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I should've joined them. Should have settled into the moment like I always did. But my attention wasn’t on the stories being told or the stars overhead. It was on her. She sat with her head tipped back, gazing at the stars, occasionally laughing at something one of the others said. The sound heated my chest. But when her gaze traveled to meet mine, her laughter faded.

My jaw tightened. I wanted to ask what would happen when the ride was over. Wanted to know if there was a chance of something for us beyond this trip.

Two more nights. Then she might walk away. An ache settled in my lungs. If Beth wanted a life that didn’t include me, I’d have to let her go. But damn if I wasn’t hoping, praying, she’d want to stay.

Finally, I sat with them, though apart. Brooding. Watching Beth. Trying to capture her image in my mind for the time when she might be gone.

The others wound down their stories and finished their drinks. Rising, they said goodnight and strolled toward their cabins, the laughter fading along with them. Beth and I stayed by the fire, silent. Was this one of the quiet moments Pete and Carol mentioned that would show the other that what we had was special? It didn’t feel quite right to me. I wanted to fill the air with words,but I held them back. Better to say nothing than say the wrong thing.

Beth fidgeted with her jacket, picking at the too-long hem. The clothing I'd bought her was too large. I couldn't even do this right.

Energy coiled in my muscles, and I shifted my weight, unsure how to sit or what to do with my hands. I had to dosomething.

“Want to walk?” I hadn’t planned to ask, but now that the words were out, I didn’t want them back.

Beth hesitated before nodding.

We left the fire behind, moving slowly toward the lake. Night air pressed against my skin, cooler than before. Or maybe that was the weight in my chest getting bigger and bigger, to the point it actually hurt.

She walked a step ahead of me, twisting the stem of a dry leaf she’d plucked from the ground. I watched her, but she didn’t look my way. At the water’s edge, she dropped the leaf and nudged a rock into the lake with the tip of her boot. It plopped and ripples spread across the surface, breaking the moon’s reflection.

“Do you think everything will change when we go back?” she asked.

I grunted, noncommittal, but my guts twisted.

Yes. Because the world outside this trail ride was different. She may want something else, something more.

And no, because I’d already made my decision. I’d follow her anywhere, even if that meant leaving Lonesome Creek and my brothers.

Grunting, I kicked my own rock into the water. It splashed, sunk. Beth sighed beside me.

The fire was still burning when we returned to camp, though it was mostly coals now. They’d be cold come morning.

The bottle of whiskey sat near the pit, forgotten for now.

Beth eyed it.

Amusement tugged at my lips. I picked it up, turning it in my palm before holding it out. “Ever had alcohol before?”

She smirked, taking it from my hands. “I have, though I don't drink often. I snuck into my dad’s study when I was sixteen and guzzled some of his vodka. Boy, did my head hurt the next day.”

Orcs didn't usually drink alcohol—or they started to sing. I was not a good singer. But I did want to make Beth happy.

Lifting the bottle to her lips, she took a sip and immediately coughed, her eyes going wide. Watering.

I laughed, the sound catching me off guard. It rumbled in my chest and didn't sound anything like the Ruugar I knew well.

Beth nudged the bottle toward me, her cheeks flushed. “Smooth but tasty.”

Still grinning, I took a drink, feeling it burn down my throat. Cauterize it, actually. For a moment, it was all I could do to think. Breathe.

“You okay there, Ruugar?” she asked with concern.

“Good, good,” I coughed out. “It's, um, tasty.”

The whiskey was warm, but that wasn’t what made heat coil in my belly. It was the way Beth watched me.

Then I realized my lips had touched where hers had been. Her stare held mine, hers unreadable in the firelight. My pulse kicked up.