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Brittany

This was a mistake.

Not just like, oops I forgot to bring snacks mistake. No. This was an I hate my life and want a refund kind of mistake. The kind you feel deep in your soul, like a cringe that starts in your toes and radiates upward until your dignity calls it quits.

And the worst part?

I couldn’t even blame anyone but myself.

Okay, that’s a lie. I could absolutely blame other people.

Starting with my ex-boyfriend—who’d been cheating on me while pretending he was working late.

The same ex who’d made me feel like I wasn’t exciting enough, adventurous enough, enough enough.

One breakup, two pints of ice cream, and an I need a reset spiral later.

.. and my best friend Kate had signed me up for this empowering wilderness retreat.

So, yeah, there were people to blame here.

People to blame that I was alone, lost, and very quickly realizing that finding myself might involve also needing to be found by someone else. The irony wasn’t lost on me.

I had been just over a half hour into this so-called empower retreat when I realized I was out of my depth and needed to pee. Badly. But there was no stopping the women ahead of me who were marching through the woods like demented lumberjacks—or would they be called lumberjills?

Either way, I had needed to pee.

And just like that, a quick step off the trail, a little privacy, and suddenly—poof.

No trail. No group. No idea where I was, or where the hell I was supposed to be going.

The panic hit and I thought I might lose my breath.

I spun in a slow circle, seeing nothing but trees and more trees.

I checked my phone for the fifth time in ten minutes.

No signal. No bars. Just the mocking glare of my locked screen—me and my bestie at brunch, drinking mimosas and pretending to have our shit together.

That photo felt like it was from another lifetime.

The confident, smiling woman seemed like a stranger now.

I should’ve taken that as an omen. I looked far too confident for someone who would soon be crying over a granola bar in the woods like a damsel in the world’s dumbest fairy tale.

“Okay, okay,” I whispered. “You’re fine. You’re capable. This is nature. You’ve got this.”

But the second my boot squelched in something that was either very wet moss or possibly a frog, I knew I might not be coming back from this.

My inside voice was screaming at me. This is exactly why you stick to air-conditioned spaces and food delivery, Brittany. This is why you take the safe job, live the safe life, and never venture beyond your comfort zone of movie streaming and takeout menus.

I sank down on a mossy log and sniffled.

I did a quick mental inventory of what was in my pack.

Water. A rain poncho, matches, trail mix, and some granola bars.

It was cherry almond. Of course, the universe would give me the one flavor I hated.

I would eat it, because this girl wouldn’t be scavenging for bugs to stay alive.

One good thing about being a curvy girl lost in the forest was I had plenty of reserves to see me through.

Thanks, genetics and my stress-eating habits.

It seemed to be growing darker by the minute and I felt a few drops of rain fall on my arms. Kate had assured me that my nights would look more like glamping than actual camping.

That wasn’t happening, I quickly accepted. I was alone. In the dark.

I took a deep calming breath and tried to focus. Which did absolutely no good whatsoever. It wasn’t as if I could conjure up survival skills by sheer will power.

Just when I was about to start composing my will on a napkin, I heard something rustle behind me. Something big. Something close.

Something that might want to snack on an emotionally unstable woman who didn’t know what the heck she was doing.

My heart hammered against my ribs as I fumbled for another item I knew was in my backpack. Bear spray. I had no idea how to use it but had been assured was super easy—and I’d never have cause to use it.

“Twist, aim, spray,” I muttered. “Or is it twist, spray, run? Do you spray at the bear? Or up in the air? Fucking hell.”

I whispered the last two words, half-convinced my mother would hear them five states away and scold me at my funeral. Good girls did not curse—even in the face of death.

Of course, good southern girls didn’t do a lot of things that I did.

Including about to be eaten by a bear.

The crunching got louder. Every muscle in my body tensed, fight-or-flight kicking in hard. I held the can out like a sword, squinting at the trees.

“Don’t be a bear,” I whispered. “Be a deer. A rabbit. A hiker with snacks and GPS. Maybe a park ranger with a working phone. Please don’t be a bear.”

The branches parted.

And there he was.

Not a bear. Not a rabbit. Not the elderly park ranger who had given a safety talk to my group before we started out.

A man.

A huge man. Broad shouldered, looking like he could bench press a truck, a dark beard that made me think of some very dark fantasies, and a tight t-shirt that revealed a set of abs I had never seen up close and personal—but damn how I wanted to now. He looked like the forest grew him.

He looked like he could pick me up with one hand and do whatever the hell he wanted with me.

Of course, that was just my rattled brain latching onto one too many of my romantic fantasies—a man who could actually carry my curvy ass without destroying his back. Or better yet, take me up against a wall without it being overly awkward because of my weight.

Heat flooded my cheeks at the thoughts. Apparently near-death experiences made me horny. Great.

His eyes flicked to the can in my hand, then to my face, then back again without saying a word.

That steady stare made something low in my belly clench with an awareness that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the way he was looking at me.

I dropped the bear spray and it bounced off my foot and rolled into a clump of moss.

I just stood there, stunned by both the sudden presence of another human and the fact that men like him actually existed.

And that I was attracted to him. Wildly, inappropriately, inconveniently attracted to a complete stranger in the middle of nowhere.

“You’re... not a bear.” I knew I was stating the obvious, but how did you start a conversation in the middle of nowhere?

One eyebrow twitched. His mouth didn’t even hint at a smile. “Glad we cleared that up.”

“Do you live here?” The question came out breathier than I intended, like I was auditioning to be a phone sex operator. “Well, not here, here. But in town. Please tell me you know the way off this mountain.”

He stepped closer. Leaves crunched beneath boots that looked well-worn and comfortable. Unlike my totally inappropriate sneakers.

“I could really use some help and you have a very gorgeous beard and—” Heat flamed across my face as I realized what I’d just said. I ordered myself to stop talking.

He stared at me and I wanted to sink into the moss and disappear.

“You’re with that group.” It was a statement of fact, not a question. His voice was rough, deep, like he didn’t use it often.

“Was. Women empowering women with compasses and granola. Only, I—well, I needed to pee. And then they were gone. And now I’m here.” Rambling. I was rambling like an idiot.

“You’re lost.” The disapproval in his voice was unmistakable. I saw it written clearly on his face and knew instinctively this man did not suffer fools gladly. Or at all.

“I prefer to think of it as... aggressively rerouted.” When he didn’t even crack a smile, I added, “Or temporarily geographically challenged. Directionally disadvantaged? Come on, work with me here.”

His jaw tightened. Not amused.

He looked me up and down—dirt-streaked leggings, one sock sagging down into my shoe—and exhaled like this was exactly the kind of day he’d expected to have. “You’re coming with me.”

The command in his voice sent an unexpected shiver down my spine. Another unrealistic fantasy of mine—a man who knew how to take control… in any situation.

“Am I?” I shot back, the sarcasm bubbling up to cover my rapidly forming hysteria.

And attraction. Our interaction was almost like I was starring in a bad porn movie.

Not that I watched porn, being a good southern girl and all.

“Right now, you’re giving off equal parts Unabomber and reluctant Santa Claus.

Like, really reluctant. Like Santa after Mrs. Claus ran off with the elves and took the reindeer with her. ”

Something that might have been amusement flickered in his eyes before disappearing. “You need to stop talking. It will attract the bears.”

I didn’t believe him, but I stopped talking anyway. For a second. “So now what?” I whispered. “I’m not sure I could follow directions if you gave them to me.” I bit my lip, reluctant to ask for a full-on rescue. The purpose of the weekend was to find myself.

He turned and started walking away.

I picked up the can of bear spray and quickly followed him. I was not stupid enough to try and find my group when a white knight had arrived. Reluctant as he was being. “Do you know where the camp is set up?”

“No, I don’t. My cabin’s half a mile from here. You’re not making it down the mountain before sunset. There’s no signal out here and I doubt help is coming.” He gestured to my backpack. “They probably assume you’d make camp and find your way back in the morning.”

A sharp laugh escaped me. “Well, they’d be spectacularly wrong. I can barely navigate a shopping mall without getting lost. You think I’m going to figure out this?” I gestured wildly at the thick trees surrounding us.

He just grunted. “I’ve got shelter, food, water, and you clearly need all three.”

I hesitated. He was still scowling. Still massive. Still giving nothing away.

But also... he wasn’t wrong.

And despite every self-preservation instinct screaming at me, something about him felt safe. Dangerous, but safe. Like he was the kind of man who protected what was his.

“I don’t know your name.” I said it like that would somehow matter if he wanted to murder me.

I knew Kate and I shouldn’t have watched all those true crime documentaries about people going missing in the mountains.

But we’d wanted to have some kind of action plan in place in case something exactly like this happened.

The lesson, though, had been simple—don’t go into the mountains.

He didn’t answer my question and didn’t slow down. “If I leave you out here, you’ll probably end up in a bear’s stomach and we care about our wildlife too much for me to let that happen. So stop looking at me like I’m the villain in a B-movie and pick up the pace.”

I realized I had no choice. “Fine. But if I end up murdered, I’m haunting your gorgeous ass forever.”

He stopped mid-turn, those dark eyes snapping back to mine with an intensity that made my breath catch.

“What?” His voice was rougher now, with an edge that made heat pool low in my belly.

“Nothing. I’m right behind you, big guy.” My face was on fire, but I couldn’t seem to stop talking. And then I did something I didn’t think I would ever do on this trip.

I followed a strange, ridiculously hot man into the woods.