Page 23 of Odin
“Me too.”
“It’s wonderful out here, even if the wildlife is lacking.”
“I’d rather lacking than run up on a bear or a mountain lion.”
I laugh at how he reads my mind. “I was thinking that most of the way here.” I reach for the large lunch bag and unzip the top. I pull out the bagged up ham and cheese sandwiches and then reach for the lemon cupcake with the buttercream icing and the adorable little blue sprinkles on the top. We stopped at a bakery in Seattle to get it. Tarynn put a single candle and a lighter in the front zip pouch of the bag.
As soon as I unbox the cupcake and stick the yellow and white striped candle into the twisty mountain of icing, Odin starts protesting.
“No. No way.”
“Happy birthday to you,” I sing loudly, drowning him out. I’m way off pitch. If there are any wild animals within a five mile radius, that will probably drive them away. “Happy birthday, dear Odin. Happy birthday to you.”
He snatches the cupcake and blows out the candle, probably just so that I’ll stop.
“I’ve changed my mind. You’re unnaturally cruel and devious,” he states, plucking the candle out.
He licks the icing off. It shouldn’t be arresting, but watching him suck the sweet sugar has me clenching my thighs. I cover it up quickly, pretending to itch my knee.
“That’s me. Devious to the core.”
I shouldn’t talk about cores, especially not when mine is hotter than the earth’s.
I grab the bag with the sandwiches and pass one to Odin. “If these suck, we could always crumble them up and spread them out for the birds. They’re non-existent right now, but I can hear them out there. Maybe they’d be willing to be bribed.”
I break off one crust, crush it between my fingers, and toss it towards the stream just in case.
It’s so quiet as we eat. About as quiet as any place I’ve ever been. Instead of feeling unnatural, the silence is a nice blanket. I watch the clear water flowing past, trying not to think about what it would be like to have a lifetime of this. Quiet. Peace. Calm. It’s not the life I ever imagined for myself. Seeing myself in the country would have been laughable. I’m a city girl through and through, if only because I don’t know any other way to be.
What would it be like to have more afternoons like this? With friends so close that they’re more like family, a whole club full of men who would do anything for each other. What would it be like to have a man like Odin at my side. It’s unthinkable, and not because of how old he is, or who he is, or how we met, but because I have a life elsewhere. At least for the time. Maybe not for always.
I have to cut that off and draw in a long breath of the fresh air before I can start thinking about a future that’s not mine to ever dream of. I’ve learned how inspiring and healing hope can be, but I also know how it can crush a person.
I leap up, brushing crumbs off my dress. The last thing I need to do is get broody or morose. I don’t feel the leastbit tired, despite the lack of sleep. I want to remember every single detail about this trip.
“Will you photograph me?”
Odin finished his sandwiches a long time ago and he’s holding the cupcake like he’s debating about actually eating it. He nearly fumbles it. “Oh, I—”
“Just for me?” I urge, interrupting the refusal I can clearly see coming. This isn’t about anything like what we set up last night. It isn’t for show. It’s just for me. Forus. “So I can remember when a really bad week turned into a really good one?”
He sits so long in silence that I think he’s going to refuse. In that case, I’ll ask him to help me figure out how to take macro shots of mushrooms, lichen, tree bark, and moss. The second he boxes up the cupcake and reaches for his camera bag, my heart wrenches and starts beating wildly with excitement. It was a spur of the moment decision to be on this side of the lens while he’s on the other. I know he’d never make me anything less than beautiful, but it’s still nerve wracking for the trust that goes into something like this. At least for me. I’m very out of sync with the world of selfies and everyone documenting every single second of their life. I’ve always chosen not to have social media, and I’m not a very artsy person.
“Just don’t expect greatness.”
Odin slips his camera out of the bag, balancing it easily in his hand while he attaches a lens that doesn’t look big or intimidating. He rises from the blanket, slips into his shit kicker biker boots without doing them up, and flashes me a shy smile he can’t quite control.
It does my heart good and puts me immediately at ease.
This might be an intimate setting, but we can have fun with this. I’ll ask him to show me everything after, and we can laugh at how awkward I know I’ll be in at least half of the photos.
“You mean I can’t go back to LA and use these as my headshots for that commercial for exceptionally average white socks that I’ve been dying to star in?”
“I think exceptionally average might be an oxymoron. Like baby grand, or jumbo shrimp.”
“You’re probably right. Is that what those are called? I didn’t even know that.”
“It is. Are you going back to LA?” he asks casually, but I know it’s not an easy question.
