Page 40 of Ticket to You

I mimic his near-waking movements and open my eyes slowly, just a slit at first. Adam is staring at me, wide-eyed. “Morning,” I whisper, my voice scratchy.

“Did you sleep okay?” Adam asks, sitting up and pulling his shirt back down over his torso as he scoots to the edge of the bed. His whole body is tense, looking nothing like the guy who was sleeping minutes ago.

“Like a rock.”Until you woke me up.

Adam’s eyes dart around the room for a moment. In Paris, he made an early getaway before I woke up, allowing us to avoid awkward morning interactions. Now, it’s just us, desperately trying—and failing—to act casual. “Do you mind if I go shower?” he asks.

I hold my hand in a “go ahead” gesture, and Adam stands, looks down, curses, and snatches a pillow to hold in front of his shorts.

“Shit,” he whispers, his cheeks glowing Louboutin red.

I can’t help but bust into laughter at seeing Adam—Mr. Cool and Composed—look embarrassed. Somehow, he blushes even deeper, and I cover my face with my duvet to stifle my laughter.

“It’smorning,” he hisses, throwing the pillow at me.

22

ADAM

My interviewee for today,Mila, grew up in the Engelberg valley. Her dad was a world-renowned rock climber. Now she’s following in his footsteps. She is a competitive rock climber for the Swiss Olympic team and offers free climbing lessons to the local kids, which is exactly what my story will center on. Hopefully, it’ll be interesting enough to divert my mind from the rolling deep in my stomach.

At exactly noon, not a minute later, Ophelia and I meet Mila at the cable car. Striking blue eyes dominate Mila’s small, heart-shaped face. Her hair is a rich golden tone, nearly an exact match for her sun-bronzed skin. She’s short and almost blends in with the twelve kids that surround her.

Mila shouts an excited greeting at us. She keeps her eyes on me when shaking Ophelia’s hand and pulls me in for a quick hug. I stiffen.

“It’swonderfulto finally meet you, Adam. I’m a big fan.”

I guess just saying that isn’t enough. Mila spends the entire cable car ride rattling off compliments to me. I try to redirect the conversation back to her, but she’s incessant. As unprofessional as it is, I let my eyes trail to Ophelia while Mila is speaking. The better I get to know Ophelia, the harder it is to look away from her.

Once we finally get to the parking lot at the base of the mountain, I fall in line with Ophelia. I might have rolled my eyes at her colorful athletic clothes when we were back in New York, but she looks damn cute in her “periwinkle” leggings—her descriptor, not mine—and matching pullover. This morning, she slicked her chestnut hair back into a tight ponytail, allowing her features to shine.

“We have a thirty-minute drive to the climbing wall,” Mila tells us, butting up next to me. “The kids and I want to show you how we build trust and teamwork. You can sit passenger, Adam, so I can tell you more about it on the way.”

“Maybe I should sit with Ophelia so we can talk over the photos we need,” I say, my jaw tightening.

“I’m sure we can figure it out there,” Ophelia says, smiling flimsily.

It’ll only be half an hour away from Ophelia, yet I’m still disappointed and spend most of the drive thinking back to the feeling of waking up alongside her.

I look back at Ophelia regularly. She’s shoulder-to-shoulder with the kids. Neither of us speaks German, so I’m guessing their energetic chatter sounds like the buzzing of bees to her, too.

At the climbing wall, Mila’s words fly in one ear and out the other, so I use my phone to record it all. I’ll be lucky if I can patch this into anything resembling anOutdoorsyarticle.

I can’t focus on anything for more than a couple of minutes without thinking back to this morning, to the feeling of Ophelia’s skin on mine. She, however, seems unfazed. As she photographs, she spends hours talking to each of the kids as if they’re old friends.

After we finish the bulk of the interview, Ophelia and I take pictures of Mila in as many configurations as we can imagine. Some with just her, some with her and the kids, some action shots of her up on the wall.

“And one with you, Adam!” Mila insists. Her smile is so wide it reminds me of the Cheshire Cat.

I oblige and stand beside Mila, shoving my hands in my pockets. My grin almost feels painful.

Mila wraps an arm around my waist and leans her head toward me. “Don’t be so uptight!”

Instinctively, I flinch back and take a moment to recollect myself before reluctantly putting an arm lightly across her upper back.

Ophelia takes our picture, her expression blank.

Mila hands Ophelia her phone. “And one on this.”

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