Chapter 3
“I’m Guilford Kendricks. My friends call me Guil.”
“Lane Wilson.” She shivered and offered him one raisin-hand in greeting, the skin clammy. “And right now, you’re the only friend I have, so whatever you want to call me, I’ll probably answer. Thanks.” Her lips trembled with cold and it was entirely inappropriate of him to notice how full and perfect they were, the bottom lip curving into a sweet, kissable pout.
“Not at all. Here. They’ll be big on you, but at least they’re dry.” He handed her the bag. “Towel, comb, and other stuff, too. I was a Boy Scout in a previous life.”
She stared at him, bag clutched loosely to her chest. “Um…”
“Don’t worry,” he said, unzipping the inner lining. “The tent is pretty big. I’ll leave you to your privacy. Just come in when you’re changed.”