Page 2 of Entwined Hearts

Ihover at the exit, watching for Jake as other travelers buzz past me. He missed his connecting flight from L.A. because of a delay getting through customs, but I’d already left for the airport. I feel like I’ve been pacing for hours.

As professional athletes, Jake and I are apart enough I should be accustomed to being alone, but this is the longest separation since our incident in Morocco ten months ago. I tried to distract myself with days at the climbing gym and time with friends, but it was harder than I wanted it to be. When I’m alone, the nightmares from those two terrifying days intensify.

Finally, I see his trim physique and tanned face. At the moment our eyes connect, a calm settles over me. Jake weaves through the crowd and drops his bag, pulling me to him. My body relaxes, my stomach fluttering with joyous energy. I rest my cheek against his chest, the tension that weighed me down since he’d left melting from my shoulders.

Jake releases me. He plants a soft kiss on my lips, then pulls away. “You okay?” he asks, taking me in.

Even though I try not to, I bristle. “Yes,” I say. “Great.”

When Jake gives me a reassuring smile, I can see the effects of the climb. His cheeks look hollow. The edges of his brown eyes are marked by deep crow’s feet, earned from squinting at the rock under the cold sun. “Good, because on the phone last night—” he starts to say.

“I’m just glad you’re back,” I say to derail this line of conversation. I am fine. Most of the time. The nightmares are fading. I can no longer see the faces of the men who took us. But the entire time Jake was in Patagonia, I couldn’t help worrying about the possibility of extremists looking to kidnap two American climbers, even though it’s a stable country.

Thank you, Morocco.

“Let’s go home,” Jake says, picking up his bag. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” I ask as a nervous tickle scrapes my insides. “What about?” Six months before that fateful Morocco trip, we almost broke up. Or I think that’s what happened. We’d been drifting apart. When we were climbing, we matched perfectly, but when we weren’t, Jake seemed distracted, staying up late to study maps and research routes, breaking off our dates with friends. There was one climb he’d been obsessing over, a big wall that had never been done. He wanted space, he said, to focus on it.

He gives me a tired grin, and I relax. “You’ll see.”

After the hour-long drive from the airport, we arrive at my rental outside of Las Vegas, one of the many climber’s playgrounds where I’ve shacked up for a season.

Jake drops his bag in our bedroom. Soon after, I hear the shower running. I make us a snack—it’s past dinnertime, and he probably had terrible food on the flight. After he’s dressed, Jake grabs a beer from the fridge and joins me at our little table. But before we can start eating, he slides a small package my way.

Curious, I scan his face. His dark eyes shine, and his smile is almost startling. With his damp hair, dark lashes, and the scent of lemons coming off his clean-shaven skin, he’s so handsome. Confident.

He takes a sip of his beer and sits back, watching me.

I palm the compact package. It’s wrapped in thin, tan-colored tissue, so it’s obvious Jake bought it while on the trip. Only Americans go through the trouble of bleaching paper that will only be thrown away.

I unfasten the tape and start to unroll the bundle, flipping it until something falls out. A shiny silver bracelet dotted with azure-blue stones.

Mystified, I blink.

Jake and I don’t exchange gifts. He’s never been into stuff like that. He always says when we want something, we should just buy it. During our first year together, I tried to change his mind by surprising him with a birthday gift, but it only seemed to confuse him. On my birthday, he lets me plan our date, but that’s the extent of it.

So, this gesture is out of character. It feels more substantial than it should. It’s also an odd choice for a gift. Climbers don’t usually wear bracelets or jewelry like rings because they can get jammed in the cracks. This is not only a hassle, but it can also be dangerous. On a climb a while back, I met a woman who wore her wedding ring as a pendant. Ever since then, it’s what I imagined I’d do if I tied the knot, though I don’t think I’ve ever had a reason to mention this to Jake.

“Wow…” I can’t think of anything else to say, so I remove the bracelet from the plastic bag.

“I bought it on the first day,” he says. “Found it at a street market. The stones are lapis, from Argentina.”

The gems are stunning. A vibrant blue flecked with green, they’re polished to a shine. I run a fingertip over their smooth surfaces.

Jake rises, coming around to my side of the table. He takes the bracelet from me, then slides it on my left wrist. Are his hands trembling?

“Do you like it?” he asks, almost shyly.

Taking a second, I pretend to examine it. Instead, I’m covertly taking a few deep breaths to reorient myself. “Yes,” I finally say. It’s beautiful. It must signify he thinks our relationship is important, even if I’m not as over Morocco as he’d like me to be. But riding on the back of that thrill is an emotion I can’t place. One that makes it hard to breathe. Fear?

He seems pleased with himself, so I add, “Thank you, Jake.”

“You’re welcome.”

And that’s it. He goes back to his side of the table, diving into his food. Thankfully, he fills the silence by telling a story about the three days he and his partner had gotten stuck on the wall because of bad weather. His face brightens with amusement when he describes how his partner’s tea stash exploded in the bottom of the haul bag.

“So everything tasted of Moroccan Mint,” he finishes with a chuckle.

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