Page 90 of The Accidental Text

He then stands up straight and walks toward me, this time with a more definitive expression. A man on a mission.

I hold out a hand to stop him. “You didn’t get that wrong, but … I’m not sure how I feel about it.”

“Oh,” he says, his face falling a little.

“It’s not that … I just …” I let out a breath, not sure what to say or how to say it. Maybe I should just go with the truth. If only I could pinpoint exactly what that is.

“Is it that Chase guy?” Dawson asks.

“What?” I feel my eyes widen. “No … Chase … I—”

“Sorry,” he interrupts. “It just seemed like maybe something could be happening between you.”

I look to the ground, my brain firing off again. Is my change in feelings toward Dawson because of … Chase? I try the thought on for a second but end up feeling even more confused.

“So then … what?” he asks.

I let out a breath. “If you had done that like … two weeks ago?” I say. “I would have been so thrilled. Like, jumping for joy, thrilled.”

“Ah, okay. But … not now.”

“Now,” I say, and then nibble on my bottom lip while I think. “Now, I’m just … not sure.”

“Got it. I missed my chance.” He rubs a hand down his face again.

“No,” I say. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Right,” he says. “So maybe think on it?”

I smile. “I can do that.”

“Okay.” He echoes my smile. “Then I can wait.”

He comes closer to me and leans in, and for a second, I wonder if he understands the concept of waiting. But all he does is brush his lips on my cheek. And then, with a soft smile, he walks out of my office.

Chapter 25

“Has any of this been helping you?” Chase asks as we walk along the Bell Trail, the heat in the low nineties. We’re about two hours north of Tempe, not all that far from Sedona. It’s beautiful outside and the trail follows along a creek, which is pretty on its own, with trees lining each side of the slowly flowing water. There’s a distinct scent of dirt and brush as we walk.

Today’s adventure includes a three-and-a-half-mile hike toward a watering hole called the Crack. That’s the actual name, and every time I say it, Chase snickers. We’re apparently trying out cliff diving. There’s not a lot of that around here, so this is the best we can do. I’ve been told—by Chase, of course—that the Crack boasts cliff dives as high as thirty feet, which isn’t too shabby. I did a fifty-foot one in Hawaii one time on vacation, and I don’t think I would go that high again.

It’s not really a hike—at least not this first part. It’s more like a walk. The dirt trail is wide and mostly flat and sprawling. But it supposedly gets a little more difficult closer to the watering hole. Chase instructed me to wear sneakers and, of course, my bathing suit, which I’m wearing underneath some light-gray running shorts—that I’ve never actually used for running—and a light-blue tank top.

Chase has on some board shorts with a blue Hawaiian pattern and a white T-shirt. Also those aviator glasses that I findso endearing. He’s carrying a backpack with towels, water, and some lunch for us. He’s quite prepared. I like that about Chase. He’s always thoughtful about what I might want or need.

It feels nice to be out here after being in the shop all week, to feel the light breeze on my face and the hot sun overhead.

“Helping me how?” I ask.

“You know … to get your mojo back?”

I think about that. It’s the first of May, so that means only two weeks until jump time. I’d love to say that all this adventuring with Chase has caused some awakening in me and the jump sounds like something I could do in my sleep … like the old me. But the thought of it—going up in that tiny plane, so high up, all of us jumping, sending my mom’s ashes into the sky—still causes tendrils of anxiety to run through me.

“I don’t know,” I say.

“But you think you can jump,” he says.

“I mean, I have to,” I say. I’m resigned to do it. I don’t think I’ll choke, because I can’t let myself have the option.

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