Page 28 of Unhurried Hearts

“Were you painting before I got here?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry for the mess.” Her voice is muffled like her head is inside her closet or maybe a shirt. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying desperately not to picture her with her boobs out. “I was trying to finish up that set before I went down to work this morning.”

I lean over to see them better. There’s a whole group of them, each rock with a different type of flower and the name written neatly below. To get that level of detail she must have an incredibly steady hand.

“These are really impressive, Anna.”

The urge to look behind me is strong, not to see her body, but to see her eyes when I talk to her about something she obviously enjoys.

“Thank you! They’re for Ashlyn for Christmas. I like the way they’re turning out. Going to glaze them tomorrow.”

I’m generous with my timing, but after ten minutes I know we’re running out of daylight. When she announces she’s ready, I slide off the stool and lead her out. I didn’t have to take her over my shoulder after all. Too bad.

***

“This is…dense,” she says, brushing aside a branch that’s growing across the trail and narrowly avoiding it smacking her in the face.

“Why do I get the feeling that you’re not very outdoorsy?” I ask, hoping that didn’t come across as jerky as it sounded in my head.

“Oh, you mean the wardrobe meltdown and the forty-two questions I asked you on the drive here weren’t dead giveaways? Nope, it’s usually just me and my pet rocks.”

“Yikes.” I grimace and she laughs.

“It’s not much further.” I slow at a rocky section of the trail, helping her up.

“I do like to go for long walks on the beach and see if I can find good painting rocks.”

On a beach we could walk side by side instead of dodging tree branches.

“We should do that sometime.”

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, nodding. “Yeah? Okay. Thanks for letting me set the pace.”

“Don’t overestimate me, I’m just back here to look at your ass,” I joke.

Exaggerating the sway of her hips for a few paces like the trail is her very own catwalk, she laughs, the pretty sound making me wonder what else I can do or say to make her laugh some more.

Arbutus trees grow in their winding way, curling strips of rust-coloured bark flaking and falling onto the trail. Ravens quark, dried leaves crunch beneath our soles, and beams of light filter through the canopy. This hike is taking longer with Anna along, but I don’t mind. In fact, I realizeI haven’t even set my watch to track the hike and log my time. When was the last time I did that? I’ve always looked at my outdoor adventures as solitary pursuits focused on beating my personal time, but having someone to chat with is nice. A few minutes later the trees thin and the sky brightens.

“Whoa,” she breathes, turning slowly in a full circle to take in the view when we finally reach the summit of our hike. Wide bands of colour paint the soft clouds hanging in the air. The ocean blends with the sky, stretching out beyond us.

“Worth it?”

“Definitely. Thank you for bringing me up here. I’ll admit it was hard to get my butt in gear at the end of a workday.”

“I know. But I always feel better after I do a hike or a ride or something right after work. If I go home first it’s not gonna happen. Once my ass meets the recliner, I’m toast.”

“That sounds glorious.”

“The recliner or the toast?”

“Ugh, both,” she groans.

“Are you hungry?”

“Starved. I haven’t eaten anything since lunch.”

I had time to kill after showing up at the salon this afternoon. Hoping they aren’t too squished from beingpacked up the trail, I pull the white bakery box from my bag.

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