There, the world had been wide open, vast and sunbaked, all red cliffs and dusty switchbacks, the sky so big it made you feel incredibly insignificant.
Following the trail to Flutter Creek Falls, everything felt closer, cool and shaded.
Intimate.
A smallish stream rushed parallel to the trail, gurgling and bubbling like it was encouraging us to keep going. Every so often, the aspen canopy would shimmer as the wind stirred the treetops. Moss grew thick in patches, and in a few spots, downed logs formed precarious bridges across the rushing water.
We were climbing, not too steeply, but enough that my legs were starting to notice. Just enough that I was acutely aware of my breathing. Of Noah’s breathing, just behind me.
“This was a great idea,” I said, tossing the words casually over my shoulder.
“Haven’t you figured out yet that all my ideas are?” Noah’s voice came easily, a little closer than I expected.
“Cocky,” I laughed.
“Just accurate.”
I glanced back with a mock-glare but froze mid-step when I caught him looking directly at my butt. He didn’t even pretend to be embarrassed.
Instead, gorgeous eyes met mine, completely unapologetic. His mouth quirked into a grin.
I turned back around, heat rushing to my face—not from exertion.
“The awesome beauty of nature,” he added.
“Uh-huh.”
He laughed then, low and quiet. “Are you blushing?”
“No, I’m hiking,” I corrected. “I always get flushed when I exercise.”
The thing was, I’d gone longer than I could remember since I’d felt this way. I’d been in a supposedly romantic relationship. Engaged. But I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt…
Appreciated?
Sexy? All these feelings…
“I’ll be sure to remember that next time.”
Why did it feel like he wasn’t talking about just exercise?
Maybe because I wasn’t thinking about just exercise?
We walked on in silence for a bit. Except for our quiet footsteps. And the water. And the birds.
And my heartbeat.
When the trail widened at a bend, I stepped to the side and pulled out my water bottle. Noah unslung his pack like a total Boy Scout and handed me a granola bar without asking, then opened one for himself. He tilted his bottle toward me like a toast.
“To the Love Bus,” he said.
“Hydrate or die-drate,” I replied.
Our bottles clunked together.
I took a sip and stole a glance at him as he tucked his bottle back into his pack. While I felt drops of perspiration rolling down my back, he looked as though this was nothing more strenuous than a casual stroll.
I trailed my gaze up to his shoulders. Broad. Solid. Distractingly delicious under the cling of his thin T-shirt.
