"It’s this tiny country in the northern mountains. Fjords that cut right through the land, waterfalls everywhere, these little wooden villages painted red and white." His eyes lit up as he spoke. "The shoot’s going to be on this cliff overlooking a fjord at sunrise. The photographer sent test shots and I literally almost cried."
"You cried?"
"A little. Just internally. Very manly tears." He grinned. "But seriously, Hazel, it’s going to be incredible. I’ll be wearing all this flowy dark wool stuff, standing on rocks, looking broody." He paused. "I’m very good at looking broody."
"I can tell."
He laughed, delighted she was playing along. "And after the shoot, I’m staying an extra week. Just to explore. Hike the cliffs. Eat weird pickled fish. Get lost in those tiny villages where no one speaks English."
Hazel watched him as he talked. The way his whole face lit up. The way his hands moved when he got excited. The way he looked at her like she was actually listening, actually interested.
She was.
"When do you leave?" she asked.
"One month." He looked at her, sothing shifting in his dark eyes. "You know... you could co."
She blinked. "What?"
"To Solvira. The shoot’s work, but after that, exploring. Hiking. Getting lost in fjords." He shrugged, trying to look casual and failing. "I an, if you want. No pressure. Just... you said you used to love photography. That place is basically made for photographers."
Hazel stared at him. He had offered a second ti that she should go with him, and she felt the offer was getting more tempting.
He stared back, hopeful and terrified all at once.
"You’re asking to travel to a foreign country with you," she said slowly. "After knowing for... what, a week?"
"A week where your wedding exploded and you ran into the woods and I followed you like an idiot." He smiled sheepishly. "So yeah. We’ve been through a lot."
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
"You’re insane," she said.
"Probably."
"You don’t even know ."
"I know you’re strong. I know you’re funny even when you’re trying not to be. I know you used to love photography and stopped because soone made you feel like you shouldn’t." His voice went quiet. "I know you’re worth getting to know."
The waterfall filled the silence.
Hazel’s eyes burned.
No one had ever said sothing like that to her.
"I don’t know what to say," she whispered.
"Say you’ll think about it." His smile was gentle. "That’s all. Just think."
She nodded slowly.
"Okay," she breathed. "I’ll think."
Dominique’s smile widened.
"Good," he said softly. "That’s good."
They sat together, watching the water fall, the future suddenly feeling a little less empty.
"Although I love spending ti here with you," Dominique said, his voice shifting to sothing more serious, "we should probably head back. You know your family will be worried about you."
Hazel looked at his face, those dark eyes, that perfect jaw, the way he actually seed concerned about her family’s feelings. It was such a small thing, but it made sothing warm flicker in her chest.
She nodded slowly. "You’re right."
He stood up first, then turned and offered her his hand. His fingers were long, elegant, the kind of hands that belonged in magazines.
Hazel looked at it for half a second, then placed her palm in his.
His grip was warm. Steady. He pulled her up gently, careful not to tug too hard.
"Thanks," she murmured.
The mont she was standing, though, she felt it.
A sharp ache shot up from her ankles. Her heels, beautiful, delicate, completely impractical for mountain paths, had finally taken their revenge. She had walked too far, stood too long, and now her feet were screaming.
She winced, shifting her weight.
Dominique noticed imdiately. "You okay?"
"Fine," she said automatically. Then winced again. "Just... my heels hate ."
He looked down at her feet. At the strappy, gorgeous, utterly ridiculous shoes. Then back up at her face.
"You really walked through a forest in those?"
"I wasn’t exactly planning a hike when I walked out of my wedding."
Fair point. He nodded slowly, then crouched down.
"What are you doing?"
"Checking the damage." He looked up at her. "Can you stand on one foot? Just for a second?"
Hazel blinked, confused, but lifted one foot. He gently took her ankle, examining the red marks where the straps had dug in. His touch was careful. Professional, almost.
"These are blisters," he said quietly. "You’ve been walking on these for... what, an hour?"
"Sothing like that."
He looked up at her, and there was sothing in his eyes she couldn’t read. Not pity. Not judgnt. Just concern. Genuine concern.
Without a word, he straightened up. Then he turned around and crouched down again, this ti with his back to her.
"What are you doing?" she asked again.
"Get on."
She stared at his back. "Excuse ?"
"I’m giving you a piggyback ride. Your feet are destroyed and we have a twenty-minute walk back."
"I can walk."
"Your face says otherwise."
She opened her mouth to argue, but he was right. Her feet were throbbing. The path back was uneven and steep. She would probably make it, but she’d be miserable and slow.
"Dominique..."
"Just get on, Hazel. It’s fine. I’m strong. I carry cara equipnt for a living. You weigh nothing."
She hesitated for one more second. Then, carefully, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his neck.
He stood up smoothly, his hands hooking under her knees to support her. She was suddenly very aware of how warm he was, how solid, how good he slled.
"This is weird," she muttered against his shoulder.
"This is chivalrous," he corrected, starting down the path. "Very old school. Very romantic. You’re welco."
She almost laughed.
Almost.
They walked in silence for a while, the sound of the waterfall fading behind them. Hazel’s head rested near his ear, her scarred cheek pressed close to his neck. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t tense. Just kept walking, steady and sure.
"You’re surprisingly strong," she said quietly.
"Surprisingly?"
"For a model."
He snorted. "Models work out, Hazel. We have to look like this." He shifted her slightly, adjusting his grip. "Besides, you’re light. You probably don’t eat enough."
"I eat."
"Mmhmm."
She should have felt defensive. Instead, she felt safe. Carried. Like for once, she didn’t have to be strong.
The path wound through the trees. The sun filtered through the leaves. And Dominique carried her like she weighed nothing at all.
"Thank you," she whispered.
He squeezed her knee gently. "Anyti."
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