She was dazzling; consider him bewitched.
“How was it?” Zac willed the words into the afternoon air after being lodged in his throat.
“Refreshing,” she breathed.
“You were so smooth; some might categorize you as pro,” he said playfully.
Her grin faltered. She kept the semblance of a smile in place, but the twinkle in her eye vacated in an instant. “Thanks,” she said calmly, her words almost cold. “Want to send me back up so I can clean the anchor?”
What happened?
There had been tension between them before she’d climbed, but once she’d been lowered there was so much joy, satisfaction, and suddenly . . . poof. Zac replayed exactly what he said to have made her tone change. Had he insulted her? He’d aimed for friendly, and what he said would have been something he’d say to any other client who climbed smoothly. Was it his tone? Had his inner flirt barged through? Maybe his eyebrows made a rogue waggle without his knowledge.
“Zac?”
“Yes?”
“The anchor?” Tabitha pointed up the rope, question replacing the earlier elation.
“Oh, right.” He took a step back and called down the line. “Don’t worry about cleaning your anchors. We’re going to leave them up in case any of you want to top rope a route first before attempting the lead.”
Tabitha untied her knot while Zac released the rope from his grigri and went off belay.
For the next hour or so the climbers played musical ropes, switching between the available routes to try them out before deciding on their next leads.
The sun inched closer to the western peaks, and eventually it was time to wrap things up.
“You all did a freaking fantastic job today. Be proud of your accomplishments,” Frankie urged as she bumped fists with each woman. "Some of you should really consider taking our multi-pitch class in the future."
Charlotte raised a shaky hand and asked, "What's a multi pitch?"
"It's a route that's much longer than the ones we did today where the climbers have to do a series of pitches to reach the top."
Charlotte lowered her hand and turned a queasy shade of green. "I think I'll pass."
Frankie chuckled. “Fair enough. Everyone, be sure to gather any personal gear you brought with you. We’ll head back to the van in ten.”
“Mind if we stay behind? I want to get a few shots of the sunset,” Lark asked Frankie.
“It’s fine with me, but clear it with Zac. He’ll be collecting the remaining gear and driving the truck back.”
Zac flaked out one of the ropes as Lark sauntered over. “You don’t mind, do ya, big guy?”
He shook his head. “Fine by me. You staying with us, red?”
“Of course she is. We stick together.”
From across the clearing Tabitha’s lips pulled tight in a flat line. Obviously, the photographer hadn’t run the request by her before speaking up.
Frankie strode over as blondie joined her colleague. She leaned close to Zac. “I don’t think I have to tell you this—”
“You’re right. You don’t.” He kept his voice low to match hers.
“But I’m going to anyways.” She pulled back a little and locked her amber eyes on Zac’s. “Hands. Off.”
Embarrassment and shame slapped Zac hard enough that he nearly recoiled. He hated how his friends saw him. But he hated himself more for spending so many years acting the way he had to give them that opinion. He’d behaved himself (mostly at least) for the past eight months. When were they going to see that he was different? Capable of being a better version of himself.
You’ve got a lot of damage control and history to undo, asshole.
