Page 37 of Fallen Crown

“My sister,” I mutter.

“Sawyer? She seems like the type who’d put everything in its place.”

“Ava.”

“Ah,” Brice says, and he doesn’t make the same claim about my younger sister.

Ava’s reputation around the island as being a bit of a scatterbrain is well earned. I used to think she put it on to annoy Sawyer, but I’m wondering whether it was ever an act or if she pretended for so long that it became the truth. In any event, I’m sure she went camping with whatever athlete she brought to Bellerive and didn’t bother to pick up all the pieces of my tent before leaving one of the island’s national parks.

“Does a tent work when its missing one of its central poles?”

“As a method of annoyance or suffocation, maybe.” I stare at the pieces of my tent, and not for the first time, I curse the emotional stupor I fell into months ago. If I’d been in my right mind, I never would have agreed to let Ava have the tent. It’s not like our family can’t afford to buy one.

“Do I dare say it’s just a tent?”

“That would be like me telling you all tequilas taste the same.”

“That bad, huh? How can I help?” Brice crouches at my side.

“Hire a hit on my sister? I recommend a tent pole as a murder weapon.”

He runs his hand along the top of my head and down my back. The gesture is just the right weight against my body, and for some reason, his silent comfort brings a lot more reassurance than I’d expect.

“Who knew camping was so in-tents?” he says.

A burst of laughter escapes me at the unexpectedness of his dad joke. It shouldn’t surprise me. He seems to have one for every occasion, but with his hand still lingering on the small of my back, the moment feels strangely intimate, as though we’ve been like this a million times before. I lean my head against his shoulder, and his lips press against the top of my head. He is effortlessly affectionate, and warmth spreads across my body in response.

“The good news,” Brice murmurs, “is that my tent is technically a two-person one.”

I glance at the tiny whisp of fabric not far from us. We’ll have enough room in there for two sleeping bags, and I suspect we’ll have to use our backpacks as footrests or pillows to fit everything in. Cramped is an understatement.

“And,” Brice continues, “Joyce gave me the last of Rory’s scones this morning. You have not lived until you’ve had an Aurora Summerset scone.”

My stomach rumbles in response, and Brice leaves me to grab a container from beside his bag. He pops it open, and the smell of butter and raisins hits my nose, and my mouth waters. Until this moment, I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. Protein bars and electrolyte drinks only get me so far.

He picks one up, and instead of passing it to me, he takes a big bite. “Quality check,” he says around his mouthful.

I laugh and try to weave around his hand while he pretends to block me from getting one.

“I’m not sure yet,” he says, and he takes another bite, batting my hand away from the container. “Wouldn’t want you to get sick when you’re leading us through the wilderness.”

“Come on, Brice. Please.” I try to dip around him.

He takes another bite, and he holds the container high enough I can’t quite reach it. When I go onto my toes and try to swipe it from him, my chest connects with his.

“I think you were in the middle of begging,” he says, and he glances down at me with a flirty smirk. “You may continue.”

“Oh, my God,” I say, and I shove his chest. “First the dad jokes and now the sexual innuendoes.”

“There was nothing sexual about my comment,” he says as though my suggestion is ludicrous. He takes another bite of scone. “But if you want to take it that way—I don’t mind when a woman begs there either.”

Heat floods all kinds of places that have no business getting hot, and I ignore him while I go to my backpack to dig out my food.

“It was a joke, Tucker,” Brice says from behind me.

“I know,” I say, but I can hear the strain in my voice. Of course he was joking, but my body reacted as though he wasn’t, which is bad for so many reasons. Affection is fine, but the sexual tension is wrong. I shouldn’t feel it.

“Come here,” he says. “I don’t know if Maren lets you eat sinfully delicious sweets like these, but we won’t tell her.”