbing in the glassy lake, and the distant echoes of laughter drifting on the breeze.
But where would I fit into this vision?
