Crush - Kelsie Rae Page 0,59
shouldn’t be doing any activities that will stress your body out. And even an overly bumpy ATV ride with the change in elevation can cause issues, so I figured the gondola sky ride was a good bet.”
“You kind of nailed it,” I admit as I sneak another picture of Ben. He’s sitting on the ground, resting his elbow on his bent knee as he takes in the gorgeous ambiance surrounding us. The light breeze. The orange and yellow leaves with pops of red and green. The expanse below us. All of it is so picturesque, I’m positive I won’t even need to use Photoshop to frame these images. They’re perfect just the way they are.
He sighs in contentment before rummaging through his worn, black backpack. After pulling out a water bottle, he tosses me an unopened bottle of cranberry juice.
My amusement rivals my confusion as I lift the cranberry juice and inspect it. “I know I mentioned I like cranberry juice, but how did you––”
“Your Zion National Park pictures.”
I cock my head to the side. “What?”
“There were a few pictures in the slideshow of you drinking cranberry juice, which by the way, is a very unconventional drink on a hike. Just sayin’. Unfortunately, they didn’t have the right brand in the vending machine at the hotel, but I was kind of hoping you’d cut me a little slack this time.”
Still shocked by his thoughtfulness, I lower my camera and state the obvious. “You brought me cranberry juice.”
He shrugs. “I brought you cranberry juice.”
“On a hike.”
“Yeah. On a frickin’ hike.”
“Even though it’s weird,” I reiterate.
“Damn right, it’s weird.” He laughs, shaking me from my surprise. “But yeah. I did.”
Licking my lips, I lean into him and press a soft kiss to his arrogant grin even though I know it won’t do my gratitude any justice.
He tastes like sunshine and warmth and…home.
“Does that mean I did good?” he teases when I pull away.
“I already told you that you kinda nailed it.”
“Yeah, but that was before the cranberry juice, which was kinda the cherry on top. So….” He winks. “How’d I do?”
A lump the size of a ping-pong ball gets caught in my throat, but I shove it down and soak up the moment the same way I’ve been soaking up the last of the autumn sunshine.
“You nailed it, Ben,” I whisper. My heart tightens in my chest. It’s a good pain, though. A scary one. But as long as my heart doesn’t end up breaking by the end of this, I’ll gladly live with the sharp reminder because I’ve never cared about someone the way I’m starting to care about the man in front of me. And it’s moments like this when I wonder if he might care about me in the same way. At the same level.
Because this? What I feel for him? It could very well consume me.
And I’d let it. As long as I knew I wasn’t alone.
“Damn right, I nailed it,” he jokes with that same cocky smirk before reaching for my heavy, black camera in my hands. “Now, tell me how I use this thing. I need to snap a few of you up here.”
“Maybe next time,” I hedge.
“No deal, Marce. I want to remember today. You. Me. Up here. Please?”
Damn heart. Hold it together, woman!
I clear my throat, adjust the settings on my DSLR, then show him which button to press. He takes at least a dozen pictures before an idea hits me.
Raising my forefinger at him, I say, “Just a sec.”
There are a few picnic tables at the top of the peak, and I head toward the closest one before rummaging through my travel bag for my wireless remote control that allows me to take pictures without being behind the camera. When I find it, I wiggle it back and forth at Ben.
“What’s that?” he asks.
“You’ll see. Go stand by that rock near the ledge.” I point in its direction and can feel Ben watching me curiously as he follows my orders and stands with his hands in his pockets. After a few more minor adjustments on my camera, I set it on the top of the picnic table frame Ben in the shot before swaying toward him.
Well. Swaying might be a bit of a stretch. Let’s be real. It’s more of a waddle, but I don’t let it get to me as Ben pulls me into his chest as soon as I’m within arm’s reach.
“You’re hot when you get your photographer look,” he tells