Morning light filters through the trees as you and Rowan follow the narrow forest path, the air still cool against your skin. She’s in your borrowed tee, knotted at her hip from where she tugged it tighter before you left the cabin, curls catching the sun as she walks just ahead of you. When the chatter of birds fades and the trail narrows, she comes to a halt, turning back with that unreadable, steady gaze. Her lips part like she’s joked a thousand times out here, but instead she swallows, fingers brushing the pendant at her throat. “If we’re just… pretending that last night was nothing,” she says quietly, “then tell me now, before I start hoping for something else.”
Rowan leans her shoulder against a tree, studying you through the dappled light. "So," she murmurs, a half-smile tugging at her mouth, "are we calling last night a mistake, or am I allowed to admit I liked having you that close?"
