Page 9 of Recklessly in Love

Once Mia returns from the bakery, we have lunch and head out to the snowshoe obstacle course competition that afternoon. There was fresh snow last night, so the whole town is glistening prettily. And I must admit that small though the town is, it’s undeniably beautiful.

As we park near the community center and walk around the building, I notice the ice-skating pond as we head toward the obstacle course. With the rustic building as a backdrop, the whole thing has a very Thomas Kinkade feel.

A feeling that doesn’t stop there, permeating practically every corner of the untouched drifts of snow covering every flat space. Well, except for the obstacle course, which looks like it has been dutifully re-dug out of the fresh piles of snow. Greg’s work, no doubt. Too bad I wasn’t around to watch him. That would’ve been excellent foreplay.

A staked rope separates the shoveled walkway from the course itself. I can see a crowd gathered at the far end, presumably waiting to start. As we walk the length of the field, the “obstacles” get increasingly weird. The first thing I notice is a group of massive, mismatched tires. All right then. That seems like it would belong on an obstacle course. Then there are a bunch of lengths of rope that I quickly figure out are jump ropes. Normally, I could see that. But in snowshoes? How the hell do they expect people to do that? Since I’m not participating, though, it doesn’t worry me. But the bunch of sleds packed with outrageously dressed snowmen gets my attention. The punk rocker snowman with a mohawk, pierced carrot nose, and earphones is good. The police officer snowman with a donut in one hand and a Starbucks cup in the other is pretty funny — because, really, is there even a Starbucks within an hour of here? But it’s the snowman dressed in a Hawaiian shirt, lei, sunglasses, and strapped to what looks like a small surfboard that makes me stop in my tracks.

I pull on Mia’s arm, stopping her with me as Nate continues toward Greg, who is standing on the other side of the sleds, presumably at the starting line as the crowd is gathered behind him.

“What?” she asks, giving me a curious look.

I gesture with my chin toward the surfer snowman. “Is that a coincidence, or did you tell Greg about Hawaii?” I ask plainly.

Mia’s brows bunch together before a look of horrified understanding crosses her face. “Oh God, no, I didn’t,” she rushes to reassure me. “I swear I didn’t say a word.”

“Say a word about what?” Nate asks, appearing behind Mia.

I make to brush it off, but my eyes flick guiltily to the snowman. Nate follows my gaze, then looks back at me with a smirk.

Figures he’d know.

Greg steps up next to Nate.

“Something wrong?” he asks.

The smirk slides off Nate’s face, and he claps Greg on the shoulder. “Nope. Are we ready to do this?”

I breathe a sigh of relief at Nate’s discretion, and Mia gives me a funny look. I try not to give her a guilty one back. For some reason, I don’t want Greg to know about my surfer ménage. When did I start giving a shit what anyone thinks of me? The thought is like a poke on the shoulder that there’s something I need to acknowledge here. Instead, I brush it off and follow the guys toward the waiting crowd.

Greg quiets everyone down and explains the drill: The eighteen people signed up will go in six groups of three. Each person must pull a snowman-laden sled — which he assures them are very heavy — from the start to the jump ropes fifty feet away, jump rope ten times, high step through the tires, and sprint approximately two hundred feet to the finish. Nothing too crazy, but eyeing the assembled crowd’s varying ages and general apparent lack of fitness, that’s probably for the best.

Greg explains that the winners of the first three groups will face off, and then the same with the second. The two finalists will then compete to determine the winner.

Greg positions himself at the start, and Nate heads down the field and stands between the ropes and the tires.

“Mia, can you man the finish line?” Greg asks.

“I think you mean woman the finish line,” I cut in.

The corner of Greg’s mouth tips up, but before he can respond, Mia shakes her head and says, “Sorry, can’t. I have to meet Rae inside to set up the food for after.” She turns to me. “Looks like it’s up to you, woman.” She gives me a wink and walks away, not even waiting for a response.

Greg smiles at me so wide his eyes crinkle at the corners. “You up for it, city girl?”

I contemplate him coolly for a moment. “What the hell, why not?” I reply.

He steps toward me and leans in, his mouth brushing my earlobe, sending chills down the entire side of my body. “There are two red flags that mark the finish line. Just make sure they’re still visible over the snow so you can see who crosses first.” He straightens up and walks backward the few feet to the green starting flags.

Refusing to let him see how much he affects me, I head to the opposite end of the field purposefully but without rushing like I’m trying to escape the fact that I’d rather stay there and let him whisper all sorts of other, dirtier, things in my ear.

It’s not long before Greg has lined up the first set, and they begin. Right out of the gate, they all struggle with the sleds. I almost laugh, realizing that must mean they formed the snowmen with rocks or something equally heavy because even the biggest dude in the bunch is red and straining the whole way. Alas, that’s the funniest part of the course, as the jump ropes, tires, and sprint are all boring to watch. Even in snowshoes, it all looks almost too easy.

And I quickly start to get cold. Thankfully, Mia comes out with a travel mug after the first three batches.

“Thought you might need this,” she says, offering me the cup as we watch the next set line up.

“I hope it has booze. Because this will be much more fun if it does,” I grumble.

She wraps an arm around me and rubs my shoulder. “Nope. But don’t worry, there will be booze later.”

---