“One way to find out,” he says.“Say it.”
Hunter pulls his t-shirt sleeve up, revealing his right bicep.Then he flexes, and the muscle practically jumps up.
I feel my face gobrightred, because holy shit, yes, Idolike his muscles.It feels silly, but just watching that makes my body react without my brain’s permission.
I clear my throat.
“Fine,” I say, trying to sound casual.“Hunter, I like your muscles.”
“Was that so hard?”he says, grinning as he grabs a chair and brings it over.I lift my foot onto it.
“There are worse payments for getting carried around,” I say.
I lean forward, untie my hiking boot, and pull it off slowly, followed by my sock.
My ankle is swollen, but not purple or anything.I can wiggle my toes just fine.Right now, when I’m not putting weight on it, it barely hurts at all.
Hunter touches my ankle, his fingertips skipping along the pebbled indentations from my hiking socks.It sends a quick shiver up my spine.
“I’m pretty sure it’s not broken,” I offer.
“Where’s the first aid kit in here?”he asks, looking around.
I pause, boot in hand, and look around as well.The cabin has a narrow balcony that wraps all the way around, and all the walls are plate glass windows.For a second I forget the question as I take in the spectacular three-sixty view.
Inside, there are two narrow cots, perpendicular to each other in one corner, a propane-powered stove in the other corner, a kitchen table in the middle, and the chest-height fire-finder table.Besides a couple of storage trunks and some cabinets, that’s it.
“I don’t think I need first aid,” I finally say.
“It’ll have those instant ice packs in it,” Hunter says.“Since it’s not like there’s a freezer up here.”
He finds the first aid supplies, breaks the capsule inside the packs, and stacks a couple around my ankle.
“Try not to hurt yourself again for a couple minutes,” he teases.“I’m gonna go grab our bags.”
He disappears down the stairs, and I lean my head back against the plate glass window, feeling like an idiot.I’ve only led about a thousand group hikes for kids, and even though they’re on easy terrain, Ialwaysdrive home that you should look where you’re walking, or you could seriously hurt yourself.
Nine miles from help.In a fire lookout tower.With your ex-boyfriend.Whose muscles you like.
A minute later Hunter is back, carrying eighty pounds’ worth of backpacks up the stairs like it’s nothing.I try and fail not to notice his muscles as he sets them by the door, then looks around.
“Wow,” he says.
I just laugh.
“Welcome to the Spruce Mountain Lookout Cabin,” I say.“Spectacular views in every direction and only one invalid.”
Hunter doesn’t respond right away, just crosses his arms and looks out the windows.We both do, just sharing the silence comfortably.
I wiggle the toes on my foot, the skin on my ankle numb from the ice packs.Hunter walks to another window, and I watch him out of the corner of my eye, even as I pretend to rearrange the ice.
I’m slowly realizing something, and it feels strange and uncertain andnew, but it’s true.
I think I’d like him anyway.
Even if he wasn’t the ex who broke my heart.Even if we’d never met before last week.
I keep watching him as he shrugs his shoulders a couple of times, then swings his arms around, loosening up from hiking nine miles with a heavy pack.The back of his t-shirt is damp with sweat, but I don’t mind the way it sticks to him.I don’t mind at all.
