Page 112 of Mad About Yule

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BONUS EPILOGUE

LILA

I think I might die.

Not in the overly dramatic way I usually toss that phrase around—“If I have to wait any longer for a table, I might die.” “If MAC discontinues my favorite shade of red lipstick, I might die.” “If I don’t listen to the latest Taylor Swift album the night it drops, I might die.”

No, this is in the literal “If I walk another mile today, my lungs will shrivel up and my heart will explode” way.

Everybody knows it, too. I think it’s because I’m sucking in air like a malfunctioning Dyson.

Deena turns around on the trail about twenty feet in front of me and gives a tentative thumbs up. “All good?”

I flash her one back, but my thumb is full of lies. “Excellent!”

“We’re about halfway to tonight’s campsite.”

Halfway. On day one of a five-day hike. I’m going to cry.

“Sounds good!”

More lies. No part of that sentence sounds good, especially notcampsite. But if I want to get promoted from Sunshine, Oregon’s part-time events consultant to their full-time tourism coordinator, I need to prove I’m interested and invested in everything the area has to offer, including all the outdoorsy stuff.

Even if I’d rather enjoy the wonders of air conditioning, unlimited WiFi, and running water than be out here in the great outdoors.

The rest of our group treks ahead of me, the steadysnick-snickof hiking poles and boots playing a one-two beat in my head. Deena and her husband Mitchell run Horizon Hikes, and comped my place on the tour in exchange for some social media promo. They’ve enthusiastically told us more than I ever wanted to know about poisonous plants on the trail, the importance of filtering the water we’ll collect in the streams along the way, and whether we need to look out for bears.

Hint: we do. It’d probably make great content if we came across one, but I’m only willing to do so much for good engagement.

Then there are the four guests on the hike—two married couples who decided a twenty-five mile hike would be the perfect way to celebrate all of them turning sixty this year.

That’s right—my hiking companions are twice my age and already making me look like an absolute fool by not even being winded. They could at least fake a wheeze once in a while so I wouldn’t be the only one.

And then there’s me. Sweating through my clothes, chugging water faster than I probably should, and daydreaming about how nice it would be to sit down in the dirt for five minutes.

Maybe ten.

Normally, I don’t want to doanythingin the dirt, but my pride’s as hard to find as my energy right now.

A giant bird swoops down between me and the others, and I suck in a breath, stumbling backwards. Strong hands grip my upper arms to steady me, and my back—well, my pack—runs up against something, keeping me from falling.

“It’s just a hawk,” a deep voice says from behind me. Once I’m sure of my feet again, he releases my arms, but I’m pretty sure I hear him chuckling.

So…that brings me to the last person on this trip.

Grant Irwin. Easily six-three, built like Superman and dressed like a Patagonia model, with dark wavy hair he sweeps back from his face so it doesn’t fall into his eyes. I’ve been trying not to look at him, because that man is a problem.

Part of it is how his soft, Texas drawl makes it sound like he’s caressing words as he speaks them. Part of it is the honest-to-goodness dimple in his chin. But mostly, it’s the way he looked at me when we first met.

His eyes had skated over me, and his smile had turned from warm to chilly before we’d even finished introductions. Like he’d sized me up, taken stock, and written me off in five seconds flat.

It hadn’t helped that I’d brought too many clothes with me and Deena had to set some aside for me to collect when we return, right in front of everyone. Or that she’d told them about my Instagram “fame” as though the rest of them should be honored to be on this trip with me.

And just maybe Grant heard the sound of dismay I made when Deena and Mitchell described the camp toilet they’re bringing along, but I say that part’s totally justified.

Doesn’t matter. I don’t need Grant Dimplechin to like me in order to get this promotion, I just need to complete this hike.

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