“That’s right, Marcus. You don’t think. Which is why we’re in this predicament to begin with.”
Victoria shifted her attention back to Noah. “And we’ll need your wilderness friends to help conduct site visits, I imagine. Environmental assessments, activity development, staff training.” She smiled. A real one. I think. “So instead of one Adventure Center, you’ll have to figure out how to run several. Think of it as a promotion.”
“That sounds like a lot of travel,” said Noah, and I could practically see him recalculating Victoria from “corporate threat” to “complicated ally with a pet chicken in her past.”
“For both of you,” Victoria confirmed. “I’ll have legal draw up the contracts immediately.” But then she paused. “Unless, of course, you prefer to go back to Los Angeles, Samantha. And you, Mr. Barrett, would rather stay up here on your mountain.”
“We’re open to new possibilities,” I answered for both of us.
“Excellent,” said Victoria. “I feel good about this. I think it could work out very nicely for all.” She snapped her fingers, and Marcus scurried after her like a chastised intern, his perfect white teeth no longer quite so intimidating when his ego was deflating faster than a sage grouse’s air sacs when it was done with its show.
As Victoria and Marcus moved away to continue their number crunching, Noah’s expression was a mixture of hope and uncertainty. “So, are you sure you’re okay with mountains in Alaska? Swamps in Florida?”
I pretended to consider, tapping my finger against my chin. “I don’t know. Arethere moose there too?”
“In Alaska? Even more than here. And bears. Lots of bears. Big bears. Not so much in Florida though. There, it’s just the snakes and the alligators. And spiders.” Noah shuddered.
“But will there be muffins?” I asked.
His smile brightened. “Possibly.”
“Then I’m in.” I rose on tiptoe again to place another quick kiss on his lips. “But you should know, I’m still not hiking without frequent rest breaks. And I expect to be carried at least forty percent of the time.”
Noah laughed. “Only when you’re actively bleeding or being chased by wildlife.”
“I’m sure that won’t be a problem for me,” I said.
“Deal.” He sealed our agreement with another kiss, this one drawing a fresh round of cheers from our audience.
Around us, the festival continued, the crowd now buzzing with talk of grouse sightings and eco-adventures and the unlikely romance between a city influencer and a grumpy mountain guide.
Parker was already coordinating with the livestream team to capitalize on the magical moment, while my parents had returned to their cooking station, Mom no doubt already planning wedding venues and Dad calculating how he was going to afford wedding bills in addition to the student loans.
I thought to myself, maybe I could convince Victoria to let me take a business trip, with a few special guests of course, to the Copenhagen resort to ease the sting a bit.
But in that moment, with Noah’s arms around me and the mountains rising in the distance, plans for the future would have to wait. I was too busy enjoying the present.
Living in the moment.
And I didn’t need to curate anything to make it perfect.
Epilogue
Sunlight painted the mountaintop in a palette of molten gold and crimson. One year since my first disastrous trek up this mountain, my quads barely burned as I followed Noah along the familiar trail, the strength in my legs a physical reminder of how much had changed.
“Almost there,” Noah called over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that half-smile that still made my heart beat just a bit faster.
“You said that twenty minutes ago.” I jabbed a finger into his ribs as I caught up. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed that suspiciously heavy backpack. If there aren’t muffins in there, I’m going back to LA without you this time. Leave you in the woods with all the meese by yourself.”
Noah’s laugh echoed against the mountainside. “Always the drama queen.”
We crested the final ridge, and there it stood, the lightning tree, its trunk twisted and split. It looked exactly the same as we’d left it.
Noah dropped to one knee…
ha
… and began unpacking what could only be described as a five-star picnic. Fresh sourdough from the local bakery, Mrs. Miller’s special reserve cheeses that never made it to her market stall, and the pièce de résistance, huckleberry muffins, still warm and fragrant.
