Except for one night on a rooftop.
We putter along for a while. Finally, when the path narrows down to a walking trail that the car can’t get through, Cillian pulls to the side and turns the engine off.
“We’re walking from here,” he tells me.
We get out of the car and head up the trail. The area is filled with thick trees. Some I have the names for—holly, yew, Scots pine, hawthorn. Others aren’t as familiar.
As we slip between their girthy trunks, the smell of red soil and pine needles fills my nostrils.
The air feels different up here. Brighter, cleaner. Life-preserving.
The trail narrows in places and others are choked with boulders. But Cillian always helps me through the rougher patches.
Bit by bit, we delve deeper. Half the time, the next step is far from obvious. It looks like untouched forest in every direction.
But Cillian seems to know where we’re going. He never falters, never hesitates.
Doesn’t say a word, either, which is starting to drive me crazy.
I just try to breathe and appreciate the nature around us.
And trust him.
I’m trying very, very hard to trust him.
“Ah, here we are,” Cillian says after I-don’t-even-know-how-long, reaching back for my hand.
His fingers close around mine and I have to suppress a shiver.
Does he even notice the effect his touch has on me?
If he doesn’t, he doesn’t show it. His just pulls me up onto a flat, grassy knoll with a line of sight over to the uppermost edge of the mountain range in the distance.
“Oh, wow,” I breathe, momentarily forgetting the tingles snaking up my arm.
Cillian smiles and walks me closer to the edge. I expect a deep drop when I look down, but the slope is actually quite gentle. Right up to the lip of the cliff.
To my surprise, Cillian crouches down low and then gets on his stomach to lie flat against the soft grass.
“Care to explain, or should I just do as the Romans do?”
“Pop down and pipe down.”
Rolling my eyes, I mimic his position and wait expectantly, belly-down on the grass with my chin hanging over the edge of the cliff.
A couple of minutes go by, but nothing out of the ordinary happens. Just forest in every direction. Mostly quiet. Mostly still.
But Cillian keeps staring out at the woody range ahead as though he’s waiting for someone to appear.
“Cillian…”
“Just be patient.”
I rein in a sigh and try to do just that.
Except that Cillian’s scent is even more intoxicating than the fresh air and the trees. And he’s lying so close to me that it’s hard not to notice the decisive square of his jaw. Or the way his hair curls at the back. Or the straight, proud line of his nose.
And noticing those things only makes me remember that, not two hours ago, our naked bodies were wrapped together, ingraining the memory right into my skin.