Page 70 of Burn the Script

“No, only the essentials. Water, MREs, toilet paper, a first aid kit, extra socks, a rain poncho⁠—”

“Miguel.” My interruption earns me a severe glare. “The trail is a two-and-a-half-mile loop. You’ll be miserable hauling that much gear around. Where’s your car?”

“I parked it at the observatory and ordered a ride. Thought we’d end there, and I’ll drive you back to your car afterward.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. He prides himself on efficiency and organization, yet he’s made a simple plan overly complicated.

“So, we’re doing a one-mile hike. You’ll barely break a sweat, and you won’t need all this.”

Stepping around him, I push up the sleeves of my T-shirt and slide the heavy pack off his shoulders. He stays behind while I haul his gear to the SUV I borrowed from Marcus. After I snuck out of Texas on Tatum’s private jet last night, he picked me up at the airport and helped me strategize to stay off the paparazzi’s radar this weekend. People are more interested in Tatum’s whereabouts than mine, but I’d like to avoid drawing more unwanted attention to myself.

As I dig through Miguel’s pack, I set aside the actual essentials, like the small first aid kit, and transfer them to my backpack. Once I return to him, I hand over his water bottle.

“This is all you need to carry. I’ll handle the rest.” In a flash of motion, he snatches the sunglasses of my face. I rear back. “What are you doing?”

“Taking baby steps,” he says, hooking the glasses on my shirt collar. “Your hat stays on.”

I check the parking lot for new arrivals. There are none. “We don’t care if anyone recognizes me?”

“Of course we do. I’ll be annoyed if someone asks for your autograph during my maiden voyage. But as far as we’re concerned”—he gestures between us—“don’t grab my ass or anything. Control yourself.”

“No promises,” I say with a wink.

He lets out a haughty huff and moves toward the trail. The cargo pants hug his ass nicely, and I’m equally turned on and impressed by his dedication to this adventure. He went out of his way to buy pants he’ll wear once and burn before allowing them to take up space in his closet, all for my benefit.

I fall into stride with him. “Are you sure being out here is a good idea? I’m kind of a hot commodity this week.”

“Everyone thinks you’re in Texas. We’ll be fine.”

With a skip in my step, I slide my thumbs beneath the straps of the backpack. “I’ve always wanted you to hike with me.”

“It may be a one-time thing, but you’ll get to check off one of your outdoor fantasies.”

I smile. “Careful, darling. I haven’t told you everything about my fantasies.”

The dimple pops in his right cheek as he stalks ahead, focusing on the ground while I admire the trees and the birdsong. As the rising sun peeks through the branches, I tip my face toward its warmth. Miguel moves faster than I’d normally hike, but I’ll take a brisk walk over a slow stroll any day, as long as he’s at my side.

Neither of us says much, which isn’t surprising. Our shared appreciation of quiet moments helped us grow together and learn to love deeper throughout our relationship. Many meaningful words can be heard when no one speaks.

Less than a half mile into our hike, he veers to the side of the trail and slumps against a tree, whining. “The baby steps hurt. These boots are killing my feet.”

“Sit and let me have a look.”

He slides down the tree, landing on his butt, knees bent and eyes closed. I drop my pack on the ground and crouch in front of him to unlace his boots. As I gently remove the left one, he hisses.

“Cute socks,” I say, tugging on the toe of his thin grey sock with tiny brown bears on it.

“They match my sweater.”

“And they’re not made for hiking.” I peel off the sock and notice hot spots on both sides of his foot. Blisters haven’t fully formed, but they will before we reach our destination.

“Is there blood?” he asks.

“No blood, but our journey ends here. If we go any farther, the damage will get worse.”

He rests his forearms on his knees and lowers his head, sighing at the dirt. “I’m sorry, Graham. You dared me to be more daring. This was my attempt.”

Holding his foot, I massage around the Achilles tendon. “Being out here with you means everything to me.”