Avery remains silent, still sitting in the passenger’s seat of the truck, flipping pages of her fashion magazine while Swarley overdoses on all the smells around our tent—the tent I put up by myself.

“I’d invite you, but the trails are not paved in gold or lined with red carpet.”

The door to my truck clicks open.

I grin.

“For your information …”

Give me all the information, Ave.

I inwardly smirk, shutting the tailgate.

She slams the door and arches her back, moving it from side to side. “I’m in excellent physical condition—except for my hand.” She frowns, holding it to her chest. “I do Pilates, yoga, cardio, strength training—”

“Great.” I nod toward the direction of the trailhead. “Grab your dog. Let’s get in a few miles before we settle down for the pre-bludgeoning campfire.”

My new favorite game is called Make Avery Smile because I find her tolerable—just—when she fights back a grin or laughter. Life is too short to take yourself so seriously.

“Come on, Swarley.” She whistles.

“Shoes?” I stare at her rhinestone flip-flops.

“How long is the hike?” She tips her chin up.

“More than ten yards. Change your shoes. I’m not carrying you.”

“Pfft … I’m good. In spite of what you might think from the past two days, I’m not a damsel in distress. I can walk for miles in these. They are actually more comfortable than they look.”

I have a long list of thoughts and lingering first impressions of this woman, but something tells me taking her for a hike in flip-flops will not change a single one of them.

“I’m not carrying you.”

“I’m not deaf. I heard you the first time. I won’t need you to carry me. Sheesh …” She attaches Swarley’s leash, flipping and flopping her way to the start of the trail.

“This won’t end well …” I mumble, spending a little too much time staring at her sashaying ass. My dick gives me a stern warning.

“Jaaake?”

“Wait, buddy.” I whistle and Swarley stops. After pouring him some water in the lid of my canteen, I retreat in the direction of the whiney voice calling my name.

Avery cringes, easing onto an old tree stump.

“What is it?” Planting my hands on my hips, I glare down at her, daring her to say one fucking word about her feet.

“We’ve been walking for miles. How much farther do we have to go?”

“Another mile or so. Why?” My eyebrows lift.

Say it, Princess. I dare you.

“I’m …” Her lips curl between her teeth.

“You’re what?”

“Hungry and thirsty. I didn’t bring water with me.”

Her feet are streaked in red marks from rocks and brush scratching them, and I’m certain the area between her first and second toes has to be raw. But … she’s hungry and thirsty.