Page 67 of Two-Step
Not that I’ll be close enough to smell him. Safe distance. No touching. Wholesome activity.
Just a friendly hike.
He’s not interested and I don’t have time.
I repeat this to myself for the fifth time this morning. For every time my stomach flutters when I check my watch and picture him on the way over.
He’s not interested and I don’t have time.
The front door opens while I’m snapping Mica into his harness. Ramon fills the doorway, rubbing his palms together. The guy isactuallyrubbing his palms together. And not because it’s cold. Because he’s practically vibrating with excitement.
“Ready?” he asks Sally.
She bats her eyes and nods like a bobble-head. “Yeah, let’s go.”
I stifle the urge to give them one final warning. One more chance to reconsider. But just looking at them convinces me that any lecture I could give would do absolutely no good. I’ll just have to be prepared for the awkwardness that’s bound to descend tomorrow evening when they return.
I swallow my sigh. “You two be careful,” I say, meaning on the drive. Out on the town. In the sack. Whatever. And then because I don’t want to be a total killjoy. “And have fun.”
“We will,” they say in unison.
And then Sally hikes her purse onto her shoulder, puts her hand into Ramon’s outstretched one, and they’re out the door. I’m surprised they didn’t leave skid marks.
“And, thus, the disaster begins,” I tell Mica.
He tilts his head to the side, trying to decide if I’ve mentioned any of his favorite words, liketreat, walk, Frisbee,orhike.
“Almost time to go, buddy.”
He wags.Gois another word he understands perfectly. He follows me to the kitchen where I take the lunches I packed out of the fridge and tuck them into the top of my fast pack. I test its weight. Even with a full Camelbak, a picnic blanket, bug spray, first-aid kit, Mica’s Frisbee, his collapsible water dish, treats, tick-repelling bandana, and my SPF lip-balm and sunscreen, it’s still pretty light. Nothing compared to the pack I carry on the AT. The picnic blanket and bulky homemade lunches are luxury items that aren’t permitted on thru-hikes.
The thought of thru-hiking with Beau gives me another tummy flutter.
“He’s not interested, and I don’t have time,” I say aloud this time, hoping it’ll stick if I hear it.
Mica huffs a soft bark.
I eye my dog. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He barks again, startling me, and then tears off for the front door—just before the doorbell rings.
When I open the door, I find Beau Landry standing there, transformed. He’s wearing an olive green T-shirt that fits him like a second skin and a pair of khaki cargo shorts that show off muscled legs.
Holy God.
Oh, yeah, and light brown hiking boots. What can I say? Hiking boots do it for me. Seriously. Can footwear for a man get any more manly than hiking boots?
It hits me then that I’m also wearing hiking boots, which, conversely, are probably the least sexy of footwear options for a woman. But it’s not like I could go into the woods in a pair of Louboutins. Besides…
He’s not interested, and I don’t have time.
“Morning,” Beau says with a nod, making me realize I’ve been openly ogling him for a good ten seconds.
“Morning!” My greeting comes out more like a shout—as if shouting makes up for the ogling.
It doesn’t. It just makes me even more of a weirdo, but Beau has the good grace to grin, and then Mica, as always, comes to my rescue, nosing Beau’s knee.
“Bonjour, chien,”he says, offering Mica his knuckles, who sniffs with unchecked interest.
