Page 21 of Falling for Him (Honey Leaf Lodge #3)

Fifi

The sky was still navy blue when I tiptoed through the lodge’s quiet hallway, clutching a travel mug of coffee in one hand and a paper bag with a warm blueberry muffin in the other. I could’ve waited until the sun rose like a normal person.

Shoot! I could have waited until eight, like I’d told him.

But where was the fun in that ?

Besides, I couldn’t sleep.

Every time I closed my eyes, I was kissing him again. That firelit moment looped in my head like a movie I never wanted to end. The way his hand had slid to my waist. The way he’d looked at me right before, like I was the only thing in the world worth focusing on.

So no, I hadn’t slept.

And maybe I was a little giddy.

Just a bit.

I stopped outside his door, took a calming breath, and knocked.

The door creaked open a few seconds later.

And sweet mother of lumberjack fantasy, there he was.

Ben Jensen in a black thermal shirt, a gray beanie tugged low over his hair, and jeans that should not legally be allowed to fit that well. His eyes were still heavy with sleep, his voice gravelly as he said, “It’s not even six.”

I grinned. “Good morning, sunshine.”

He blinked at me, then at the coffee. “You bring offerings?”

“Peace offerings,” I said brightly, thrusting the mug forward. “Hot coffee. Cream, no sugar. And this—” I held out the muffin. “Still warm. Blueberry. I used the good cinnamon.”

“You said we’d leave at eight.”

“Yet, you’re up.” I grinned.

He took the bag, sniffed the muffin, and grunted in approval. “Bribery.”

“Absolutely. And a little bit of pre-hike butter-based seduction.”

He choked on a laugh and rubbed the back of his neck, looking way too good doing it. “Should I be worried?”

I shrugged innocently. “Only if you hate muffins. Or me.”

His gaze flicked to mine.

Held.

Lingering just long enough to make the air between us heat up again.

And that’s when I did it. I looked at his lips.

Again.

Damn it.

They looked just like they had last night, all soft, sure, and very capable of turning my brain to static. I blinked, shook my head like I was trying to reboot, and stepped back.

“No kissing before caffeine,” I muttered.

“Is that a rule?”

“For your safety.”

He smirked, took a sip from the mug, and closed the door behind him. “Lead the way, innkeeper.”

We made our way downstairs, past the still-dark kitchen and through the side entrance. Outside, the morning air was brisk and smelled faintly of pine and dew. I unlocked the driver’s side of my beat-up, seafoam-green truck and gestured with a grand sweep of my arm.

“Your chariot awaits.”

Ben stared at it for a long moment.

Then he tilted his head. “That’s a truck?”

“She prefers the term ‘vintage rustic transport unit,’ thank you very much.”

“It has rust.”

“She has character. I call it patina.”

He walked around to the passenger side, eyeing the faded bumper stickers, one of which said Don’t Rush Me, I’m Local, and another with a suspiciously aggressive goose on it.

“She got a name?” He walked back to the driver's side and opened the door for me.

“Clarabelle.”

He glanced at me as I climbed in.

I lifted a brow. “Problem?”

He shook his head, lips twitching. “Not at all. I’m honored.”

He shut the door, walked around the truck, and opened the passenger door, then paused for a moment.

“Sleeping bags?” His brows lifted, noticing them in the back of the truck.

I froze.

“Oh. Yeah. Those. They’re just... you know, emergency preparedness. I always keep them there.”

“For what?”

“Flash floods. Unexpected naps. Alien invasions.”

He narrowed his eyes, and I coughed and started the truck. “Sometimes I take a book up the trail and read all day. It gets cold in the shade.”

He climbed in, settling the muffin bag in his lap, and gave me a sideways look that made heat crawl up my neck.

“And you bring two sleeping bags for your solo hikes?”

I cleared my throat. “Clarabelle gets lonely.”

He laughed, a low, warm rumble, and shook his head.

The sound sent a jolt through my stomach. I hadn’t expected him to laugh like that. Not so freely. Not with me so soon.

It made something flutter in my chest.

“So where exactly are we going?” he asked, taking another sip of coffee.

“It’s a surprise.”

“I figured.”

“You’ll like it.”

He gave me a look. “You sure about that?”

I shrugged. “I’ve got a 96% success rate with this destination. Four stars. Scenic overlook. Bonus points for good company.”

Ben didn’t say anything for a moment.

Then, quietly: “You count me as good company now?”

I glanced at him, heart doing that annoying little hopeful skip. “You kissed me last night. That kind of bumped you out of grumpy stranger territory.”

He went quiet again, sipping his coffee, but I didn’t miss the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Well,” he said after a beat, “guess I better live up to my upgraded status.”

“You could start by pretending to like Clarabelle.”

“She’s growing on me.”

“She has that effect.”

Clarabelle growled to life with her usual dramatic flair, and Ben gave her a wary side-eye like he was still waiting for the engine to wheeze its last breath. I patted the dashboard with affection and adjusted the mirrors with a grin.

“She’s moody, but she gets the job done.”

“She sounds like she has bronchitis.”

“Do not speak ill of Clarabelle before coffee number two,” I warned, pulling onto the gravel road that curved behind the lodge. “She’s sensitive.”

Ben shook his head and sipped from his travel mug. “So is her driver.”

“I heard that.”

“I meant it with love.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Did you just admit you love me?”

“I said the coffee was loved. Don’t get reckless.”

The truck rattled slightly as we turned onto a county road. The sun was just beginning to spill soft pinks and oranges across the treetops, the forest waking up around us.

It was perfect.

Quiet.

Almost sacred.

And suddenly, all that energy bubbling in my chest... settled.

I glanced over at him again.

Still sipping.

Still watching me like he didn’t understand how this happened— us —but wasn’t quite ready to stop it either.

Maybe neither of us was.

The banter was effortless now, this warm back-and-forth that curled in the cab like steam from his coffee. And every time he shot one of those sideways glances at me, half amused, half unreadable, I felt something tighten low in my stomach. Like the night before was still echoing between us.

I wanted to kiss him again.

That realization hit like a spark from the gear shift, but I focused on the road. Light spilled through the windshield, catching the edges of Ben’s jaw, his beard trimmed. His profile, stoic and quiet, made my breath catch for reasons I didn’t want to admit yet.

“So,” he said finally, voice low and gravelly in the stillness, “you gonna tell me where we’re going?”

“Nope.”

“Still playing the mystery card, huh?”

“I’m full of secrets,” I said, flashing him a grin. “Try to keep up.”

His eyes met mine for a beat, and his smirk turned slow and dangerous. “Oh, I plan to.”

And just like that, the air in the truck got a little thicker.

He turned back toward the windshield, like he hadn’t just lit me on fire with a sentence. Like he didn’t know he was steadily unraveling me with every look, every word.

But I knew better.

So did he.

And the day was only just beginning.

After an hour of driving, I turned down the road leading to the faraway lake with a sandy beach that few knew about.

Okay, many people were aware of it, but very few were willing to take the treacherous path that led there.

But I had faith in Ben.

I found the small clearing that served as a parking lot and eased Clarabelle into a cozy patch of flattened weeds between a boulder and a tree that had definitely seen better days. I turned the ignition off and grinned across the cab at him.

He stared at the brush ahead like it had personally insulted him.

“That’s the trail?”

“Trail is a strong word,” I said, grabbing my backpack and hopping out. “It’s more of a suggestion.”

Ben stepped out, squinted at the undergrowth, and took a long sip of his now-cold coffee. “You brought me into the woods to murder me.”

“Please,” I scoffed. “If I wanted to murder you, I wouldn’t have used my best cinnamon in the muffin. That’s hospitality, not homicide.”

He grunted and followed me around to the back of the truck as I handed him our items. I stuffed the sleeping bags in my backpack. “You’ll want water, snacks, and a healthy respect for wild terrain.”

He took a pack I gave him and slung it over one broad shoulder. “Do I get hazard credit for this?”

“You get scenic views and my sparkling personality.”

Ben eyed me. “The sparkling part, I believe. The personality is a little sharp-edged.”

I gave him a sweet smile. “It’s called depth. You should try it.”

He muttered something about sass and country girls as we made our way to the mouth of the trail.

The trees leaned in, tall and thick, the light dappled between their branches as if playing a game.

The ground sloped downward almost immediately, the dirt path winding like it couldn’t make up its mind.

Ben followed close behind me, our boots crunching twigs and leaves.

“So, how far is this alleged lake?”

“About two miles.”

“Is that two actual miles or two Fifi miles?”

I glanced back at him. “What’s the difference?”

“Fifi miles are like dog years. You say two, but it feels like twelve.”

“You wound me.”

“You tricked me.”

“You kissed me.”

That shut him up.

For exactly three seconds.

Then: “Fair. But I still think this trail hates me.”

“Oh, please. You’re doing great. You’ve barely scowled this entire hike.”

“I’m rationing my scowls. I only brought six.”

I laughed and turned back around, biting my lip to hide my grin. This man. He was trying so hard not to enjoy himself. But the flush creeping up his neck and the slight twitch of his lips gave him away.

Halfway down the slope, the trail narrowed, brushing close with a row of stubborn buckthorn brambles. I turned sideways to shuffle through the gap.

“Careful,” I warned, waving him forward. “This is where people decide they hate me forever.”

Ben ducked beneath a low branch and followed me through, the edge of his shirt snagging for a second. “If this was your plan to get me shirtless, you could’ve just asked.”

My foot caught on a root.

I stumbled, caught myself, and whipped around. “Did you just flirt with me?”

He raised an eyebrow, completely unbothered. “Did it work?”

My heart did something completely inappropriate in my chest.

I cleared my throat, turned back around, and muttered, “Jury’s out.”

We descended farther until the trees began to thin, and the air started to smell like sun-warmed stone and pine and that cool undertone of fresh water.

The trail turned sandy beneath our feet, and just ahead, the canyon walls opened into a wide clearing of sun-drenched rock, cradling a hidden lake like a secret.

The water glittered in the rising light, calm and glassy, surrounded by white sand and jagged stone ledges that sloped down into gentle waves.

Ben let out a slow breath beside me.

“Okay,” he said, his voice quieter now. “That’s… not bad.”

I beamed. “Right? It’s kind of my secret spot.”

He nodded, still staring out at the water. “Worth the blisters.”

“You haven’t even gotten blisters yet.”

“Oh, I will. But at least I won’t die bitter about it.”

I dropped my bag on a nearby boulder and stretched my arms over my head, the early morning sun warming my skin.

When I turned back, Ben was watching me again.

Not subtly.

His gaze dragged from the curve of my shoulder down the arch of my back and back up again.

My breath hitched. Heat rose in my cheeks.

“What?” I asked, voice a little too high.

He shrugged slowly, like the weight of the whole sky didn’t sit on those shoulders. “Just trying to figure you out.”

“Good luck with that,” I muttered, fumbling with the zipper of my backpack.

Ben stepped closer, just enough to make the air feel tight again.

“Maybe I don’t need to figure you out,” he said. “Maybe I just want to enjoy the view.”

I turned sharply to hide my expression.

Mostly because I was blushing so hard it might qualify as a medical emergency.

“Ben Jensen,” I said, flustered. “Did you just compare me to scenery? ”

“If the boot fits.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re distracting.”

My brain flatlined.

Somewhere behind us, a bird chirped helpfully. Probably mocking me.

I swallowed, tugged out the two rolled-up sleeping bags from the bottom of my pack, and tossed one at his feet. “Sit. Hydrate. Cool off.”

He raised an eyebrow at the sleeping bag. “We're hauling all this stuff just to sit somewhere?”

“No,” I said. “We’re hauling them because eventually, you’re going to want to lie down.”

He stilled.

Then his mouth curved into a smirk so devilish it nearly knocked the sun off its axis.

“You offering, Fifi?”

I turned away so fast I almost tripped on a pinecone.

“Hydrate,” I repeated firmly. “Before I push you in the lake.”

His low chuckle followed me all the way to the edge of the water.

And I had a sneaking suspicion this day was going to be a lot more dangerous than I’d planned.

In the best possible way.