“Yes. We promised we’d stay here. Besides, you’ll be fine. I’ve been zip-lining a hundred times. Once in Costa Rica, where the safety regulations are far less stringent than the US. And I survived.”
“But you have the resilience of a cockroach. You’d probably survive the apocalypse.”
“Thanks… I think,” Colt chuckled, scooting closer.
The platform creaked beneath his weight, and Penny flinched. “Stop moving.”
“Or what?” His eyes twinkled as he took another step toward her.
They stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the expansive tree trunk. Heat radiated from his skin as he brushed against her bare arm, and Penny sucked in a breath. “Or…”
Her comeback faltered as she gazed through the cracks in the wooden platform. The ground below blurred into shades of green and brown. They had to be at least fifty feet in the air, possibly more. And that distance would only increase as they made their way to each platform until they reached the highest and longest run at the end. The mere thought made her queasy. “I can’t do this,” she whimpered, her throat dry.
“Yes, you can.” Colt wrapped an arm around her shoulders, offering a reassuring squeeze.
Against her better judgment, Penny huddled against his strong, muscular frame, appreciating the sense of security his presence provided.
“I’ll give you a piece of advice,” he offered, keeping his arm draped around her.
“If you saydon’t look down, you’re going to get an elbow in your rib.”
Colt laughed, and Penny found the rich, rumbling sound soothing somehow.
“I was going to say, pretend you’re in a tree house, like when we were kids.”
“I never played in tree houses as a kid,” she confessed. “Thousands of children are treated for tree-house-related injuries each year, and my dad didn’t think they were safe.”
“Oh, man. I’m sorry to hear that. Luke and I used to love camping out in the tree house. Dad would usually come up for a few hours and tell us ghost stories. We never had the heart to tell him they weren’t that scary.” Colt’s features softened at the admission. “What about you? Was your dad a fan of ghost stories?”
“Yes, but his weren’t all that scary, either. Although, he did tell me one I’ll never forget.”
Penny closed her eyes, trying to recall every detail of that night. The steady hum of crickets harmonizing with the wind as it rustled through the dogwood branches. The scent of buttered popcorn seasoned with sumac that lingered on her fingertips. The gentle sway of the hammock as they reclined head to toe, staring up at the stars. “When I was around seven, my dad told me about a quirky inventor named Alfred Merryweather. He always wore a velvet cape and aviator goggles.” She smiled at the memory, recalling the mental picture she’d built of Merryweather in her mind. “One day, he jumped from the tallest tree in Poppy Creek on a glider made from wire coat hangers and a cotton bedsheet.”
“That couldn’t have ended well.”
“Actually, it worked so well, he never came back down. And, according to my dad, every time a cloud floats across the sky and blocks out the sun, it’s Merryweather flying by to say hello.”
Colt grimaced. “Creepy.”
“You think so?” Penny asked wistfully. “I always thought it was kind of beautiful.”
He appeared to mull this over for a moment, his warm palm still resting on her upper arm. The sensation sent pleasant tingles dancing across her skin. “What else do you remember about your dad?”
Surprised by the question, she glanced up, meeting his gaze. His intense turquoise eyes held an undeniable tenderness, betraying his true intentions.
Her lips twitched as she hid a smile. He was actually trying to distract her from her fear of heights. A remarkably sensitive and caring gesture, especially for Colt.
“Well…” She dropped her gaze to the tips of her Converse sneakers, unnerved by the flutter in her stomach. “Dad had this unusual habit of arranging elaborate treasure hunts. He’d hide different objects around the apartment and leave me clues to find them.”
“That sounds fun.”
“It was.” Unexpected tears pricked her eyes at the remembrance, and she quickly cleared her throat. “What about you? What’s one of your favorite memories with your dad?”
“Our dad wasn’t nearly as creative as yours,” Colt admitted. “But he would spend hours with me in the backyard, letting me throw the football over and over again. Looking back, he must’ve been so bored. But he’d let me throw until my arm got tired or Mom called us in for dinner.”
At Colt’s soft, faraway expression, Penny’s breathing slowed. She’d never seen his sentimental side before, and it drew her to him in a way she found extremely unnerving.
“That explains why you were so good in high school,” she said without thinking.
