“Wouldn’t want you to get another tick.”
“That would suck.”
“I’d have to pull it off you again.”
“Really suck.”
Still, we didn’t move.
“Everything okay here?” A woman’s concerned voice made us jump. A family of four marched down the trail, decked out in serious hiking gear. Trekking poles, backpacks, the works.
The mom and the dad fixed their eyes on Noah’s knife, still poised in front of me. The two kids, who looked about the same age as my cousin’s six-year-old, both stared at my bra.
“Mom, she’s not wearing her shirt,” hissed the little girl.
The boy just kept staring.
I quickly pulled my hiking shirt back over my torso, and Noah sheathed his knife.
“You okay, miss?” asked the father.
“I’m fine,” I told them. “It’s not what it looks like. I’m not exactly sure what this looks like. But it’s not that.”
The mom and dad looked unconvinced.
Noah reached out and snatched my hand, squeezing it tight. “Just a happy couple,” he explained. “In love.” Noah leaned over and kissed my cheek.
“Oh. Yes. Right,” I said, squeezing his hand harder. “My boyfriend was just showing off his big knife. Probably overcompensating for something.” I looked at the mom. “Am I right?”
The mom raised an eyebrow.
The little boy kept staring at my chest.
“Come on, kids, let’s let these two lovebirds get back to their …” The dad couldn’t seem to come up with the right word to finish. He corralled his wife and two children, then scurried down the trail.
As soon as they were gone, I immediately flung Noah’s hand away and repeatedly wiped the spot where he’d kissed me with the back of my hand.
“You slobber worse than Yeti.”
“For someone whose job it is to promote skin stuff, I figured your cheek would have been softer.” Noah scooped up the backpacks and started back down the trail.
“By the way, your breath smells worse than Yeti’s, too,” I called after him.
The Adventure Center’s timber roof came into view, and if I’d had any energy left, I would have done one of those little jumps in the air where you tap your heels together in celebration. Likein a freeze frame at the end of a movie. But I didn’t have any energy left, so I simply followed Yeti and Noah into the parking lot.
“Last chance to carry me,” I called to Noah’s retreating backside.
He stopped and turned, face as grumpy as ever. “You managed to hike almost four miles. I think you can handle another twenty feet.”
“My feet have turned into bloody stumps.”
Noah dug into the backpack. “Here.” He tossed me the first-aid kit. When I didn’t make any effort to catch it, it clattered on the ground.
“Just in case you were wondering, I’m giving you a one-star review on every mountain man travel app I can find,” I called after him.
“You know, the longer you stay like that, the stiffer you’re gonna get,” he called back.
“Is that a medical opinion? Because I’m pretty sure the only cure for this level of exhaustion is being carried.”
