Day One is a piece of cake. After we ride around the Truckee River on mountain bikes in the morning, Mia and her twenty-five employees take a break to play the stuck-on-a-deserted-island game, a standard icebreaker for these sorts of retreats.

“Which three items would you want if you were stranded on a deserted island?” Mia asks from her perch on a large boulder at the edge of the water, rays of sunlight stretching across the blue surface behind her.

She looks to Lisa, her VP, who I’ve learned is the practical one, which she demonstrates when she picks a map, a knife, and a satellite phone.

“I like that. I’ll stick by your side,” Mia says.

Next is a guy named Otis who works in the IT department. He opts for swim trunks, sunscreen, and a Tardis, thrusting a fist in the air rocker-style as he shouts, “TV is educational. Thank you, Doctor Who.”

Mia nods her appreciation for his answer. “You’ve always been a master at finding work-arounds.”

We go through the rest of the crew, and when it’s Mia’s turn, she taps her finger against her lip. “I choose a plane, a pilot, and . . . some fuel.”

I shoot her a smile that says well played.

“And you, Patrick?” Lisa asks, peering over her sunglasses, her black hair in a high ponytail. “It’s only fair that the guides play, too.” She gestures to me and Blair, a guide I hired recently. Blair pretty much lives and breathes the outdoors. Twin braids run down her back, freckles line her cheeks, and she’s always smiling. She’ll be with us for the whole trip since the group is large enough to need two guides.

“You want to go first, Blair?”

She shakes her head, her braids swinging. “No way. I’m dying to know what the boss would take.”

“Yes, tell us,” Otis says, rubbing his palms together, goading me on.

I glance at Mia, who wears a playful we’re waiting look.

I blow out a long stream of air, stare off into the bright, blue sky, and pretend I’m noodling on the question. “A toothbrush for sure. Since who wants stinky breath when you’re stuck, right?”

Lisa narrows her eyes, as if I can’t really have given that answer.

“A snack would be good,” I add, furrowing my brow as if I’m deeply pondering the question. “Maybe an energy bar or a bag of nuts.”

“That’s what you’d take? A bag of nuts?” an incredulous Otis asks, his eyes bugging out like a cartoon character.

I hold up a finger. “I didn’t get to my third item yet.” I wiggle an eyebrow. “I’d also take Mia . . . because she has a plane, pilot, and fuel with her.”

Otis hoots. “I bow down to you. That’s the best work-around ever.”

Mia laughs. “And I see Patrick is excellent not only at backpacking, but piggybacking.”

When the break ends, just before we hop on our bikes, Mia whispers to me in a flirty voice, “Piggybacking,” as if it’s some new naughty term. Then she stops herself. “Wait. I’m sure that’s a terribly inappropriate term for something I don’t even want to know about.”

I laugh. “Hey now. You’re supposed to behave.”

We cruise around the lake for the rest of the day, until we return to the inn where everyone is staying for the first two nights of the four-night trip. After dinner and some relaxation time, I call it a night.

Alone.

In my room.

I’ll admit it. A part of me hopes Mia will tiptoe over to visit me here on the other side of the inn.

Okay, two parts of me. My dick and my heart.

And fine, my brain wants it, too.

But we made a deal.

Or really, I insisted upon one, and I’m glad she’s honoring my wishes, especially when curiosity wins, and I learn the terribly inappropriate term refers to when one person piggybacks off another’s porn during a solo ride, watching over the shoulder. The way I see it, I don’t want to be sneaking up on Mia when she’s savoring her own delicious body. I want to be a major player in all the action when she’s in my bed, in my home, living in my house.

It’s a sharp moment of clarity brought to me by Urban Dictionary.

And I groan with the stark realization that I do want her to live with me. There isn’t just a part of me that wants that, like I thought when we joked about it at my apartment. All of me wants that. I don’t want to mess around with separate places. I want to pick her up at the airport when she lands in New York in twenty-four more days, and take her to her new home.

Mine.

* * *

Kayak time is the next morning, and Blair leads this part of the trip, while I help her out. After a few hours, the group breaks for lunch. As everyone else heads to picnic tables, Mia hangs back, waiting for me.

“So . . .” A curious tone threads through her voice.

“So to you, too.”

“Blair’s cute.”

I glance at Blair, several yards ahead, then to Mia by my side. “Is she?”

“You know she is.”

I arch a skeptical brow. “Do I?”

“You do know that.”

“I know nothing of the sort.” Except that I like Mia’s jealousy.

She narrows her eyes and whispers under her breath. “Do you think she’s cute?”

I sigh. “Mia, she works for me.”

“Do you?” she presses.

I flash her a grin. “Does it drive you crazy not knowing?”

Her eyes are fierce as she answers, “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Say it, Mia.”

She crosses her arms and huffs.

I shrug as we walk toward the tables. “Okay, don’t say it.”

“I don’t want you to think anyone else is cute,” she blurts under her breath.

That’s another plus in the quest to win her whole heart—a jealous, possessive Mia. I like her jealous side a hell of a lot. Naturally, I have no choice but to tease her as we amble by the water. A chipmunk scurries along the ground, and I gesture to the little fella. “What about a chipmunk, though? Chipmunks are cute.”

“They are.”

“How about baby birds? The kind you rescue.”

“Stop it. You know I think baby birds are adorable, and you’re clearly allowed to think they’re cute, too.”

“And what about foxes? Like your foxy ink?”

“Foxes are the cutest things ever.”

I stop, cross my arms, and peer over my shades. In a voice for her ears only, I give her what she wants at last. “Jackrabbit, I only have eyes for you.”

Even though we’re side by side, gazing at the water, I can tell her grin is spreading far and wide.

The second night is tougher.

But my copy of A River Runs Through It—the book, not the Brad Pitt flick—keeps me occupied, as does a few hours of work, checking in with Dana on the other tours underway, and touching base with clients and suppliers. Before I’m ready to hit the hay, Daisy sends me a picture of Zeus rubbing his cheek against the pot of catnip, captioned: It’s high time you gave him the herb!

I laugh, then because I’m sure Mia would love to see this, I leave my room and find her curled up on a chair in the living room of the inn, reading a National Geographic piece on Arctic exploration. I grab the chair across from her and show her the screen. “He likes your gift.”

She sets down the magazine. “Please have him make a list of his likes and dislikes so I can continue to bestow only the finest presents upon him when I’m living in New York.”

Mia in New York. Those words sound foreign. The idea of her living in the same city as me feels strange and almost unreal. Maybe because we’re riding this in-between state right now, trying to balance all these other complications—her move, my friendship with her brother, and then the most inconvenient hurdle of all—the current can’t-touch-this situation.

I’d really like to touch her, just to reconnect. Her knee. Her shoulder. Her hair. I’m a starving man, and any morsel will do.

“Zeus looks forward to your generosity.” That feels even more surreal, as if I’m talking to her through my cat who’s not even here. What I really want to say is I look forward to showering you with affection every single day. And then you’ll tell me how much you can’t wait for that, too.

Why the fuck don’t I say that? Maybe because Max’s warning threw me off. And maybe I’m giving it too much power. But I don’t know Mia’s whole heart yet, either. She hasn’t shared it with me. The last thing I want is to scare her off. I want to nurture this burgeoning thing between us, give it every chance to become all I want it to be. That’s why I’ve kept my mouth shut. After all, one small bout of jealousy is hardly her asking me if she can move in. We’re not entirely on the same page here.

Mia cocks her head to the side. “Do you miss him when you travel? Zeus?”

I flip over my phone and check out the shot of the little dude once more. “I do miss him.” I hold her gaze. “What about you?”

She licks her lips, her eyes locked with mine, her voice low and soft. “I do miss him. I miss him a lot.”

We’re not entirely talking about the cat.

But I’m not entirely sure what we’re saying, either.

That’s the problem.

I want us both to say the same things, to feel the same emotions, and to want this great, big love I believe we can have. And someone is going to need to step it up and speak first.

But if I say all that now, it hardly seems like I’m following my own guidelines. And if we’re trying to put the genie back in the bottle, now’s not the time for nookie—or for declarations of I need you with me always.

* * *

The next day the backpacking begins, and I lead the Pure Beauty crew over the hills and through the woods, stopping to snap photos and to breathe in the views—peaks, valleys, and toweringly tall green trees. In the afternoon, we arrive at the campsite, and I work with Blair to set up the tents for the first of two nights in the great outdoors.

A little later around the campfire, Mia runs through more of her team-building and bonding games, including an impromptu round of “What’s your special talent?” Mia shows off her party trick, a walking handstand that easily lasts twenty feet. I crack up since it looks like her hands and arms work as upside-down feet and legs. I get a chance to show off mine, too. Making the most kick-ass s’mores ever. Blair helps me with the marshmallows, and for a moment I wonder if Mia’s jealousy will return, but she seems focused on her job.

Which I admire.

Selfishly, though, I wish she’d turn her focus elsewhere.

But when it’s dark and quiet, and only the owls are hooting and the crickets are chirping, she does just that.