He’s way more dangerous than a lunatic manora bear.
“How was your first night?” Avah asks conversationally. “And are you going to be mad at me forever?”
“I slept like a baby.” My turn to sigh. “And not forever, but at least give me a few minutes to wallow in it.”
“Fair,” she agrees.
“So Jensen caught up with you overnight?” Jeremy clarifies. “Did he sprint up the trail?”
My heart does that annoying pitter-patter thing again as I glance back toward camp, catching a glimpse of gray fabric moving between the trees. “Maybe he does endurance marathons in his spare time. I don’t know.”
“He doesn’t give off freaky fit vibes,” Avah says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “But he’s for sure into you.”
“I’m not discussing that on speaker, Avs.”
“Praise the Lord,” Jeremy mutters.
“I really am sorry,” Avah says, then almost immediately adds, “but I’m also not sorry.”
“I know.” My voice trembles a little, and I focus on a couple of squirrels playing an intense game of keep away on a nearby branch. “I hate you, but I also love you.”
“Love you, too, girl.”
“Stop,” Jeremy deadpans. “I might cry.” There’s a muffled grunt from the other end of the phone.
“It’s just me now.” Avah’s voice is breezy as a spring morning. “Are you really okay? Be honest.”
I think about it for a moment and realize the knot that had taken up residence in my gut since last summer has loosened slightly. “I’m good. Honestly.” Before my pride can edit it out, I admit another truth. “Also, backpacking through the Montana wilderness with someone—even Jensen—might be better than being out here alone.”
Avah gives a satisfied laugh. “I’m glad. And I hope Kristen Quinn realizes how cool it is that you’re making this effort for her.”
“I hope she doesn’t thinkI’munhinged,” I mutter.
Avah scoffs. “I’ll fucking kill her if she does.”
“I love you more than I hate you,” I whisper, my voice thick.
“I love you most,” she answers. “Call when you get to the cabin. Or in five minutes.”
“Goodbye, Avah.” I hang up before the waterworks start, because there’s no crying on day two of my brave solo wilderness adventure. The one that’s not so solo anymore.
I walk back toward camp, finding it very inconvenient that my righteous fury at everyone involved in this situation has melted like a snowman on a summer day.
Jensen is back on the rock with one boot off, his thick sock peeled halfway down his foot, and he scowls at a blister the size of a quarter.
“Tell me you didn’t speed hike with new boots.”
He glances up through unfairly long lashes. “Blisters build character.”
A laugh bubbles up before I can stop it, and the sound seems to surprise him as much as it does me. My defenses soften like that snowman as his eyes go translucent again. No melting, I tell myself. No softening. I am winter.
“Be prepared for a lot of character building. I’m not slowing my pace for you.”
He smiles, as if my attitude amuses him, and pulls the sock back on. “I’ll manage.”
I shake out the last drips of liquid from the mug and set it down next to him. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“You’re welcome. Thanks for not sending me away.”