“Frankie, I—”
She held up a hand and scolded in a hushed voice. “Stop it. If you apologize to me one more time I’m going to give you the purplest nurple in the history of tittie twisters. You’ve said your piece; I’ve wholeheartedly accepted. I see how hard you’re trying to reinvent yourself, and I respect you for it. We’re good. Ok?”
Zac nodded while curiosity nudged aside the shame. “Then what’s with the warning?”
“I see the way you’ve been looking at the journalist all day.” She raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“You noticed that, huh?” The coil of rope hung neatly around his shoulders as he jammed his hands in his pockets and shrugged.
“Yep,” Frankie affirmed. “But what’s more alarming is the way she’s responding to you.”
“And how’s that?”
“Like there’s history.”
Zac did recoil that time then quickly looked down at the rock bits he nudged with the tip of his boot.
“Zaaaaac,” Frankie warned. “Is there history?”
He pinched his fingers together and dragged it across his lip like a zipper.
“So that’s how we’re playing it?” she asked. At his nod she hollered over her shoulder to Lark and Tabitha. “Hey, ladies. Wanna grab a beer after we get back? Just the girls? First round’s on me.”
“I don’t drink,” Lark called back. “Make it a soft pretzel—and don’t be stingy with the nacho cheese—and I’m down. Tabitha too.”
Frankie turned back to Zac as the other two women began arguing in hushed tones and said, “Wanna give me your version first?”
“Nope,” he said, popping the p.
“Suit yourself.” She turned and headed to the rest of the group gathered around the trailhead. Some chattered excitedly, while others swayed on their feet.
Zac grinned, recognizing the buzz that came with the first time climbing outdoors and the first time leading a route at that. It didn’t matter how powerless or out of control he felt, the crag always managed to supply a healthy boost of good feels, and the sensation only grew the more times he went. He saw the endorphins rush though countless climbers—customers or not.
He saw the euphoria break Tabitha out of her prickly shell for a brief moment.
The memory of her glow warmed his chest, and he turned to the two women who had stayed behind. They stood near the edge of the clearing. The sun dipped below the tips of the surrounding mountaintops. Lingering rays illuminated the sky from orange to pink and rich purple. The warm tones played with Tabitha’s hair as the wind teased strands around her temples and nape.
She turned, caught him staring. Zac pivoted and resumed the cleanup, wondering if the rosy glow on her cheeks had anything to do with his gaze. Probably caught too much sun.
Because if he remembered correctly . . .
Despite many,manyattempts to the contrary . . .
His girl never blushed.
Chapter twelve
Tabitha
“Youhadthewindowthe last time,” Tabitha pointed out forcefully while also trying her darndest to keep Zac from hearing her.
“I get carsick.” Lark laid on the pout in an almost comical proportion.
“But you’ll be up front too. It’s a single cab truck, remember?”
“I sure do,” she giggled then schooled her features. “Need the window in case I gotta yarf. Plus, my car sickness is, like, thirty-three times worse in the dark.”
“That makes zero sense.”
