Page 7 of Heart So Hollow

Muscle memories rear their ugly heads at the most inconvenient times.

I slowly twist the elastic band around my hair and tighten it with a couple tugs, allowing my heartrate to slow. I raise back up to see Bowen watching me from about 30 feet ahead. I take a deep breath and jog toward him to catch up. Once at his side, I straighten up and exhale with a sigh.

He cracks a smile, “You good?”

I focus on his eyes, dark and intense, which works better than I anticipate, “Yeah,” I nod toward the path ahead, “I think it gets rockier as it goes up.”

Bowen gives a nod, motioning down the trail as we start walking again, “There’s a really good view from the top.”

“Are you always packing?” I motion to his waist.

“Not always. My family owns a surveying company. Everyone carries when they’re out in the field, so it’s become habit when we’re in the woods. To each their own, but you run across some real weirdos in the middle of nowhere.”

“I know the feeling,” I smirk, throwing him a side eye.

The corner of his mouth curls as we continue up the hill, him glancing over at me every few feet. Soon, we reach a rocky outcrop, slowing down to traverse the rough terrain. When he reaches up to stabilize himself on a smooth rockface, I can finally make out the tattoo on his right arm. The curls and zig-zags are a collage of leaves and grass that extend from his wrist all the way up to his elbow. Intermingled with the grass are bell-shaped flowers shaded with vibrant, royal blue ink. It’s so subtle that I couldn’t even see the color until now.

“What does your tattoo mean?” I ask, following him through the jagged rocks.

“They’re Texas bluebells,” Bowen responds over his shoulder, “they mean a lot of things, but the Comanche tribe has a story about sacrificing their most prized possessions after a really hard winter. They built a fire and one little girl threw in her doll with a blue feather on it. The next morning, they went outside and found the entire hill covered in blue flowers,” he explains. “They’re tempting to pick and take for yourself, but they’re also poisonous, so you have to leave them be and admire them from a distance.” Bowen glances back with a smirk, “The ultimate tease.”

That one earns an eyeroll, “Is that where you’re from—” I ask, stepping around another sandstone boulder, “Texas?”

“No, I’m from Canaan, about two hours from here. You?”

I look over my shoulder and smile at him, “I know where that is. I live in Longview.”

Bowen arches his brow before turning his focus back to the rocky terrain, “City girl,” he smirks and tosses his hair out of his eyes, “You’ve been just across the river all along.”

When we reach the top of the hill, it’s deserted except for a couple of Scarlet Tanagers screeching and fighting among the deadfall. Even at the top of the ridge, the canopy is still heavy, blocking the morning sunlight and casting a mellow shadow over the clearing.

Bowen trudges past me, following the dirt path that gradually fades into smooth sandstone. He slows as he reaches the edge, lined with small boulders spaced every five feet.

He turns and looks up at the rocks that lead further up the ridge, then motions to them, “Let’s go up.”

The rocks jut out of the hill at chaotic angles, looking more like rock falls from erosion than solid formations.

Is he fucking insane?

“But there’s no trail up there.”

Bowen continues gazing up the steep face, “So?” He brushes past me and steps up on a boulder, searching for the next foothold.

“Seriously?” I remain firmly planted on the trail.

Bowen looks over his shoulder, unconcerned, “Yeah, come on.” He turns back to the rocks but hesitates when he doesn’t hear me behind him, “Are you coming?”

I glance between him and the rocks beneath the ridge. It definitely looks possible, but it’s still not part of the trail. The rocks could be loose, the dirt could give way, there’s a reason it’s not part of the trail. There’s always a reason. And the first rule of hiking is that you don’t leave the trail. Ever.

I shake my head, “No.”

Bowen jumps off the boulder and returns to the trail, “Why?”

“It’s pretty steep,” I scrunch up my nose as I scrutinize the treacherous climb, “and how do you know the rocks are sturdy?”

He flashes me a smile, “I don’t.”

“Doesn’t seem like a good idea,” I mutter, ready to continue on to more level ground.

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