I shrug. “All of you.”
She lets out an audible breath. “Oh,” she pauses, then, “I’m afraid you’ll see something you won’t like.”
I don’t tell her that she’s crazy. Instead, I keep it safe, saying, “I’m wondering if you’ll jump in and instantly regret it.”
She huffs. “I won’t regret it.”
“It’s cold.”
“I’m tougher than cold,” she repeats, like it’s her mantra now.
I laugh under my breath. “Okay, clipboard warrior.”
She shoots me a look that’s supposed to be annoyed, but it’s got heat in it too.
We set our stuff on a rock. She hesitates—just a flicker—then starts tugging off her shoes, socks, and hoodie. Underneath, she’s wearing a simple black tank and leggings from Juno’s bag. Nothing fancy. Nothing meant to be seen. But my brain immediately files it underdangerous.Not because she’s half-dressed. Because she looks like she’s stepping back into herself.
She steps to the edge and dips a toe in the water. Her whole face scrunches. “Oh my God.”
I smirk. “Tougher than cold.”
“Shut up,” she snaps, but she’s laughing when she says it. She wades in anyway, shoulders tensing as the water climbs her legs. The creek is mountain-fed. It’s the kind of cold that bites first and then turns numb. She gasps. “Okay. That’s… evil.”
I strip off my boots and shirt, keeping my eyes deliberately on the waterline and not on the way she’s looking at my body. Every hour I’ve spent grueling over the gym is paying off. I want her eyes on me.
I like it. The water looks inviting, but I’m sure it isn’t. I step in, and the cold hits my skin like a shock. I suck in a breath and keep my face neutral.
Salem notices, narrowing her eyes. “You just flinched.”
“I did not.”
“You did,” she insists, delight sharpening her expression. “You’re not tougher than cold.”
“I didn’t say I was.”
She grins. “Coward.”
I move toward her, water swirling around my thighs, and she backs up instinctively—playful, but wary, like she still can’t fully trust play. I stop a few feet away. “If I’m a coward, what does that make you?”
She lifts her chin. “Brave.”
I hum. “Correct.”
Her expression shifts at that like she’s surprised, then something softer that she tries to hide.
I let it go. We wade deeper until the water hits our waists. The current presses against us, tugging at Salem’s tied-back hair, pulling loose strands like it wants to steal them.
She shivers. Then she exhales and—without warning—she laughs. A real laugh. Full and sudden and bright. It crackssomething open in my chest. Because it’s not forced. And it makes me want to burn down the world for ever taking it from her.
She splashes water at me.
I raise a brow. “You sure you want to start a war you can’t win?”
Her eyes flash. “Oh, I can win.”
“Okay,” I say, voice low. “Come here.”
She squints. “Why?”