Page 125 of Mountain Grump
I narrow my eyes at him. “But you’re fine.” Literally, he’s not breathing the tiniest bit hard.
It’s a stupid thing to point out because Ethan isfit. Like,oh my gods, look at those musclessort of fit. Whereas I like to go on walks.
Regular walks.
Not walks through dense, deserted forests with mountain lions nearby.
And I don’t know how long it will take to goa couple miles, but I know it’s more than the ten minutes we’ve been walking.
“I’ve lived at elevation pretty much my whole life.” Ethan explains reasonably. “You’re still acclimating.”
I make a noise of understanding rather than trying to form words.
A few more minutes pass, and I try not to notice the way I can feel my boots rubbing my ankles wrong.
I’ve had this pair for a while, and even though they look like combat boots, they’re more fun than function. So I certainly wouldn’t have chosen them for a hike.
And because I was so stressed out this morning about having to see my family, I put on the wrong socks. I’m wearing my super-shorty socks, which are great for my ballet flats because they don’t show, not the thick wool socks I usually wear with these boots. Meaning there is no barrier between the boot and most of my skin.
If the walk is too long, I’m sure my toes will be hurting too, but I can already feel that bony part of my ankle rubbing against a seam I hadn’t realized was there.
Pursing my lips, I focus on oxygen and not my feet.
At least I remembered to put my stretchy chub-rub shorts on under my dress. If I had to deal with chaffing on top of my boot issue… I’d be crying.
After a few more minutes, I decide I can’t spend the next few miles listening to my own breathing. “Can you talk about something?” I shove the question out quickly between inhales.
“What would you like me to talk about?”
“Anything.” I don’t have the lung capacity to talk about any of the things we need to talk about.Like the fact that we gotmarriedtoday.So, I gesture at a bush before dropping my hand back to my side. “Plants.”
“Plants?” I can hear the humor in his tone.
“Yeah, Mr.I’m Gonna Give You a Ticket.” I try to mock his deeper tone, but it just puts me more out of breath.
Honestly, what is with elevation? This is nonsense.
“I’ll remind you that I didnotgive you that ticket.”
Without turning my head, I reach out and blindly pat his arm. “Appreciated.”
Then I think about how much money I’m about to inherit because he agreed to this marriage, and I accept that I could afford a few tickets now.
But again, we’ll talk more on that when I can actually breathe.
Hand still on his arm, I finally look over. Then I give his bicep a squeeze.
Good gods.
I look up and catch the hint of a smirk.
I squeeze him again, then drop my arm.
“What do you want to know about plants?”
“I don’t know. Just use your khaki power-ranger skills and fill the silence.” I suck in a noisy breath.
“Khaki. Power ranger.”
