She thanks me through a breathy pant and shifts over to make room.

I climb up with ease and sit on the warm stone. Reaching for my bag, I watch Brooke scoot to the ledge and look out over the tree-line.

She’s tousled and winded. Her hair is coming undone, several thick pieces falling beside her face and sticking to her neck, barely any of it still contained in her pony. Her skin is flushed and shiny from the bug spray. A light dusting of dirt clings to her legs.

I want to freeze this moment. I want to be able to sit here and do absolutely nothing, just stare at this woman for hours and hours. Bask in the stunningly unpolished version of the temptress I met on the footpath that first day.

Fuck, how wild she was then. Luring me. Making it so I couldn’t remember ever seeing anyone else.

She’s still just as brilliantly captivating as she always is in any arrangement. The little wolf or the docile sheep. I’ll take every layer of Brooke. Anything and everything.

You’re a wreck for her, mate. This is a lot more for you now.

My world seems to slow.

Brooke moves from her perch to sit on the other side of the bag. She tucks some hair behind her ear, looks up at me through those long, dark lashes, and winks. That’s it. Nothing more than a bloody wink, and a commanding warmth spreads in my chest like kerosene poured over an open flame.

Yeah, I’m a fucking wreck all right.

I wipe my hand across my mouth, collecting myself before I speak. She grimaces at the dampness beading on her brow when she touches her fingers to her skin.

“You look pretty,” I tell her, ducking my head to see her eyes. “Really fucking pretty.”

She shrugs, laughing a little as she drops her hand. “Thanks. I’m sweaty.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” she echoes, fighting a smile. Her gaze shifts between my face and the bag as she crosses her legs beneath her. “What did you pack to eat? I could murder some food right now.”

I unzip the pouch and pull out what I grabbed from the cooler before we took off this morning.

Bread with some almond butter, apple slices cut and drizzled with lemon to keep from browning, trail mix, two protein bars, and some fruit leather.

I hand Brooke a bottle of water and set the food between us with some napkins.

“Anything edible in there?” she asks through a chuckle, poking at the fruit leather. “This . . . I’m not going to lie. It looks like a shoelace.”

I hand her a cookie dough flavored protein bar. “Eat this.”

Her eyes flicker with delight as she reads the package. She tears it open with her teeth and takes a bite, her jaw working through one full chew before it locks up. Our eyes meet. Her nose wrinkles in disgust. She drops the bar and grabs her water, tipping it back and swallowing the bite she took.

“That tastes like glue,” she mumbles, wiping the back of her hand against her mouth. She shoots me a disapproving look. “You packed glue bars and shoelace, Mason. Congratulations, we’re going to starve to death.”

I take a bite of my sandwich, grinning. “We can always hunt for food. Have you ever tried squirrel? It tastes like chicken.”

“Me? Oh, yeah. I eat squirrel all the time. It’s all I usually eat when I camp.” She grabs the bag of apples and opens it on her lap, stretching her legs out in front of her. “Can’t we hike to a McDonalds or something? Or a Chick-fil-A? I need a six piece nugget to make my life right.” She crosses her ankles and snaps into an apple slice.

I’m smiling, amused at her reaction to the lunch I packed, until something small and black on Brooke’s calf catches my attention.

I know what it is. I know exactly what it is. Ticks are an unfortunate hazard to camping, one I didn’t warn her about.

Fuck. She must’ve picked it up when she ran through the tall grass. I would’ve noticed it on her before. I’ve been staring at her legs all morning.

I need to act fast and get it off.

I also need to keep her oblivious to it.

“What would you order at Chick-fil-A, if we hiked there?” I ask, reaching into the outer pouch on my bag and feeling around for the supplies I need. My hand closes around a small metal instrument. I pull it out and search for my lighter and medical kit.

“Mm. A number one, extra pickles. And a cookies and cream milkshake on the side.” She takes another bite of apple. “Or a wrap. They have good wraps.”

“Sounds good.”

“Better than squirrel,” she laughs through a shake of her head. “Which I’m sure doesn’t taste anything like chicken.”

I set out my supplies and put the bag down, pushing the food out of the way. Scooting closer, I wrap my hand around her knee and gently hold it. “Brooke, I need you to stay still, yeah? Don’t move.”

“What?” Her leg jumps. The apple she’s holding falls on top of the bag. “What are you doing? Why do you have tweezers?”

“You have a tick on your leg.”

“WHAT? Oh, my God, where?” She sits up and gasps. Her entire body jerks. “Mason! Get it off!”

I squeeze her leg and look up into her round, panicky eyes. “Baby, relax. I’m going to get it off.”

“Have you done this before?” she asks, her voice shaking. Tears filling her eyes and those pouty lips quivering.

I nod. I would nod right now even if I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing. I don’t want Brooke to be scared. Her face is killing me.

“Yeah. Plenty of times. Trust me. Can you hold still? That’s all I need you to do.”

“Oh, God,” she whispers, blinking hard and sending the tears down her face. Her leg remains tense beneath my hand, but she doesn’t resist me. “O-Okay. Just don’t mess up.”

“I won’t.”

“Mason.” She puts her hand on top of mine, gripping me tight. Our eyes meet. “Please. Don’t mess up.”

I stare at her as she slowly pulls away. “I won’t,” I promise, letting her see my conviction, making sure she hears it in my steady voice. “Hold still and you’ll be right.”

She nods and blinks away.

Looking down at her leg, I grip the tweezers and position them over the tick, slowly advancing. I pinch as close to Brooke’s skin as I can get and gently pull the fucker straight up, making sure to remove the mouth. I blow out a quick breath when I see I have all of it.

“All right there, sweetheart?” I ask, picking up the lighter.

“No,” she quietly replies, her face turned away. “Just tell me when it’s over.”

I burn the tick with it still pinched in the tweezers. When I’m certain it’s dead, I dispose of it off the rock and open up my kit. I kneel next to Brooke. “Just going to clean the area. I’m finished. It’s gone now.”

Brooke nods and wipes at her face. She still isn’t looking at me. Her tear-filled eyes are fixated on the tree line.

Once I disinfect and bandage the wound, I clean my hands and rub her leg. “There. See? That wasn’t so terrible, was it?”

I immediately regret my words when her head drops between her shoulders.

With a quiet sob, she breaks. My strong, determined girl crumbles, crying into her hands, her tiny body drawing in on itself like a wounded animal.