Page 7 of Big and Rowdy
"Are you kidding? That just proved I needed a better bike."
We move to the porch after dinner, settling into comfortable chairs with fresh beers and a blanket I insist she needs. The temperature is dropping with the sun, and the first stars are beginning to appear in the clear Alberta sky.
"It's so quiet up here," Savannah says, pulling the blanket more tightly around herself.
"Too quiet for most people. That's why I like it."
"No, it's perfect. I can actually hear myself think for the first time in months."
I turn in my chair to look at her. "What kind of thoughts need that much quiet?"
She considers the question seriously. "The important ones, I guess. The ones that get lost in traffic noise and deadlines and all the things that seem urgent but aren't really important."
"Such as?"
"Whether I'm living the life I actually want, or just the life I think I'm supposed to want." The admission seems to surprise her. "Sometimes I wonder if I keep moving because I love adventure, or because I'm running from something I can't name."
"And what's the verdict?"
She looks out at the mountains, then back at my face. "Still working on that one."
We sit in comfortable silence for a while, the quiet broken only by the distant call of an owl and the soft whisper of wind in the trees. I find myself stealing glances at Savannah, noting the way the porch light catches the curve of her cheek, the way her fingers curl around her beer bottle.
When I walk her to her car later that evening, the air between us is charged with unspoken promise. I stop her before she can open the driver's door, one hand resting lightly on her waist.
"I had a really good time tonight," I say.
"So did I."
"Good enough that you might want to do it again?"
Instead of answering immediately, she steps closer, eliminating the space between us. "What did you have in mind?"
Her eyes darken with the same desire that's been building in me all evening. "I could think of a few things."
When I kiss her this time, there's nothing gentle or questioning about it. It's heated and demanding, full of the promise of everything we're not quite ready for yet. Savannah kisses me back with equal fervor, her hands fisting in my shirt as she tries to anchor herself.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. It takes everything in me on to throw her delicious plump body over my shoulder and take her back to my bedroom, caveman style. But my mother raised a gentleman, and I want our first time to be somewhere special.
five
Savannah
Sundaydawnsgrayandmisty, the kind of weather that makes the wilderness look mysterious and primeval. I wake to the sound of rain pattering against my tent, and for a moment consider calling Boone to postpone whatever he has planned for the day.
Then my phone buzzes with a text:Rain's supposed to clear by noon. Trust me?
I find myself smiling as I type back:Always dangerous words from a man with a four-wheeler.
The most dangerous kind,comes his immediate reply, followed by a winking emoji that shouldn't be as charming as it is.
Another text follows quickly:Orson checking if I'm still coming to Sunday family dinner. Wondering if you might want to join us next week?
The casual inclusion in a family tradition makes my heart skip a beat. I text back:Let's see how today goes first.
By the time Boone arrives at my campsite, the rain has indeed stopped and the clouds are beginning to break apart, revealing patches of brilliant blue sky. He's wearing rain gear over his usual jeans and thermal shirt, and the four-wheeler is equipped with what looks like serious off-road modifications.
"Afternoon, gorgeous," he says, pulling off his helmet and running a hand through his damp hair. "Ready for a real adventure?"
