Page 101 of Betting on You

End of story.

Eventually we left the café and wandered through town, but when it got a little crowded with tourists, we decided to go for a hike. I was glad Charlie suggested just hitting the trail behind the condo without going inside first, because it seemed like a terrible idea to be home alone with him.

Not that I thought something would happen—we’d been cool all day—but I wasn’t sure my relaxed shit-happens attitude could survive that kind of inner turmoil.

The trail was stunningly beautiful—pine trees and gurgling streams and friendly chipmunks—and hiking through the steep terrain was just as fun as it’d been the day before. On the way back, though, my legs were screaming.

“Can we sit?” I asked, pointing to a clearing with a fallen log that begged to be sat upon. “I need a break.”

“Do you want a bear to eat you?” he asked, his teasing eyes hidden behind his sunglasses.

“I want to sit, Charlie,” I whined. “My legs are tired. I will risk a bear attack.”

“No.” He stopped walking, stepped closer, and tilted his head. “We’re almost to the condo, wherein you can plop down onto the sofa and never get up.”

“Don’t say ‘wherein,’?” I said around an eye roll. “And how are you not tired?”

That made his lips turn up. “I’m incredibly fit, Glasses.”

“Spare me.”

“Do you want a piggyback ride?” he asked, full-on enjoying himself now. “I can carry you down the mountain like you’re a sleepy toddler who needs a nap, if your little legs can’t make it.”

“I should take you up on that just to punish you,” I replied, pointing a finger toward my log. “But right now, that log needs me.”

“It wouldn’t be a punishment. I’ll just consider it my workout for the day.” He turned and bent his legs. “Get on.”

Normally my brain would’ve melted down into a puddle of neurotic worries at that—What if I’m too heavy? What if he thinks I’m out of shape? Will I spontaneously combust from being attached to Charlie’s body?—but instead I thought,Shit happens.

You get tired, your friend is in great shape, he carries you down a mountain—shit happens.

I jumped onto his back and wrapped myself around him.

“Atta girl.” He laughed and immediately started walking. His pace was much quicker, meaning I’d been slowing him down, but I wasn’t going to concern myself with that thought becauseshit happens.

Also, was it weird that I liked how strong his grip was on my legs?

Yeah, probably, but shit happens.

“Thank you,” I said, noticing the way his neck smelled like a bar of soap, “for sparing my legs. I was surely about to die.”

“Surely you were,” he agreed sarcastically, then tilted his head. “Shhh.”

I didn’t speak but had no ideawhyI wasn’t speaking.

“Shit—do you hear that?” he whispered.

I said, “What?”

“Shh… listen.”

He stopped walking, and that was when we heard a cat meowing.

I looked at the trees in front of us, saying nothing, as Charlie looked above him and said, “Oh no, little guy.”

I followed his gaze upward, and holy crap—the tiniest little gray kitten waswayup on a tall branch.

A very tall branch.

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