“What’s so funny?” he asks, picking up on the amusement in my expression. He puts the truck into drive, and we make our way to the main road headed east out of the mountains.
“I was just thinking about the first time I was climbing into your truck,” I laugh.
He smirks with one elbow resting casually on the center console. I turn toward him in my seat, tilting my head to lean the side of it on the headrest.
“I’m glad you did.”
“Me too.”
With a steady hand, he pushes the brim of his hat back an inch, then rubs his forehead. His lips part, then close again. My stomach hurts, and I begin an internal argument with myself—debating how much of my heart I want to bare to this man.
“Hand me your phone,” I say with an outstretched hand.
It’s hooked to a charger in his lap. After unplugging and unlocking it, he places it in my hand without question. With quick taps, I enter my contact information and then text myself so that I have his number as well.
I probably should have waited for him to ask for it, but my patience is thin as I count down the time I have left here.
“I thought maybe I could send you some of the pictures,” I explain. It’s only half of the truth. Of course, I’d like to edit whatever is on my memory card from this weekend and thenshow him. But selfishly, I hope if he has my number, he might reach out.
“Yeah, I’d like that,” he says in a low voice. I hand him his phone back, and he bites the inside of his cheek to stifle a grin. “I wouldn’t have let you go without getting your number, just so you know.”
I wiggle my hips to get more comfortable in my seat and then eye him curiously. “Were you just going to wait until the very last second?” I reply with a laugh.
His chest inflates with a defensive huff. “No. I was going to ask you some things first.”
“Oh,” I whisper. “Ask me now.”
The truck slows as we approach a curve. Ledger’s grip tightens on the steering wheel as I wait for him to reply. When he finally speaks up, I lift my chin toward him, anticipating his question.
“Do you come out this way for work a lot?”
“Not really.” I sigh. “I think Montana would be the closest until late summer. I’ll be there in April.”
He nods slowly, not taking his eyes off the road. White-tipped evergreen trees whiz by outside his window, and I watch them blur past his profile.
“What about you? Are you traveling this year at all?”
“Me and my buddy Jace have a trip planned once the weather warms up. Things are a little more laid-back around here in the summer since our cows graze south of here at Duck Creek. I’ll probably do a few other hikes on my own too, but I don’t plan very far ahead; I just go.”
I like to hike.
I likeyou.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to invite myself.
But if he wanted me to tag along, I’d rather he asked me himself. My hands knead together in my lap as the self-doubtwheels start spinning in my mind. Visions of him and I tangled together in the dark play in my head, and I start to wonder if I was imagining it all or if I really like him as much as I think I do.
We both just got out of relationships, I remind myself.
Long distance is a lot of hard work,I add to my string of thoughts.
A subtle hint of anger flares in my mind. I wish things were different—that we lived close or that our lives weren’t so polar opposite. And that I wasn’t so self-preserving, filling my own head with a list of reasons to walk away unscathed before I get my heart broken.
Trying to tamp down the frustration, I think back to this morning when I woke with my cheek against his chest. His arm was wrapped around me snugly. I breathed in his scent mixed with the fresh mountain air sneaking in through the cracks in the windowpane.
Having good chemistry in bed was one thing. But when I experienced the soft intimacy with him afterward, I’d closed my eyes and scrunched my face against him, trying to savor the moment as I wondered how today would go.
Are our clashing lifestyles a death sentence for any chance at something more? Or maybe the details don’t matter when you like someone like I like Ledger—like I think he likes me too. It’s worth pursuing, isn’t it?
