Page 100 of The Unlikely Pair

“I’m pretty sure if we manage to catch a rabbit, you’re soon going to be grateful for my ability to skin it,” I reply.

We’re back to bickering, but our bickering definitely lacks the animosity Toby used to direct towards me.

Yesterday, there was something almost…tender in how he looked at me, cared for me. But then, he’d reminded me that our interactions are simply about keeping each other alive. I need to remember that. I need to stop the part of me that is determined to seek more meaning from the way Toby acts towards me.

Toby accompanies me as we venture into the woods in search of the most advantageous locations to set up our snares.

“It’ll need to be on an obvious game path,” I say. “Can you see any paths that look like hares and squirrels might take?”

“Well, I’m not sure my mind is in sync with woodland creatures, but if I were a squirrel, I guess I’d be going the easiest way between my home and food source.”

“That’s an excellent idea. Now we just need to figure out where their home and food are,” I say, and Toby’s mouth curls into a smirk.

Eventually, we take our best guess at what looks like a small trail between the trees. When I construct the snare between two bushes, it is virtually invisible.

“Good work.”

“We’re going to have to mark the snares somehow so we know where they are, so we don’t accidentally walk into one,” I say.

“What about putting three pinecones in a clump together? That way, we’ll know they are there, but the animals won’t notice anything foreign,” Toby suggests.

“I thought you said you didn’t think like a woodland creature,” I comment.

“Maybe I’m getting wilder by the minute,” Toby retorts.

I snort in amusement, and Toby’s lips tilt.

Toby and I work through the forest, setting up a dozen snares in a large semicircle around the cabin.

“We’ll have to wait to see if they work. In the meantime, we can chop some wood,” I say.

“Why do I get the feeling that’s a phrase you’re going to repeat a lot in the future?” Toby asks as he bends to check our last snare. “Almost as much as you say, ‘Keep doing that, Toby.’” He sends me a flirty wink.

I roll my eyes.

As we walk back towards the cabin, Toby enthusiastically comes up with recipes to cook all the theoretical rabbits and squirrels we will catch. His curls are wild around his face, his gestures loud, and I find myself having to take a break fromlooking at him, instead glancing to where the rock underfoot slopes down to the lake.

But then I hear a small cry from Toby and whirl back around, only to find Toby has disappeared.

My stomach plunges.

“Toby!”

When I rush back to where he had been standing, my heart pounding in my ears, I discover a deep, narrow ravine hidden by the undergrowth.

Dropping to my knees, I peer down into the shadows. “Toby!” My voice echoes off the rocky walls.

“Harry.” Toby’s voice reaches me, and I’m fairly sure if I wasn’t already on my knees, the relief pulsing through me would send me to them.

I spot him about eight feet down, wedged against the rock face on a narrow ledge. The ravine looks deep, at least fifteen feet to the bottom, with steep, jagged walls.

“Bloody hell, are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m all right, but I don’t think I can climb out on my own.”

“I think I saw a rope in the lean-to. I’ll retrieve it and pull you out.”

My mind races as I sprint back to the cabin. What happens if I can’t get him out? What happens if he’s stuck down there? For some reason, I’m struggling to find the usual composure I pride myself on having in a crisis.