Page 88 of Objection Overruled
“Efficient,” I correct. “Now left. There’s a branch ahead.”
She steps left, slow, careful, her hand reaching out in front of her. Her fingers brush my shirt. She inhales sharply, then lowers her hand.
“Forward again,” I say, keeping my voice low.
She takes two steps. The breeze moves through the trees. Her ponytail shifts across her back, and I can’t seem to stop tracking every movement she makes.
“Little more to your right,” I tell her. “The path narrows.”
She turns her body slightly and keeps moving. Her knee brushes my leg as she passes, the contact small but enough to mess with my breathing. I should step back. I don’t.
“Still with me?” I ask.
“I’d move faster if you stopped hovering.”
“You’d walk into a tree if I did.”
She grins. “You’d catch me.”
That’s debatable.
“Step down,” I say. “Small dip.”
She follows, steady this time, and I let her go another few paces before I realize there’s a patch of uneven ground up ahead. “Stop.”
She halts mid-step. “What?”
“Rock under your foot,” I say. “Shift your weight back.”
She does, trusting me instantly. Her breathing evens out. For a second, I let myself look at her—her shoulders pulled tight, her lips parted slightly as she waits for the next cue.
“All right,” I say, quieter now. “Step over it. One long stride.”
She moves. The blindfold stays firm, but her mouth curves into a small, focused smile. “You’re not as bad at this as I thought.”
“Don’t start handing out praise,” I say. “We’re not finished.”
She takes another step, and this time, her foot catches on a root. I see it too late. She stumbles backward. I move fast, my hands finding her before gravity can. One at her waist. One at her ribs.
Her body jerks against mine, and she exhales, short and sharp. The back of her head nearly grazes my chin. I feel the tremor in her breath, the heat where her shirt lifts just enough to expose skin under my palm.
Neither of us moves.
“Careful,” I say quietly.
“Your fault,” she says, voice thin.
“You tripped.”
“You didn’t warn me.”
“You don’t listen.”
My fingers flex against her side before I can stop them. Her breathing picks up again.
“Rowan,” she says, quieter now.
“What?”
