I can’t help but laugh at that one. She got me there. I do have a pretty solid track record of messing up her perfectly organized world. But watching her get all fired up about it? That might be my favorite part of coming in here every day because when she’s defending something she cares about, she lights up with that knee-buckling smile of hers.
Reese is already talking about historical facts again, but I can’t concentrate on our study session anymore. All I can think about is tomorrow.
Chapter Five
Reese
I can’t believe I let Sawyer talk me into going hiking with him. This is nothing but a terrible idea. First, it’s, well, Sawyer. The guy who always pushes my buttons, although he’s been making an effort to rein it in lately. And second, I’m afraid of heights. It’s why I hardly ever go hiking. Sure, I enjoy the occasional walk around town or a leisurely stroll around Lake Hartley, but none of that involves elevation and narrow trails that snake up the mountain beside a cliff. One wrong step and you’re plummeting to your death. I honestly can’t fathom what’s so fun about that.
Still, here I am, standing outside the Visitor Center at eight in the morning, wearing the most outdoorsy clothes I could find in my closet, which isn’t saying much. My black leggings and cotton sweater hardly scream ‘adventure ready,’ but they’ll have to do.
A family of tourists approaches the entrance of the Visitor Center, where I’m waiting for Sawyer.
I give them an apologetic smile. “Sorry, we’re closed on Sundays. We’ll be open again tomorrow morning.”
The dad checks his watch. “Oh, that’s too bad. We were hoping to get some trail maps.”
“There’s a selection of basic maps on the covered porch around the side. It’s one dollar for a map. Just drop your money in the old vending machine and press the big green button. It’snot fancy, but it still spits out maps like clockwork. Most days, anyway,” I tell them, pointing toward the building. “And if you have any specific questions about the area, I’d be happy to—”
“Reese?”
I turn at the sound of Sawyer’s voice and nearly forget what I was saying. He’s walking toward us in well-worn hiking boots, dark pants that fit him perfectly, and a forest-green flannel shirt rolled up his strong forearms. His hair is slightly tousled from the morning breeze, and a backpack is slung over one shoulder like he was born carrying one.
“Hi,” I manage to say while trying not to gawk.
Oh, my goodness. This issonot fair. I look like a total noob, sporting the same tattered backpack I used in high school, while he looks like he stepped straight out of a commercial for some impressive outdoor brand.
I tear my eyes away from him and focus my attention on the family in front of me. “Um,” I say, trying to remember how words work. “Sorry, what was your question again?”
The tourist dad is grinning now, clearly picking up on the reason for my sudden distraction. “I think we’ve got what we need. Thanks anyway.”
As they head toward the map dispenser, Sawyer stops in front of me with his signature confident smile. “Ready for an adventure?”
I’m not ready for how good he looks, but I manage to at least nod. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Of course, it would probably help if I told him about my fear of heights, but I don’t want him to think I’m lame. Or worse, look at me with pity. Last night, I looked up the tram cables he told me about and realized that two hiking trails lead up to them. I assumed one would be easy and the other more difficult, but unfortunately, both looked equally terrifying. So, unless I comeclean and tell him I’m too scared to do this, I’ll be staring my fears dead in the eye in a couple of hours.
I swallow hard. Why did I agree to this again?
“Ready to try on some hiking boots?” Sawyer asks, interrupting my nightmare visions of me plummeting to my death before lunch.
“Sure,” I squeak.
We walk toward Maple’s Outfitters, which isn’t far from the Visitor Center.
“Do you have any historical facts to share about hiking boots?” Sawyer asks.
I’m not sure if he’s mocking me or if he’s genuinely interested in the history of hiking boots. The former seems more likely, so I roll my eyes at him. “Not everything I do has to involve history. It’s not like I walk around reciting facts about random stuff.”
Or do I? Internally, sure, but I always do my best to keep it inside. I had my fair share of snorts and laughs when I was younger, and being a history nerd wasn’t exactly considered cool.
“Actually,” Sawyer says, sounding genuine, “I was hoping you would. I like learning stuff from you.”
Heat creeps up my neck. His genuine tone makes my stomach flip-flop. “Oh. Well…” I clear my throat, scrambling for something to say that won’t make me sound like the complete nerd I am. “Hiking boots as we know them didn’t exist until the 1930s. Before that, people wore regular work boots or even dress shoes on mountain trails.”
“Seriously?” He holds the door to Maple’s open for me, and I catch a whiff of his cologne as I pass by. Cedar and something earthy that makes me want to lean closer and take a deep, long breath in. I don’t, of course. I’m not completely insane.
“Seriously. There are photographs of people climbing Mount Washington in New Hampshire wearing leather dress shoes andlong skirts. The Vibram sole, the rubber tread that grips rock, wasn’t invented until 1937.”