Page 21 of Love In Translation

Rheo briefly explained who Fletch was and the day’s events, including her fall but leaving out the kiss. She also omitted the gazebo crashing.

So, have you googled him yet?

Well, no, but that was a damn good idea. Rheo told Abi she’d call her in the morning and ended their chat.

Rheo plugged his name into a search engine, thinking she should know more about the man she was sharing a house with to justify her actions. She was a woman alone; it was smart. It had nothing—liar, liar—to do with her curiosity.

His website was the first result in a long list, but a podcast titled “Q&A with Fletcher Wright” caught her interest.

She tapped the Play button, and the nasal voice of the interviewer blared from her phone’s speakers. She hit the pause button and grabbed her AirPods, thinking she didn’t want to risk Fletch knowing she was cyberstalking him. Silly. His room was on the other side of the house and there were many walls between them.

“Adventurers, here’s a taste of our podcast interview with one of our favorite modern-day explorers, Fletcher Wright.

“Regular listeners, millions of you, will have heard me interview Fletch Wright before because I’ve followed his career for years—you’re thirty-five now, right? I encourage you to listen to our previous podcasts on exploring the Dasht-e Lut, the Kalahari and Taklamakan Deserts. He’s climbed Everest and numerous other peaks, and has hacked his way through parts of the Amazon, the Darién Gap, the Congo, and Papua jungles.”

So, he was a proper, grown-up explorer. And he was more, well,famousthan he’d implied. Interesting.

“Thrilling stuff. I can’t wait to dive in, we have so much to talk about! But, as an icebreaker, we’re going to start, as we usually do, with the questions sent in by you, our listeners. So, here goes... What is your biggest pet peeve?”

Fletcher’s deep voice poured into Rheo’s ears, and she couldn’t help squirming a little in response.“The sound of Styrofoam squeaking. It makes my ears bleed. It also takes about five hundred years to break down in a landfill.”

Rheo placed her head on her pillow, happy to listen.

“What occupation, other than your own, would you like to try?”

“I like making stuff, using my hands. So, yeah, I guess I’d love a huge workshop where I could build shit, but only when I’ve run out of places to see. The world is big and that might take a while.”

Irritation spiked, hot and unwelcome. Yeah, his statement sounded familiar. Carrie and her parents always talked about their next trip and the one after that. They spent more time thinking about where they were headed next than enjoying where they were. Fletch seemed to be the same.

It made her sad, and Rheo didn’t understand why. He wasn’t boyfriend material, and her imagination wasn’t vivid enough to see him as a long-term partner. Why was she even going there? A man in her life wasn’t a priority! Sorting her life out was. She’d had a suitable boyfriend, andhe’dwanted more thanshecould give...

“If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be? Have you bought a place yet, or are you still living out of your van?”

Oh, God, he owned a van. Seriously?Ugh.

“I upgraded my van to a tiny house, which I parked at the end of a friend’s property in Portland. It can still be moved, so I haven’t gone over to the dark side.”

The interviewer laughed, and Rheo narrowed her eyes. There was nothing wrong with wanting the stability of staying in the same place. Before her meltdown, it had given her a sense of security she’d never known as a child, and she wished these van-life-loving, chasing-freedom types—her parents, Carrie, and Fletch—would stop judging people who liked conformity.

Rheo lifted her phone to kill the podcast, but the interviewer’s next question captured her attention.“If you could have coffee with any modern-day or historical explorer, who would you choose? Edmund Hillary? Charles Darwin? Ed Stafford?”

“Ed and I are more likely to have a beer than coffee. The others sound interesting, but I would choose the botanist Jeanne Baret. Back in the 1760s, she was the first woman to circumnavigate the world. She disguised herself as a man and was employed as a valet to the expedition’s naturalist. I think we can all agree she had a big set of balls.”

Except for the circumnavigating the world on a ship thing, Jeanne Baret sounded like her type of girl: independent and smart.

“Is that your ideal woman? Someone with a big set of balls? Your name’s been linked with Carrie Whitlock, the travel influencer and an adventurer.”

Rheo paused the podcast and checked the publication date. It was recorded a few weeks back, so this wasn’t outdated information.

“Carrie and I are friends. And, yes, I like friends, and lovers, who can keep up with me. I enjoy people who challenge me, physically and mentally.”

Well, that was that. Their kisses were hot enough to spark a wildfire, but sexual attraction was all they had in common. He was a nomad, lived in a van—sorry,tiny house,but still on wheels—and hopped from destination to destination. Rheo didn’t have a hope in hell of keeping up with him on the mildest of outdoor hikes. She was a sloth; he was a mountain goat.

Mentally, she could match him. She had a postgrad degree and an active mind. She read widely—okay, she didn’t know about Jeanne Baret, but she was pretty sure Fletch didn’t know the Italian alphabet only had twenty-one letters. She enjoyed interesting and stimulating conversations, arguing principles and debating ideas.

Rheo checked the time left on the podcast. Just a few minutes to go. She’d listen to the end.

“If you could go back and give your eighteen-year-old self one piece of advice, what would it be?”

---