Page 70 of Entwined Hearts

I sigh, starting to feel conflicted about caring so much. Why had I let Jake wind me up about something that happened in the past? That’s not even my business.

It feels like Jake did it on purpose. And that’s when I know my head isn’t in the right place.

What’s worse is that if Jake believes Colby used some kind of advantage to gain a sponsorship he was coveting, then he’ll never forgive him. I huff a giant sigh.

“Long week?” Colby asks.

I feel depleted after being strung out on uncertainty and expectations for so many days. “I wasn’t sure you were coming.”

Colby tilts his head, gazing at me curiously. “I told you I would.”

I shut my eyes, feeling foolish.

He pulls me close again. “I missed you,” he says, the edge in his voice gone.

Hearing this makes my heart hum. “I missed you, too.” I wrap my arms around him, laying my cheek against the smooth fabric of his flannel shirt.

“I wanted to be here sooner,” he says, stroking the top of my head. He holds me for a while longer. I soak in the feel of his embrace, inhaling his unique scent of citrus-scented soap and what I’m guessing is tar from his work on the rooftops.

“You want to take a walk?” he asks. “I could use a stretch.”

I agree, even though I should be crawling into bed right now.

He smiles, and it’s like a bulb has just clicked on behind his eyes. He strokes the side of my face, then leans down for a kiss.

Hand in hand, we leave the campsite. I notice that, as usual, he’s barefoot. His rough hand feels warm yet firm, and I remember how much I like his touch. A shiver passes over my skin, but I shake it off.

What am I going to do about Jake and Colby? And Colby didn’t answer my question, though he doesn’t have to.

Campers are settling down for the night as we stroll the road. The sharpzingof zippers opening and closing can be heard from all corners of the campground. Chores are being finished and soft chatter floats out from the walls of the tents, lit up by the glow of lanterns and headlamps.

Above, the sharp pinpoints of stars glow white through the tree boughs.

“What time are you kicking things off tomorrow?” Colby asks.

“I’m meeting him at the base at five AM.”

He nods. “You feel ready?”

No, I want to say as a flutter of nerves scrapes the inside of my belly. “We’ll see, I guess.”

“Weather is good for tomorrow,” he says. “Though it’s supposed to get cold tonight, then spike into the seventies by afternoon.”

He doesn’t have to say this is the condition most likely to cause rockfall. I can hear the slight rise in his voice, the same from when he tried to warn me not to climb Widow’s Walk. “We should be above the unstable section by then,” I say in a rush, masking my mild annoyance. I don’t want to admit this climb is riskier than any other. But what if we get delayed in the lower section? I can imagine getting stuck at the layback pitch. What if I can’t get through it? What if Jake thinks I’m not focused enough, threatens to bail, and we have to rappel down, right under the seam of rock that gave the route its name?

“Tell me about the crux,” he says.

So I do. I describe the moves and the holds, imagining my body connecting them, the sun warm on my shoulders, and my mind focused. Before I know it, we’ve looped back to my campsite, and my anxieties are fading.

We stand at the back of his truck, and Colby wraps me in his arms. “Tomorrow’s a big day. Where would you like me to sleep?”

I know what he’s asking, and I don’t have a ready answer. Jake and I never had any kind of physical contact leading up to a big climb. We’re both too focused.

But a part of me longs to feel Colby’s body next to mine, our skin touching, his warmth a presence throughout the night.

“I should probably sleep alone,” I say with regret.

“Okay,” he says, then a look passes over his face I’m not used to seeing on him—it’s hopeful, vulnerable. “But only if after you come down, I get to hold you all night.”

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