Page 10 of One Hot Summer
We ate breakfast on the deck, watching the sun climb higher in the sky. Adam peppered me with questions about the localwildlife and plants, his eyes wide with genuine curiosity. His enthusiasm was infectious, and I found myself getting excited for the hike in a way I hadn’t been in years.
He tucked one bare foot up on the chair and sipped his coffee, blissfully unaware of how young and alive he looked in that light. On the other hand, I was keenly aware of my own age in that moment—the gray at my temples, the scar on my shoulder from a cycling accident last summer, the persistent ache in my lower back that never quite went away.
I’d spent so many years trying to be everything for everyone—provider, business partner, husband, father—that I’d never really stopped to consider what it would feel like when most of that went away. The answer, as it turned out was… lonely. Staggeringly, bone-deeply lonely.
I sipped my coffee and tried not to stare as Adam picked at his toast, licking strawberry jam off his fingers with a casual flick of his tongue. He caught me looking and tilted his head, a little grin playing at his mouth. “What?”
“Nothing,” I said, setting my mug down. “Just… you seem really comfortable here, that’s all.”
He shrugged. “I like it. It’s quiet. Easy to breathe.”
I smiled. “I figured the quiet would drive you nuts by now, having grown up in the city.”
He leaned back in his chair and stretched, interlacing his fingers behind his neck, which did impressive things to the definition of his arms. “It was a little hard to get used to, at first. But there’s something kind of nice about not hearing sirens every ten minutes.”
His eyes met mine and I felt that look in my chest, as though something inside me had caught on a loose nail and refused to be shaken off. I looked away first, clearing my throat and stacking the empty dishes. “Should we get going?” I said, not trusting myself to linger.
He nodded, finishing the last of his coffee in one gulp. “I just need to get dressed and I’ll be ready.”
I watched him vanish inside, telling myself that it was simply an idle gaze, that I was only worried about whether he’d remember sunscreen or if the shoes he’d brought were good enough for the long hike. But it was a lie. I’d been lying to myself since I’d shown up to find him in a towel, all limbs and apologies, dripping with water and a shyness that only made him more appealing. He was my son’s best friend. I wasn’t supposed to notice him at all, let alone like this. But God help me, I did.
I finished clearing the table then grabbed a backpack out of the closet and packed it with a few essentials for our hike; snacks, water bottles, and a first aid kit. I was zipping it closed when Adam came bounding down the steps, all youthful exuberance and kilowatt smile. It made me want to grab him and kiss the daylights out of him.
“Ready?” he said.
“Yeah. Let’s go,” I practically grumbled. While he seemed relaxed and happy, I had a feeling today was going to be a test of my willpower.
We left the cabin, locking up behind us. The trailhead was only a ten-minute drive, and we made it there in comfortable silence. As we started up the trail, Adam bounded ahead, his infectious energy putting a smile on my face. I followed, telling myself this was exactly what I needed—a little fresh air, a little perspective, and the company of someone who reminded me how to enjoy the world again. I tried not to think about the way his t-shirt clung to his back, or the way he laughed when he almost tripped on a root. I tried not to think about how every step made me want him more.
I tried and failed.
The trail wound through dappled shade and sudden bursts of sunlight, the air thick with the scent of pine needles and dampearth from a shower the night before. The foliage was dense around us, preventing any breeze from flowing through. Sweat beaded on my temples within minutes, and Adam’s face glowed with exertion, his dark hair clinging to his forehead. It wasn’t New York-hot, but it was the kind of humid, southern heat that made everything feel sticky.
We walked side by side, neither of us really talking, just listening to the slap of our sneakers on packed dirt and the shrill of cicadas overhead. After a few miles or so, I broke the silence. “That’s mountain laurel,” I said, nodding toward a bush with waxy, star-shaped flowers crowding every inch. “Careful, it’s toxic if you eat it.”
He leaned in, studying the flowers. “It looks like something out of a horror movie, the way it’s taking over everything.”
I grinned. “Yeah, it’s aggressive as hell. We used to dare each other to eat the leaves when we were kids.”
He glanced at me, amused. “Did you ever do it?”
“Once. Spent the night puking my guts out. Lesson learned.”
He laughed, the sound carrying down the trail. I found myself wanting to make him laugh again, just to watch his face transform like that. I pointed out a clump of ferns, a fat black-and-white bird perched on a snag, the way the rocks grew more jagged as we gained elevation.
We stopped along an open area and sat beside each other on a large boulder to catch our breath. I unzipped the backpack and handed him a bottle of water before grabbing one for myself. He shot me a grateful look then proceeded to guzzle down half the bottle. I couldn’t help but stare as he tilted his head back, exposing the smooth, creamy skin of his throat. My eyes followed the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, and I was horrified to feel a distinct tightening in my pants. What the hell was wrong with me?
He caught me looking and raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“Nothing,” I said, coughing to cover up the hoarse sound of my voice. “Just… most city people aren’t really used to this kind of terrain. You’re in better shape than you let on.”
He shrugged, wearing a lopsided grin. “I run a lot. Helps with anxiety.”
I nodded, understanding more than I wanted to admit. “I like running too, but my job requires quite a bit of travel, so most of my workouts are done—often late at night—in whatever gym the hotel offers.”
Adam’s eyes traveled down my body. “Well, it definitely shows.” He clearly hadn’t meant to say that out loud because his eyes suddenly sprung wide open and his face turned bright red. “I just mean… you look… you’re in really good?—”
Feeling strangely pleased by his attention, my laughter cut through his adorable attempt to explain. “It’s fine, really. I appreciate the compliment.”
