Page 18 of Love Never Happens with your Brother’s Best Friend

“You couldn’t afford my rates, Mr Kent.”

Brodie smiles and leans a nudge into me. Then he stands and stretches his arms up above his head revealing a glimpse of his taut, well-toned abs. I swallow hard and turn back to look out at the glories of the natural world to calm my pounding pulse rate.

“Shall we?” Brodie holds out a hand for me, but I ignore his gesture of peace and stand up unaided.

Chapter 10

Brodie

The camp is a clearing surrounded by ancient tall trees. Off to one side is an open-sided wooden structure with a sturdy roof: a shelter for hikers. A sign for a latrine is nailed to the structure with an arrow pointing down a track to a small shed in the forest. In the center of the clearing is a circle of charred black rocks and some half-burned sticks and logs in a pile of ash. The ground is reasonably flat with tufts of short and springy grass. Perfect to pitch a tent. And, I notice, it’s pretty dry here. There’s no evidence of the storm that blew through the town last night. Rita dumps her pack beside the bench in the shelter. She looks deep in thought.

“I love this place,” she says as she wanders around pausing to drink from her water bottle. “Being out here feels like where I belong.”

I drop my pack and stand still where I am, listening. Tuning into bird calls and the soft rustle of leaves high up in the top branches: natural sounds that are hypnotic and soothing. The quiet here has a three-dimensional solidity to it that fills me up. Rita interrupts my reverie.

“We’ll pitch the tents around the fire,” she says indicating an area with her foot. “Not too close.”

“To the fire or to each other?” I’m flirting, for sure, but my charms don’t seem to be working on Rita.

“The fire, Brodie.” Rita’s tone is terse. She keeps her distance and walks back to the shelter. “Then, we’ll stash the packs inside the tents and go help Dylan with the family, okay?”

“Sounds good… Just one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I don’t have a tent.”

“Oh, yeah.” She combs her fingers through her hair. “That’s right. You’re going to share with Dylan. No problem.” Rita bites her lip and thinks for a minute. “I’ll pitch mine and, while I’m doing that, maybe you could go into the forest there, and find some wood to make a fire.” Rita unclips the straps on her pack to release a green, sausage-shaped tent bag. “There’s some stacked up in the shelter already, but we’ll need a heap more.” Rita carries the tent bag to the firepit. “And it’s always polite to leave some firewood for the next group of hikers.”

“Trail protocol, huh?”

“Something like that. Hikers tend to be nice people.” Rita fixes me with a challenging stare. “We take care of each other and the trail.”

“Take only photos. Leave only footprints.”

“Exactly. You’ve got it,” Rita says as she opens the tent bag and pulls out the contents: a section of green nylon and some short skinny poles that are linked together with elastic.

“I’ll go firewood hunting, then.”

It’s clear that Rita doesn’t need my help at all. She is confidently at home here in the forest. I watch as she puts the pole sections together with well-practiced ease. I want to show her that I’m not an idiot city boy. I want to impress her, but I feel awkwardly redundant.

“Yup. Good,” she says not looking up from her activity. “See you in a bit.”

“Rita.”

“Yes, Brodie.”

“Will you come find me if I don’t come back?”

“No.”

“Really? What was that you were saying about hikers being nice caring people?”

“Go!” Rita laughs at me. “And don’t come back empty-handed.”

“I could get eaten by a bear,” I say pretending to be scared.

“You won’t.” She fixes the poles onto evenly-spaced clips on the tent forming a dome. “A bear will take one look at you and know that you taste bad.”

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