His question startles me from my ogling.
“Me?” I say doubtfully. “Pretty sure you’re asking the wrong guy here.”
He steps around a large boulder that bisects the path, his breathing labored. “Maybe I don’t want to admit my arms are about to fall off.”
“Uh-oh. Are you trying to impress me?” I tease, wincing as my ankle is lightly jostled by a steep step downward.
“Depends. Is it working?” he asks.
“Not anymore, spaghetti arms.”
He chuckles breathlessly but then says, “Maybe I just don’t want you to worry about getting dropped,” and it’s like I’ve swallowed an ice cube whole. Up until this moment, despite the quickly sinking sun and the treacherous terrain, I’ve felt safer than I usually do in my cabin. Forrest’s hold on me is so secure and his footing so confident that another accident hadn’t even occurred to me as a possibility.
“Now I’m definitely not worried,” I tell him.
“I appreciate the confidence,” he says, gaze trained on the ground in front of him.
“So there’s this thing people occasionally use? It’s called sarca—”
My word is cut short when he takes another step downward and Ifeelhis foot slide on some ice. I can’t help my gasp or the way I grip his coat like a life raft. My whole body tenses, and pain lances up my leg from my ankle. But then we’re back on more level ground and I exhale. He stops next to a lichen-covered rock face that borders the trail. “You okay?” he asks.
I nod, surprised my fingernails haven’t sliced holes in his jacket.
“Here, I’m going to set you down,” he says. Forrest carefully lowers my legs but keeps a hold on me while I balance on my uninjured foot and lean back against the rocks. When I’m settled, he lets go of me but doesn’t back away. His breathing is still heavy ashe unclips the small blue drinking tube attached to his shoulder strap and brings it to his mouth, sucking down water in deep gulps that put his close-range throat muscles to work. The throbbing in my ankle reaches new heights from standing upright, but somehow, it’s not the number one thing occupying my mind.
“Here.” He gestures when he’s done, holding the silicone tube out to me.
I eye the wet mouthpiece before my gaze jerks unwillingly toward his also wet lips. Frankly, I’ve never been so thirsty in my life.It’s just the forced proximity getting to you,I tell myself. If I can recognize the trope, it means I can be aware enough not to fall for it. Firmly ignoring the missed-step feeling in my stomach as I take the valve from him, I put it into my mouth and bite down, swallowing the inrush of cool water. Forrest averts his eyes while I quickly finish up, wishing I didn’t feel like we just made out by proxy.
“Hope I don’t get your cooties,” I say, trying to diffuse what is likely one-sided tension.
“Too late for that,” he says, clipping the drinking tube back onto his shoulder strap. “They’re a clinical certainty now.”
“Well, if I’ve got yours, then you’ve got mine.”
Forrest closes his eyes and rolls his shoulders, stretching his neck slowly to the right as his breathing slows. “You climbed a mountain today,” he says. “There are worse cooties to be had.”
“Even if the cooties fell on their ass and need to be carried down the mountain?” I say, mildly horrified when the question doesn’t come out like a joke but more like a quiet plea for validation. The embarrassment I’ve been nursing since my butt hit the ice blooms up to my face, heating me unpleasantly.
Forrest opens his eyes to look down at me. “Better to fall on your ass climbing a mountain than to never climb it at all,” he says with such matter-of-factness that I almost believe him. His gaze takes a tour of my face like there are suddenly new things tosee within my features. “Your sister was right about you,” he says at last.
The mention of Savannah is a surprise hit of serotonin followed quickly by the need for more information. “What do you mean she was right about me? Did you talk with her? What did she say?” I demand.
Forrest shakes his head. “I didn’t talk to her. I got my own note explaining her plan for your letters.”
“Ah,” I say, easily able to imagine Savannah penning a masterpiece of persuasion to convince Forrest of her scheme. “And were you flattered, guilted, or threatened into doing what she wanted?”
The corner of his mouth hitches up. “Mostly guilted. But should I be worried about a horse head showing up in my bed if I screw this up?”
“More likely a moose. Savannah loves a theme.”
Forrest lets out a disbelieving laugh, visibly shuddering. “Siblings. Always wished I had one, but now I’m not so sure.”
“I think in general they’re pretty hit or miss.”
Another smile, but softer. “Sounds like you lucked out, though.”
His words summon the lump that, ever since I left my sister, has been constantly waiting to form in my throat. My voice comes out a little choked. “You have no idea.”
