“You haven’t tried to flirt with me yet.”
“We’ve been together for like fifteen minutes,” I say.
“Exactly. That’s why I’m concerned. You don’t need more than two usually.”
“Just didn’t sleep great,” I say. A half-truth.
“Is this guy going on our hike?” I ask Abby, keeping my voice low and pointing toward the driver.
She shakes her head. “It’s a self-guided hike, andhikeis a very generous word for what this is. Apparently the path is flat with just, like, packed dirt. It’s just two miles in a straight line to the lighthouse and there are signs along the way.”
I raise my eyebrows at her, impressed by her knowledge.
“What? I read some reviews.”
This girl is adorable.
I slide a hand over her thigh, splaying my fingers out across her leg. She puts her smaller hand over mine, interlacing her fingers between mine.
After a half-hour or so, our driver pulls into a gravel parking lot and opens the door for us, helping Abby out of the van. He doesn’t help me, and while my pride is glad for that, the part of me suffering through an aching knee is not.
Even from the parking lot, it would be impossible to miss the lighthouse. It’s a tall, black-and-white-striped, statuesque structure with a bright red top. It looks closer than I expected it to be. Maybe this hike won’t be so bad.
“You have your backpack?” The driver points to the backpack in Abby’s hands, which has water, snacks, and a blanket for us to have a picnic once we reach the lighthouse. He explains there is a picnic table next to the lighthouse for us to eat at.
“We can’t picnic inside the lighthouse?” Abby asks.
“You can go up into the lighthouse to see the view, but there is no food allowed. You must eat and drink outside.”
I take the backpack out of her hands and hoist it onto my back, moving my own backpack to my front.
“You can’t carry both bags,” Abby protests, but I wave a dismissive hand at her.
“And you have raincoats just in case?” the driver asks, pointing to the sky.
“Yes,” Abby says and points to my backpack, which holds more waters, a Gatorade, our raincoats, and a couple of snacks from my personal stash.
“I’ll be here.” The driver points to the van. “But please take your time.”
He returns to the van, and Abby and I turn to face the path.
“Ladies first.” I gesture.
“You just want to look at my ass,” she says.
“Guilty as charged.” I wink at her. Truthfully, I just don’t want her to watch me limp, but her reason isn’tnottrue.
Abby is right: the path is flat, packed dirt with no hills. I’d be in trouble if this were a more strenuous hike, but as it is, the dull ache in my knee is just annoying. Persistent and annoying. The humidity adds a real flavor to the hike. The air is thick, and it doesn’t take long for my shirt to start sticking to me everywhere the backpacks touch me.
“Are you tracking our distance?” I ask Abby. I normally wouldn’t care, but these bags are starting to feel heavy, and although I won’t admit that to Abby, I’m looking forward to putting them down.
“No, are you?” She twists around to look at me.
“Nope.”
“We’re really good at this, huh?”
“Remind me never to get lost in the woods with you,” I say.
