Page 54 of Love By a Landslide

“Good. Do you need help getting out? You’ve been sleeping for hours.”

Jonathan hadn’t thought to look at his watch until just then. His eyes widened. “You let me sleep until six-thirty?!”

“How would I know what time it is? I don’t have a watch, and my phone was sacrificed to the mountain gods, remember?” She waved a dismissive hand. “Besides, what does it matter? Got a hot date planned?”

“Funny,” he said flatly. “I feel bad laying around while you do all the heavy lifting. Especially after yelling at you earlier. I am sorry for losing my temper.”

“Enough of that. You are forgiven. The most important thing you can do right now is recover. And if you really feel bad about it, you can credit some of the guiding fees back to me.” Lucy smiled. “Now come on. Let’s get you outta there.”

A half-hour later, Jonathan sat on a log near the fire with a belly full of rehydrated mac ‘n’ cheese, Tylenol, and an evening dose of muscle relaxers. The sharp, radiating pain from his slipped disc had downgraded to a moderate ache. He was starting to feel more like himself.

Lucy stood and collected the dishes.

“We should conserve the water,” Jonathan commented. “Instead of washing the dishes, give them a good scrape and seal them up. We can handle them when we refill at the lake tomorrow.”

The sun hid below the peak, and while the sky remained alight with a twilight glow, the campsite was darkening by the minute. The fire Lucy had built crackled nicely as it provided illumination and warmth against the encroaching chill. Jonathan smiled as he thought about how she had cared for him today. She managed to seek out water, build a fire, and prepare dinner, all while playing nurse to his cantankerous ass. Throughout, she made barely a peep in complaint—aside from the multiple f-bombs dropped as she cooked—and Jonathan was yet again impressed.

She was one of a kind. Resilient, thoughtful, and sassy, and she could keep up with his horrific affinity for dad jokes. Plus, she was the most stunningly beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He watched her clean up from dinner, the flames setting her sun-pinked skin aglow. Her hair, recently freed from its braid, cascaded over one shoulder in glorious, thick waves. Jonathan’s fingers itched to slide through the silky strands. He imagined them falling like a curtain around his face as they kissed, draping down his chest then belly as she moved lower and lower until—

“Thirsty?”

“No!” Jonathan half-shouted with a start. He cleared his throat and found his mouth was as dry as a desert. “I mean, yes.”

Lucy walked over and handed him a water bottle, a peculiar expression on her face.

“Thanks,” he mumbled more coarsely than he wanted. This was ridiculous. In all his post-pubescent years, Jonathan had never been affected by a woman this way. He’d been awestruck by Cynthia’s beauty and had fallen for her adventurous spirit. And there was no doubt that she’d been smart as a whip, but even though he’d loved her, there always seemed to be this unattainable disconnect. A coldness about her that he could never seem to break through—despite years of his best efforts.

When cancer took his dad, Jonathan’s friends banded around his mom, Frankie, and him like a secondary wave of family providing support and comfort in every possible way. Zac handled Off the Beaten, canceling reservations and closing the place down to give everyone a moment to catch their breath and grieve. Miguel kept the town at bay. Jonathan’s dad had been a beloved figure in Leavenworth for decades, and it seemed there wasn’t an hour that went by without someone from the community showing up unannounced to pay their respects. Miguel would thank them, ensuring he’d pass on the kind words and send them on their way. He even led the charge in organizing the funeral and wake. Janet set up a meal train, tasking anyone she could get her hands on with preparing casseroles and grocery shopping so Jonathan and his family didn’t have to.

And then there was Cynthia.

Or rather, therewasn’tCynthia. She checked out entirely and would all but disappear for a few days at a time. She’d show up to take stock of the situation, give the family a hug, then off she went. His mom and sister had barely noticed her absence, they were too wrapped up in grief, but Jonathan noticed. After her third return home, he confronted her.

“Why haven’t you been here?”

“Oh, Johnny. You know I don’t handle this emotional stuff well.”

“I don’t need you to handle it. You just need to be here.”

“I’d only get in the way. This is best for everyone.”

Jonathan was only mildly surprised by her behavior. Cynthia was a classic avoider. When things got hard, she would shut down until everything blew over, and then she’d walk around like nothing had ever been amiss. The silent treatment was the only form of warfare in their home because the two never openly fought.

Except for once, four years ago.

Lucy walked back over to the firepit with a pot full of water, camping soap, and a tank top.

“It’s really not necessary to wash the dishes right now.”

“I’m not planning to wash the dishes.”

“Fine, but that”—he gestured to the pot—“is wasting water.”

“Hush,” she hissed playfully and carried on with whatever the hell she was up to.

Without much choice, Jonathan watched curiously as Lucy settled the pot over the fire. She added soap and swirled it around with the pink cloth before dropping the fabric in.

“Are you doinglaundry?”

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