Page 25 of Entwined Hearts

After we get up, I tuck the empty beer cans into my back pockets, then watch Anya disappear down the gap between the boulders. I take one last look at the expansive view, shaking the nerves out of my fingers before following her.

Did she want me to kiss her? I know if I do, I won’t be able to stop.

Seven

Colby

Iblink awake to a breeze whistling through my truck canopy’s window. Dawn is still warming up, making the shadows paler, but the sky remains a thick, lifeless gray. I roll onto my back, staring at my metal ceiling. A sizzle of excitement races over my skin because it hits me that I’ll be climbing with Anya today.

The night before, after we walked back to the campsite, the party was breaking up, so we said goodnight. I watched her walk into the darkness toward her tent. I climbed into my metal shell, though sleep didn’t come for a long time. I couldn’t help replaying our conversation, analyzing it for clues I’d said too much or been obnoxious, and Brittany Spears popped into my thoughts. Did I really compare her to Anya? Ugh.

Learning she’s still so wrapped up in Jake is slowly killing me. That she’s spent the last three years trying to be good enough for someone like him… Fuck.

I missed you, she said.

This tears at me.

Were we closer than I thought that summer? Could she have wanted more from me? If so, I’d been clueless. I shake my head.Well, whatever we had then is a mess now, I think with a ragged sigh.

I slide out of my sleeping bag, then pull on a mismatched set of Marvik and workwear. When I emerge from the truck, I probably look like a homeless plumber who broke into a climbing shop. But Meghan has always told me to dress in what’s comfortable to express my “individual style.”Well, I’m a roofer who occasionally climbs brilliantly, I think ruefully.

I pull the Tupperware box labeled “Kitchen” from beneath my plywood bed, then set it on the ground. Quietly so as not to disturb the other campers, I pop the lid and quickly set up my stove on the tailgate, my calloused fingers feeling clumsy with the lighter. Once a pot of water is heating, I rummage in the bag of groceries I bought for breakfast.

“Morning,” a voice murmurs behind me.

I have one hand on the bagels and the other on a tub of hummus, so when I whip around in surprise, the whole bag of groceries tips off the seat.

Anya gasps as everything tumbles onto the ground: oranges, a box of power bars, a square of cheese, a tin of smoked almonds, a bag of trail mix, a tub of peanut butter.

Thank God I thought to put the condoms away, I think with relief as Anya chases after a runaway orange.

“You’re up early,” I say when we have the groceries back in the bag. Her wavy blonde hair has a bit of wildness in it from sleep. I have a craving to run my fingers through it.

“Couldn’t sleep anymore,” she sighs.

“I didn’t wake you up, did I?” I ask, quietly shutting my car door.

She shakes her head.

“I’ll have coffee ready soon. Do you want some?”

Her eyes light up. “Yes.”

We walk back to the tailgate, and I unwrap the bagels.

“Onion bagels, yum,” she says.

“That’s right. You’re not a donut lover, are you?” I ask, remembering her unusual breakfast combos—cold beans and avocado and leftover spicy rice mixed with a can of tuna, and how the smell of ripe bananas makes her sick. I’ve also brought the hummus and tomatoes to the back. I get to work building two perfect breakfast bagel sandwiches. She leans against the edge of the tailgate, gazing toward the now-softening horizon.

In minutes, I have crafted two cups of coffee and set two bagels on a plate.

“Breakfast is served,” I say with a small bow.

“Wow,” she says slowly, as if coming back from some other world. “You didn’t have to do this for me.”

I shrug. “Why not?”

She looks unsettled, but it passes. “Thank you,” she says, touching my arm.

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