Chapter 37: Honeymoon trip
The scent of pine resin and woodsmoke still clung to the air, thick and comforting, but the languid warmth of the bed was fading. Morning light, sharp and clear, sliced through the cabin window, illuminating dust motes dancing above the rumpled quilt. Gena was already moving, a whirlwind of dark hair and bare skin, humming softly as she pulled open drawers in the rustic oak dresser. The sight of her – effortless grace, the impossible curve of her hip catching the light – still punched the air from my lungs.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, the cool wood floor a shock against my soles. My body felt loose, pleasantly sore in ways that echoed the intensity of the night. Reaching for my worn canvas duffel bag, I started methodically folding gear. Sturdy hiking pants, moisture-wicking base layers, thick wool socks – the uniform of my solitary escapes. My fingers brushed against the familiar, reassuring bulk of my compact first-aid kit, the waterproof matches, the topographic map folded with military precision.
"Think we'll need crampons?" Gena called over her shoulder, holding up a pair of sleek, minimalist microspikes. Her own packing was… different. A cascade of soft-looking sweaters spilled from her bag, alongside leggings that looked more suited to lounging than scrambling over scree. She tossed the spikes onto her small pile. "Probably overkill, right? You said late spring melt."
"Probably," I agreed, folding a fleece jacket. "Trail runners and poles should handle most of it. The cabin’s near treeline, but the approach trail is well-maintained." I hesitated, adding a collapsible water filter. "Still, pack layers. Mountain weather flips faster than a coin."
She grinned, pulling on a pair of dark jeans that clung like a second skin. "Layers. Got it." She rummaged again, emerging with a silky camisole the colour of midnight. "How about this layer?"
A flush crept up my neck. "It’s… nice." Nice was a vast understatement. It looked like something poured onto her skin. Practicality warred with the image it conjured – her wearing just that camisole, bathed in firelight in the bigger cabin she’d envisioned. I shoved the image down, focusing on rolling my sleeping bag tight. "Might get chilly at night, though."
She laughed, a sound like wind chimes. "Mom, I run hot. Remember?" Her violet eyes held a knowing sparkle. The succubus warmth. She tossed the camisole into her bag anyway. "But point taken. Sweater for stargazing." She pulled a soft, oversized knit sweater over her head, momentarily drowning her figure in cozy wool. It made her look younger, softer. More like the girl who’d clung to my hand on her first day of school.
I pulled on my own clothes: durable cargo pants, a faded green thermal shirt, a worn flannel buttoned loosely over it. Practical. Anonymous. Armour against the world. I laced up my sturdy hiking boots, the leather supple from miles of trails. As I straightened, adjusting the flannel collar, I caught Gena’s reflection in the cabin’s small mirror.
She’d stopped packing. She was just… looking at me. Her head tilted slightly, a slow smile spreading across her face, transforming it from beautiful to utterly devastating.
"Wow," she breathed, her voice low and appreciative. "Look at you."
I glanced down at myself. Same old gear. "What? It’s just my hiking stuff."
"No," she insisted, stepping closer. Her gaze traveled slowly, deliberately, from my boots up my legs, lingering on my hips, tracing the lines of the flannel across my chest, finally meeting my eyes. The intensity in hers was palpable, a physical warmth radiating across the small space between us. "You look… hot. Seriously sexy. All rugged and capable." She reached out, her fingers brushing lightly over the worn fabric covering my bicep. "Like you could wrestle a bear and win. Then build a fire with your bare hands."
Heat flooded my face, hotter than any campfire. It wasn't just embarrassment; it was a jolt of pure, disorienting arousal sparked by her blatant admiration. My daughter. My wife. Looking at me like I was… desirable. In hiking pants.
"Gena," I muttered, turning away sharply, pretending sudden intense interest in zipping my duffel bag shut. My fingers fumbled. "Don't be ridiculous. It’s just clothes." I tried for a dismissive chuckle, but it came out strangled. "Functional clothes."
She moved instantly, closing the distance. Her hands landed lightly on my shoulders, turning me firmly back to face her. Her expression was earnest, devoid of teasing now. "I'm not joking," she said softly. Her eyes searched mine, that unnerving violet depth holding me captive. "You are sexy, Mom. To me. Always. But especially like this. Ready for adventure. Strong." Her thumb brushed the silver band on my finger – her ring. "Mine."
The possessiveness in that single word vibrated through me. It should have felt wrong, suffocating. Instead, a traitorous thrill chased away the discomfort. My breath hitched. The cabin walls suddenly felt too close, the promise of the vast wilderness outside beckoning like freedom… and a terrifying new intimacy.
I cleared my throat, forcing myself to meet her gaze squarely, trying to project a stability I didn't entirely feel. "Flattery will get you nowhere," I managed, injecting a lightness I hoped sounded convincing. "Except maybe carrying the heavier pack."
Her answering smile was slow, triumphant, and utterly luminous. She leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against my cheekbone, her lips warm against my flushed skin. "Deal," she whispered, her breath tickling my ear. "As long as I get to watch you wrestle that hypothetical bear."
She released me, turning back to her own bag with a satisfied little hum. I stood frozen for a heartbeat, the phantom touch of her lips burning, the echo of her words – hot, sexy, mine – ringing in the quiet cabin air. The practical gear suddenly felt less like armour and more like… a costume in a play I hadn't fully read the script for. The mountains awaited, vast and silent. But the most unpredictable, captivating wilderness was standing right beside me, zipping up a bag filled with silk and sweaters and an intensity that threatened to eclipse the sun. I hefted my duffel, its familiar weight grounding me. Time to step into the unknown. Together.