He’s dressed in heavy hiking books, some canvas-looking pants, and a plain gray t-shirt that stretches over his broad shoulders and shows off every ripple and indentation in his arms and chest.Eyes up top, Indie,I remind myself.You shouldn’t objectify this perfect specimen of manliness, even if he does look like he stepped straight out of a Marvel movie. You’re turning over a new leaf.
“Indie.” His greeting is short and I catch him taking in the hiking getup I threw together out of what I had in the van. You guessed it—leggings, t-shirt, and cheap flip flops. “You’re going to want some real hiking boots when you go out with our guests. Those will work for today, just watch where you step.” His lopsided grin is back.
“Sure thing.” I blush and pray he can’t see it in the dim light. I am so unprepared for whatever is coming. What have I gotten myselfinto? I start to panic. I’m in way over my head. I’ve never been outdoorsy; I’m about as indoorsy as a girl can get. What am I doing here? I should go back to posting videos of my skincare routine. But the thought of posting anything online for the world to see fills my stomach with a knot of uneasiness. I like this—being outside where there isn’t a human being around for miles except for Joe, who has been watching my mild panic attack and now has a slightly concerned look on his face. “I have some new running shoes in my van. Would those be better?” I had considered them, but I didn’t want to risk blisters from breaking them in.
“No, these are fine. We’re not going anywhere too intense.” He looks thoughtful. “How’s your ankle? Can I take a look before we head out?”
“It burned something fierce last night, but ibuprofen has been my best friend.” I am downplaying it. The stupid thing woke me up last night when I let the painkillers wear off on accident. Some special vocabulary words were shared within the walls of The Hulk.
“Can I take a quick look? It would make me feel better.”
I shrug and he pops open the passenger door of his Bronco for me to sit. He crouches below me, inspecting my ankles in a quiet way that makes me self-conscious.
“It looks good. Not infected or anything.” He pats my knee as he stands up and I feel I’ve earned the Dr. Joe stamp of approval. “Are you ready for this?”
“Not at all. Let’s do it.”
Joe hands me a small backpack containing a first aid kit and water with simple instructions to wear it when I hike with guests and stick close to him. We walk in companionable silence and I get caught up savoring the landscape, where a sandy trail leads through the shrubs to a rocky cliff in the distance. The sky is getting brighter, but the sun still hasn’t made an appearance so the air is dry and cool. I take a deep breath through my nose of the desert air I’ve come tolove, full of something earthy and spicy that I wish I had a name for. It quenches a thirst in my spirit I didn’t know I was feeling.
“What’s that smell?” I sniff the air like a cartoon hound dog and want to smack my own face. Why am I incapable of being cool around this guy?
“The smell?” He pauses on the trail to take a deep breath. “Probably the creosote. The scent is really strong after we get some rain.”
“It’s great.” I sniff again. “I love it out here. I’m not used to being outside so much. I like it.” I probably shouldn’t admit that given my new job, but it’s the truth.
“Yeah? More of an indoor girl? I wouldn’t have guessed.”
He’s teasing me, and I love it, but I pretend he’s serious. “Yeah. My usual job requires me to look too put together to do anything this fun.”
“What’s your usual job?”
I should’ve kept my huge mouth shut. Regret floods me as I realize I have two choices: I can tell the full truth and risk Joe finding me online and witnessing the fallout from my recent viral nightmare, or I can tell half of the truth and maintain some dignity, but feel like a scumbag for the duration of my stay here. I’ve never liked being a half-truther, so I let it fly.
“I’m a beauty and lifestyle influencer.”No further questions, Your Honor.
“A what?”
I can tell he has truly never heard of my job before. It makes me like him even more, but now I have to explain. “An influencer. My social media following is large enough that companies pay me to endorse their stuff. Iinfluencepeople to do things—try products I like, travel to places I recommend, that kind of thing.” I tamp down the need I always feel to defend or validate my job. I can’t do it today. I’m still too burned out. My job and I are not on speaking terms. I'm sure at the end of this three week vacation I'll be bright-eyed andexcited to sell anti-wrinkle cream to twenty-two year old girls, but not today.
We reach a point where the trail narrows and I follow him. I would say I enjoyed the view from behind, but that would be objectifying and infantile. It’s true, but I won’t say it because, as I keep reminding myself, I am committed to seeing him as a person and not a hunk of man flesh.
“How’d you get into that?”
How did I get into hunks of man flesh?Oh, right. My job. “My mom. She has been doing it for a while, and my followers found me through her. I finished college thinking I’d go into marketing, but this started during college and when I graduated I didn’t need to apply for a different job. Actually, my first real job interview was with you.”
He chuckles. “Glad I was your first.” When I laugh so loud it echoes off the canyon wall, he tacks on: “Interview. I’m glad I was your firstinterview.” He scrubs a hand through his hair, making an adorable mess of it.
Is heblushing? His neck looks red. He is too cute and I can’t help myself. “Yeah. You were so good, you’ve ruined me for all other interviews.”
He barks out a laugh and since we’re in the canyon now, the sound surrounds us. “I’ve been told my interviews have that effect.”
I’m laughing again and we chit chat and hike for a while longer until we reach an opening in the canyon wall. Weather and time have carved the sandstone into a near-perfect enclosure, with only a sliver of sky visible above the sheer walls. It is clear that this cave room has been well-enjoyed for years, for a variety of purposes. Names and dates are carved into the sandstone and the ground is speckled with broken glass, the remains of a campfire, and the occasional empty plastic water bottle. Joe unzips his backpack and pulls out a garbage bag and gloves. Back to business. He hands a pair to me, pulling on his gloves as he explains that we’re doing trash clean up.
“I love that you clean up when you hike. I do the same thing when I walk the beach back home. Litter drives me crazy.”
“I wish my motives were totally pure. This is an out-and-back we do with our guests and they use this spot for meditation before the return hike. The college kids around here use it for... other things.” He shakes out the bag to open it, “I try to come up here the day before it’s on our schedule and clean up.”
We get to work filling the small bag with litter until the cave room is perfect, except for the carved walls. I scan the names and dates. A few are freshly carved, but most are older. The oldest I can find are the initials “JP + SH” with the date “7-23-84” scratched in block letters beneath it.
