We’re sitting shoulder to shoulder and Slate’s still splashing and pouncing.
“It was. So, I take it you’re not the spontaneous type?” I jokingly ask, wanting to change the topic.
“Nothing good comes from spontaneity,” she says. Her lips in a straight line. Those pink lips which match her cheeks, flushed from the hike.
“Come on, you don’t really believe that?”
“You’re talking to someone who prefers to read menus before she steps foot into said restaurant.”
“Not being spontaneous and saying nothing good comes from it are two different things.” I laugh but her face is still as serious as ever.
“I’ve never had anything good happen from just going out on a whim.” She throws her hands up in a dramatic fashion. Her green eyes are vibrant, like her facial expressions.
“This hike was kind of spontaneous…” I say, lightly, and wait for her to respond.
I like when she pushes back.
“Was it? With a whole day notice and a specific shopping trip?” She laughs while crossing her arms.
She’s kind of right but I don’t want to let her win. Not yet.
“Okay, okay. Maybe you’re right, but if you would’ve asked yourself lastweek if you would be here with me, on a hike, you’d never have believed it. Right?”
“We didn’t even know each other last week!” she exclaims, her face in a full smile.
“That’s my point. How fast things can change.”
Right here, at this moment, I’m sort of thankful for her moron of an ex. Without him overstepping and being a complete asshole, I wouldn’t be with her right now. Not that I’d confess that to Ivy. Ever.
“You and I seem to have different opinions on change. Agree to disagree.” She runs her hands along the grass. The only sound is Slate’s splashing. “Any chance you brought some snacks?” Nice pivot.
Kind of ironic—her and I out on this hike. She’s the queen of planning and I gave it up a long time ago. It never mattered how closely I followed the meticulous blueprint; all it takes is a second for everything to go up in flames.
My lips are pressed together and I’m looking at my feet when Ivy gently bumps into me, pulling me back to the moment.
“Of course. Let’s get a little further on the trail. We’re close to one of my favorite stopping points.” Another tip I’ve learned from Hazel—and hell, any other woman—is that you never go anywhere without snacks.
We coax Slate out of the water, dry his paws off, and put him in the hiking pack.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I’M IN LOVE. With a French bulldog.
The hiking isn’t bad either. I’ve never been more thankful for anxiety meds and my coping mechanism of research. Holland makes this so easy—he’s patient and prepared.
Gone is the typical anxiety when being around someone new. Instead of constantly wondering about his perception of me, my actions, and my words, I can enjoy our time together. It’s refreshing.
Since I’m not analyzing every single thing I’m doing, there’s space to focus on Holland.
He’s also like a puzzle. I’m getting pieces to click but it’s not enough to see what the collective is. He’s closed off and I wish he’d open up a bit more. It seems like he has his life semi-together. I wonder what’s keeping him back.
Even without Holland talking much, the sounds are my favorite part so far. Sometimes it’s birds in the distance, the chatter of other hikers farther along the trail, or flowing water. I was concerned it was going to be ridiculously quiet—an anxiety trigger—but it’s like nature’s very own white noise. I make a mental note to find some nature playlists. Might be something to throw into the mix for my bedtime routine.
After the break at the stream, we hike for a longer stretch before we get to the stopping point Holland mentioned. There are a few picnic tables off to the side. My mouth is watering thinking about any sort of food.
He takes my pack and pulls out collapsible bowls for Slate. He fills one with water and the other with dog food. Slate stays on the leash and Holland loops it around one of the table legs.
Holland hands me a sandwich, sets one down in front of him, and opens a bag of trail mix between us.
