Page 5 of Entwined Hearts

He doesn’t continue, but he doesn’t have to.Morocco.

“Colby must have had a good reason for taking off. Maybe he had an injury,” I hesitatingly say.

Jake shakes his head. “I think he got scared.”

My brow crinkles—that doesn’t sound like the Colby I almost kissed at the top of Royal Arches. “Well, Ketil scares a lot of people,” I point out.

“Why are you defending him, Anya?” Jake snaps.

I blink. “I’m not,” I protest, but I’m trying to convince myself, too. “I’m just surprised you’re so against having Colby on our team. He’s got mad crack skills,” I add. I immediately regret it when Jake’s flush deepens, angry lines wrinkling his forehead.

More warning bells sound off in my mind when I realize there must be a bigger story behind Jake’s animosity. If I ask, though, I know he’ll only deny it.

True to form, he averts his eyes, shutting the conversation down. “We’d better get going,” he says, then clicks his laptop shut.

During the drive to Marvik, we don’t talk about Colby, but I stew over the possibility of the climb being in jeopardy. A secret part of me had already started looking forward to climbing with him again. Being entertained by his wacky jokes and the songs he’d sing out of the blue. It makes me wonder if he still likes to sing when he climbs, mostly to himself, but sometimes loud enough for his rumbling baritone to float over the rock. Around camp, Colby was the guy everyone liked—especially the ladies. I can’t remember seeing him without a woman on his arm. Not that I cared.

After Jake parks the car, he swivels toward me.

“Maybe take the bracelet off for today,” he says.

I suck in a breath. “Why?” As much as it’ll be a hindrance while climbing, I’ve already started a habit of running my index finger over the smooth stones one by one.Bump, bump, bump. They feel solid and reassuring, and I use it to convince myself that’s how Jake feels about me.

He shrugs, acting nonchalant, butactingseems to be the keyword. “Just so we don’t have to answer any questions. Plus, they probably won’t want you to wear it during the photo shoot.”

Trying to understand his reasoning, I tentatively ask, “Do you not want people to know you bought it for me?”

“Don’t get upset, Anya,” he starts, his tone turning sullen.

“I’m not,” I say quickly.

“People just get so freaky about stuff like that. I want it to be private—something only we share. For now.” He takes my hands, softening his voice. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I reply automatically. But I’m replaying his words in my head, trying to make sense of what just happened. So he wants us to be committed to each other, but only if nobody else knows?

When he exits the car, I follow, but I’m so confused. On the one hand, I sort of get it. We’re not famous by any means, but the news of a surprise gift from Jake that smacks of serious commitment might draw attention away from the climb. And now that I know Jake might have a problem with Colby, maybe this is a smart tactic.

I slip the bracelet into my jacket pocket. We walk across the sun-heated concrete to the glass door entrance, then step inside. A receptionist smiles at us. “I loved you in Rising Angel,” she says.

A blush heats my cheeks. This shouldn’t get to me after growing up knowing my eleven-month-old face aired on television for several years, but it does.

Marvik has added a giant poster of me on a climb in East Sumba to the wall above the receptionist. I’m soloing a limestone face above a sapphire sea, my hair fanned out behind me on a breeze, my face passive in concentration. It took me a while to get used to the camera beingright therewhile trying to focus on what sometimes feels like an impossible challenge, but it’s easier now. Most of the photographers have become close friends, which has made a huge difference.

“Anya, Jake,” a woman calls from across the lobby.

I turn to see Meghan McAtee, our manager at Marvik, striding across the room. She’s one of those people who look effortlessly put together—makeup, hair, and business attire, which looks professional but yet still feminine. I always feel my grubby climber self when I’m around her, though she seems delighted by us and our quirky lifestyle. Meghan’s navy pumps tap the tile floor as she comes to greet us.

“Welcome back,” she says to Jake, extending her hand. I see her nails are a soft red today to match her lipstick. Her dark, shoulder-length hair is styled, and it frames her handsome features perfectly.

“Come on in,” she says, turning to lead us into the offices.

We climb a stairway to the second floor, taking the usual route past the big offices and several cubicles to a conference room. Inside, a spread of pastries, fruit, and a coffee carafe fill the side table.

I first became a sponsored climber when I was fifteen, by a company that makes energy drinks. They paid me two thousand dollars, which felt like a king’s ransom back then. All I had to do was drink their product, talk them up, and wear their sponsorship patch in competitions. My first big sponsor sold climbing hardware, and I remember my excitement before that first meeting. I still get jitters, but back then, I’d get so tongue-tied I would be on the verge of babbling every time I opened my mouth.

Having Jake to steady me today certainly helps, as does Meghan’s warmth and enthusiasm. She’s never climbed, saying she’s afraid of heights, but she loves what we do.

Another corporate team member breezes in, followed by our lead filmmaker, Laura Rossi. She’s compact, like a gymnast, with dark hair and soft brown eyes framed by tanned wrinkles, probably from decades of squinting into the sunshine. We shake hands.

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