I shifted in my seat and pulled my jacket tighter around me. The cotton of my T-shirt, pink today, and my other patchwork skirt, weren’t quite enough to keep the chill away.
When the bus rounded another curve, I leaned back.
“You doing okay, hon?” Babs asked, her tone warm and calm.
I nodded quickly. “Yeah, fine. Just…not a fan of heights, I guess.”
She patted my arm. “Don’t you worry. Remember, Joey’s been doing this for three whole years.” Her voice lilted on the word three, like that was supposed to be reassuring.
I slid my hilarious seatmate a sideways glance, catching the way her eyes were twinkling like this was some kind of amusement park ride.
This woman… She was seriously priceless.
The bus lurched slightly as Tay’s voice over the PA caught everyone’s attention.
“This is Trail Ridge Road, folks, completed in 1933, it spans forty-eight miles through Rocky Mountain National Park, and is the highest continuous paved road in the United States, reaching an elevation of twelve thousand one hundred and eighty three feet.”
Some quick math got me to two miles? Above sea level? That was…crazy.
Tay gestured toward the windows. “We'll cross the Continental Divide at Milner Pass, where—theoretically—water flows either east toward the Atlantic or west toward the Pacific. Keep an eye out for wildlife; it's common to spot elk, moose, bighorn sheep, and marmots along this route, but with this snow, they might be hiding…”
Wait. Did she say snow?
I craned my neck toward the opposite side of the bus, toward Noah and his mom’s window, and yep, sure enough, fat white flakes were drifting down like this was December and not...almost June.
“That can’t be right,” I murmured. “It’s the end of May!”
“In about an hour,” Tay continued, completely unaware that one of her passengers was quietly freaking out. “We’ll be making our first stop of the day at the Alpine Visitor Center. It’s the highest visitor center in the National Park System and offers exhibits, restrooms, and stunning views. If these clouds clear out, you’ll definitely want to take pictures while we’re there.”
“Did you even read the itinerary before you came?” Noah asked. The question would have irked me if his tone had been mocking, but it wasn’t. It was just…teasing.
“Of course.” I bit my lip. “Mostly.”
“Mostly.” He dipped his chin.
I glanced out the window. “But it’s summer, and this is…the Southwest Bucket List Tour…”
“Still winter at this altitude.” He locked his stare with mine again, which was a rather distracting thing for him to do. I may have zoned out for a second, trying to decide if his eyes were more blue or gray.
I blinked. “I didn’t think about that.”
His gaze slid down to my patchwork skirt. “Just a little unprepared, eh?” His lips quirked up in a faint smirk, sending another quick but meaningful glance at my legs. And my bare feet in my favorite leather sandals.
“Is something wrong with my outfit?”
His eyes opened wide, all innocence. “No. Not at all.”
I crossed my legs and then suddenly remembered how I’d looked last night. My shorty pajamas. My very unshaved legs.
Heat creeping up my neck, I turned back toward the window. If he was such a travel expert, why wasn’t he just hiking over these mountains? Why come on a tour meant for people twice our age?
“I’m just saying…” He leaned back in his seat. “You might want to rethink those sandals. This isn’t exactly beach weather.”
Who said anything about the beach?
I instinctively crossed my legs. These weren’t some cheap flip-flops I’d picked up in the bargain bin at Target. They were K. Jacques—handmade leather, strappy, and possibly the most perfect sandals in the known universe. I’d found them at a thrift store in Newport nearly five years ago, and almost wept when I saw the label.
They’d already lived a full, stylish life before me, and yet here they were, still going strong. They had personality. Soul. History.
