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I planted my ass on the ground, leaning against the log, and stretching my contentedly exhausted legs out to warm up my boots. The mountains and I had always had a deep love affair, but for the first time in my life, something else overshadowed their peace.
She flitted over to the clothing line, hanging up her outfit from earlier to dry before turning to face me, skin still a beautiful peachy flush. Nervously, she clasped her hands, giving me an apologetic smile as she wandered over.
“Thanks.” Noel swallowed hard, pouring herself onto the ground beside me. “Again. Thanks again.”
I nodded, wetting my lips but holding my tongue as I held out a steaming tin cup. Fuck, I wanted to peel those baggy clothes right off her lean little body. Clearing my throat, I turned to the view, motioning to it with my coffee as I braced on the opposite elbow.
“Welcome to paradise.”
* * *
“Hah! Yousuck! I win!”Noel taunted as she did her victory dance. She’d been kicking my ass at cards for the better half of the afternoon. Coffee with a generous pour of Bailey’s, an afternoon fire and no shortage of sunshine had been the best recovery for our camping day, thank fuck. It would have been horrible if she’d been miserable the whole time. Maybe she wasn’t the most graceful winner, but she was entertaining as hell.
“Still won’t play a real game,” I countered. She refused to play poker, which was my game of choice. It turned out that games of luck were right up her alley, where strategy and confidence were mine.
“Psh. Does anything about this face say, ‘lies well’?”
“It’s not about lying, Skittles.”
“Bluffing is just a euphemism for lying,Wolverine.” She’d just finished flinging the nickname at me like an insult when “American Girl” by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers came on the playlist. Immediately perking up, Noel started singing along. Her talent wasn’t professional by any means—basically just talking, but with more volume—but it was cute as shit as she jumped to her feet and started to dance. It had been years since I’d ever watched a woman contentedly make a fool of herself, and all I could think was…that’s my girl.
Only…she wasn’t. Not really. Not yet, at least. “Whatare you doing?” I said, taunting her as I shook my head. She just sang louder, her voice taking on a slightly more melodic tone like she’d bothered with effort, wiggling her hips from side to side, my gray sweats looking precariously close to abandoning their post. “Rhyett told me Brex loves oldies. Didn’t realize that applied to both of you.”
She sat down looking flushed, curls a little frizzy. “Oh man, we grew up together on these songs.”
Panting for breath, she grinned up at the blue sky before laying back into the buttercups. She fit there with her fireweed pink earrings, surrounded by little yellow blooms, no more substantial than weeds, deep in the Alaskan woods. “I think I enjoy camping,” she declared before shrugging. “I mean, all things considered.”
“I enjoy you being here camping with me.”
Fuck me, when she smiled, the hum of the mountain stopped to watch.
TWENTY
NOEL
Jameson had thought of everything. Well, everything except for his klutz of a fake-maybe-not-fake girlfriend falling into a damn creek and ruining half of his best-laid plans. He’d been so gracious about it; my mind was still suspended, waiting for him to snap or lose his shit over the snacks that weren’t sealed up or the fact that the blankets had also been drenched in a thirty-second time frame.
Beyond that, though, there were packs of food for dinner, extra snacks that had survived the plunge, and he’d even packed two of Rosalie’s beer bottles, wrapped in his clothes to sustain the hike. Bellies full and fire crackling, we were both leaning against our respective logs, ales nearly empty, stargazing from the top of the world. The chill of evening was setting in as Alaska's eerie eternal blue light slowly faded into darkness. It must’ve been after midnight—the speaker having died a while ago. We’d ushered in nightfall with slowly exchanged stories. He might have been more concisely put together than my meandering bunny trails through topics, but Jameson was at peace out here; shockingly eager to share tale for tale.
“I can’t imagine living anywhere else,” he admitted. “Mistyvale is home. But I don’t know if I could do it without some travel.”
“Adventure is a necessary commodity.”
“Especially when your options are as limited as ours are.”
“Where to?” I asked, curiosity ruling my day.
“Usually somewhere warm, often mountains or canyons or both. Iclearlylike to hike.”
His sardonic statement made me snort—not exactly flattering, but the amused arch of his eyebrows was pretty cute. “Favorite place to visit?”
“Zion,” he answered without hesitation. “You could explore Southern Utah for months and never run out of trails, but there’s something about the red rock that makes it feel like another planet.”
“I’ve never been,” I admitted sheepishly. “Never really traveled much after high school.”
“Stick with me, and we’ll inevitably remedy that. It’s in our blood.”
“Descend from gypsies?” I joked.
