Page 76 of Trip Me Up

“No.” He reached out and caressed my cheek. “You inspire me.”

“Right. Lobelia.” I examined the rough surface of the boulder.

He curled a finger under my chin and lifted it until I met his gaze. “No. You, Sam. Like I said in the dedication, you’re my muse.”

My insides warmed. His muse. I inspired him. I leaned forward and kissed him. “Okay, you write. I’ll check on the boys.” I slid off the rock into the mud and whistled for Bilbo Baggins.

I found plenty of sticks to throw. The dogs brought some of them back. Every once in a while, I’d peek up at Niall. Sometimes lying on his stomach, sometimes curled up with the notebook on his knees, he squinted at the page and pushed his left hand awkwardly across it.

My phone had zero bars in the forest. So I turned it off and listened to the water, the trees, the birds. Instead of checking my email, I watched the glint of sunlight on the water; the tree limbs, some bare, some evergreen, swaying; the pale yellow sun as it tracked low across the sky. I’d never been into meditation, but if I’d ever wanted to, this would be the place. The peaceful sounds encouraged an inward focus, a stillness.

Though when I focused inward, I didn’t like what I saw.

Secrets.

Niall had brought me to his favorite place in the world, his hidden refuge. He was opening his life to me like a treasure box. But me? I was still locked up tight.

Would it be the worst thing if I told Niall about CASE andMagician,even though Heidi had told me not to? He seemed like the type to keep a confidence. Though I’d been wrong about that before. I shuddered, remembering the cold shock, like being tossed into the frigid stream, when I’d read Stephen’s text demanding money for the pictures.

Worse, what would Niall say when I told him about CASE? The sparkle would disappear from his eyes, the smile from his lips. He’d hate how I’d twisted his art. How I’d lied to him from the first day of the tour. Even before that.

Wouldn’t it be better to do what Heidi had told me, to keep it quiet until the tour ended and we went our separate ways?

I’d listened to enough ofSecrets of the Wood Elvesto know what ever-honest Greva would say about that. She’d call me a coward. And she’d be right. But I wasn’t strong enough to look into Niall’s face and tell him the truth.

“Hungry?” Niall’s voice was gruff from disuse, and he cleared his throat.

“Yeah. Just a sec.” I took a deep breath and shoved my dirty hands into the clear water. I’d known it’d be cold, butshit,it made me squeal a little and sharpened my thoughts to icy clarity. It was better to keep pretending for the short time we had left together.

I flicked the water off my reddened hands and then clambered up beside him. He’d already set out lunch on the blanket—sandwiches, apples, bottles of water, a thermos of coffee, and even a couple of homemade cookies. I tore into a sandwich and forced lightness into my tone. “Good writing?”

“Yeah.” He still had a dreamy, unfocused look on his face.

“You said this is where you created the wood elves?”

He smiled, mysterious. “I’m not sure I can take credit for creating them. I always imagined there were beings out here. I guess from the fairy tales Mom used to read to me. I used to look for them. Sometimes I’d bring them a cookie or some milk. I started writing stories about their adventures, and, eventually, the stories turned into a book.”

“You always write in longhand?”

“Yeah. I mail my notebooks to Gabi, and she transcribes them. She sends me printed pages back, and then I edit those. I know, I’m a Luddite.” He ducked his head. “I guess it started as my little rebellion against my father. And then it just came naturally.”

“I don’t know how you do it. I sign books for half an hour, and my hand aches.” We’d finished our sandwiches, so I lifted his left hand and gently kneaded it from the palms out to the fingertips. Slowly, the tightness eased. I squeezed and wiggled each finger. Then I worked down each finger bone to his wrist, where I made little circles.

He groaned. “Feels good.”

“Before he went off to college, Jackson taught me how to massage my dad’s hands. They got cramped from coding. Typing. He worked so hard.”

“The foundation is named for him. He died a while ago?”

I kept my gaze on the freckled back of Niall’s hand. “Yeah. When I was eleven. Heart attack.”

He put his hand over mine, stilling it. “I’m sorry. Sounds like you were close.”

I started again, working between his fingers. “He understood me. Kinda like Jackson but not as clueless, you know?”

He chuckled. “Your brother’s a sharp man.”

“About some things. Not about others. When I—” I swallowed. “I had a boyfriend who hurt me.” Niall’s hand curled into a fist, and I flattened it, massaging the back. “Not physically. Emotionally. I thought we were in love, but he was using me. He—ah.” I cleared my throat. I hadn’t told anyone this story since it’d happened. Not even Marlee or Alicia. “He blackmailed me. Used some pictures he’d taken of me—nudes—to demand money from me. He gambled. On the internet. He’d built up a ton of debt on his credit card, and his parents wouldn’t pay it off. I didn’t have access to my trust fund yet, and I had to ask my family. My mother gave it to him, of course. Couldn’t let those pictures spoil the perfect image of the Joneses.” I kneaded his hand in silence for a minute. “Ever since, Jackson hasn’t trusted me to make smart decisions about guys. About anything. None of them have.”

---