“So basically, people were hiking mountains in what amounted to fancy loafers?”

I nod. “Pretty much. Which explains why so many early mountaineering expeditions ended badly.”

“Too bad social media wasn’t a thing back then. They’d all look super put-together in their pictures. Think of all the social clout and admiration they would’ve gotten.” He pauses and grins. “Instead of becoming internet famous, most of them died.”

I laugh, actuallylaugh, at his joke. Huh. This is new. My usual reaction to his jokes is a roll of my eyes.

“I never knew history could be this fun,” he says, looking at me with an expression that’s hard to read. Like he finds my weird little history-obsessed brain attractive somehow, which is impossible. Guys like Sawyer don’t usually go for girls who get excited about stuff that happened long ago. Those outdoorsy, confident, and absurdly good-looking types aren’t exactly known to crush on a geek like me.

I snort at my thoughts. Crush on?Get a grip, Reese.This has nothing to do withfeelings.

Before I can get sucked into a vortex of confusion about where that idea of having a crush came from, a woman with purple-streaked hair approaches us.

“Hi, guys. Looking for something specific?”

“A pair of rental boots for her,” Sawyer says, gesturing to me. “Something sturdy but comfortable for a moderate hike.”

The word “moderate” makes my stomach clench. I still haven’t told him about my height situation, and with every passing minute, it’s getting harder to bring it up. How do you casually mention to an experienced hiking guide slash mountainman that the thought of being more than ten feet off the ground makes you want to curl up in a ball and hide?

“What size?” the woman asks me.

“Seven and a half,” I manage.

As she disappears into the back room, Sawyer leans against the counter, scrutinizing me. “You seem nervous.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah. You keep fidgeting with your hair.” He reaches out and gently tugs a strand behind my ear, the one I was twisting around my finger. The brief contact sends electricity shooting down my arm. “What’s going on, Reese?”

This is it. My chance to come clean. To tell him that I’m probably going to embarrass myself and possibly cry in about two hours. Instead, I hear myself saying, “I’m not sure if this hike is a good idea. I don’t want to slow you down. You’re experienced, and I’m more of an indoor person.”

It’s not entirely a lie, but it’s not the whole truth either.

“Hey.” His voice is gentler now, and when I look up, his eyes are full of understanding. Gah. Who knew Sawyer had this soft side to him? “This isn’t a race. We’re going at whatever pace feels good for you, okay? And if you want to turn back at any point, we’ll turn back. No questions asked.”

His kindness almost undoes me. Here I am, keeping this huge secret from him, and he’s being nothing but patient and considerate. I should tell him. I should—

“Here we go!” The woman returns with three boxes of boots. “Let’s start with these and see how they feel. They’re all a size up from your usual one because your feet tend to sweat and expand while hiking.”

I scrunch my nose. Does she really need to talk about my sweaty, expanding feet in front of Sawyer?

The woman seems oblivious to my mortification and keeps going. “You’ll also want to wear merino wool socks to preventblisters. Cotton holds moisture, which creates friction, and friction leads to hot spots that can become quite painful.”

Great. Now we’re discussing my potential foot blisters. I glance at Sawyer, who’s trying very hard not to smile.

“And make sure you wiggle your toes when you try these on,” the woman continues, still not noticing my growing embarrassment. “You want to ensure there’s enough room for natural foot movement and circulation. Nothing worse than losing a toenail on the trail.”

Seriously? Losing a toenail? I think I might die right here in Maple’s Outfitters. Death by hiking boot consultation.

“Anyway, call me if you have any further questions or if you need any additional gear. We also sell handy female-centered products, like these plastic inventions that enable you to pee standing or a special antibacterial cloth to wipe your—”

“That’s okay,” I cut her short before she can recommend who knows what else. “We’re good for now.”

“She’s very thorough,” Sawyer says quietly as we sit on a bench.

I can hear the barely contained laughter in his voice. “You don’t say,” I mutter, slipping on the first boot. “This is exactly how I imagined spending my morning. Discussing my expanding appendages with strangers.”

“Hey, at least she didn’t mention bunions,” he whispers.