Pressing my hand to my heart, I said, “Be still my rugged, flannel-clad heart. You’re letting me be your first?”
He groaned, grabbing a throw pillow and yeeting it at me. “Do you have to phrase it like that?”
“I’m trying to honor the moment!” I said, catching the pillow. “You only lose your camp virginity once, and I’m thrilled you’re giving it to me. I’m going to give you an experience so exciting you’ll want to do it again and again. I’ll make it so memorable, so magical, I’ll ruin you for camping with anyone who isn’t me.”
“Do you ever listen to the things that come out of your mouth?” Oliver muttered, face in his hands.
“What!? This is going to be glorious!” I gave a playful bounce of my knee, jostling his leg. “And don’t worry, I’ll teach you allthe things, protect you from any creatures that dare approach our tent, and catch you before any rogue pinecones or other trail hazards take you down. I’ll be the best camp counselor you never had.”
“Fine, I’m convinced. But if you start singing “Kumbaya” and initiating trust falls, I’m out.”
“Okay, that’s fair.” I rose from the couch, holding out my hand. “C’mon. We’ve got gear to grab and boots to break in.”
At the outdoor supply outlet, we perused the clothing aisles. I scanned a nearby clearance rack, picking up a pale-blue, lightweight windbreaker. “Here, try this one. It’ll make your eyes look even more unfairly beautiful.”
“You think my eyes are beautiful?” he asked, disbelief and surprise coloring his tone.
“I mean, yeah, how could you not? They’re the most brilliant shade of blue I’ve ever seen.”
“I’ll go try it on,” he murmured, before disappearing into the fitting room with the windbreaker and the rest of our selections.
“Well?” he asked when he stepped back out wearing the jacket coupled with a pair of pants and a cotton-blend shirt.
“Hmm. As much as I admire the artistry of the static pose, I’m afraid I can’t reach a verdict without seeing the full effect. I need angles. I need movement. I want a strut. And I require your finest smize.”
“I can’t believe you know what that is,” he said.
“Carrie religiously watchedAmerica’s Next Top Model. I absorbed the references through relentless secondhand exposure. That, and I may have been contracted as a judge in our elite two-person panel and contributed valuable assessments as we conducted our own thorough deliberation at the end of each episode. A man develops an eye for these things after such rigorous training. Though we were far nicer in our critique. Never wanted to see anyone go home or get talked down to.”
“You and Carrie had such a special relationship.”
“She made it easy,” I said with a melancholy fondness. “Now, stop stalling. Chop chop, let me see your walk so I can give you my expert opinion.”
“Ugh, fine, but I’m only doing this once, and you better appreciate it.”
“I’m your biggest fan and supporter, you better believe I’ll appreciate it. Show that runway who’s boss.”
With a sigh he took a step back, then with his chin lifted and hand cocked jauntily on his hip, he launched into a dramatic sashay down the narrow aisle, hips swinging with over-the-top flourish.
“Yes! Ow! Work it, Ollie!” I whooped, hands cupped around my mouth, forgetting where we were and the other shoppers, my attention on him alone.
He gave a half turn at the end of the aisle, struck a pose, and flung a sassy look over his shoulder. As our eyes connected my heart stumbled over its next beat. Confident Oliver had that effect, it was hard not to be drawn to that kinda energy.
“So,” he said, strutting back toward me, hips still in runway mode. “What’s the judges’ deliberation? Am I getting a photo this week keeping me in the competition, or am I packing up my belongings and headed home in tears?”
“You are for sure getting a photo. That was alpine high fashion at its finest. The critters of the mountain forest won’t know what hit ’em.”
“I suppose I have to get it now,” Oliver said.
“You do. It’s law. If it looks better on you than on the rack, you are obligated to get it. And it’ll go well with—”
“Oliver?”
Both of us turned to see a man approaching. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, polished in a moneyed way, wearing a designer polo and reflective sunglasses perched on top of hisperfectly styled hair. His nose pointed upward, scrunching, as if he’d braved stepping out of his elite country club to slum it among us commoners.
A sharp inhale left Oliver as he edged into my side, confirming my suspicions of how he knew this snobbish jerk.
The instinct to protect him hit me, immediate and absolute. My job prepared me for these very scenarios, allowed me to assess and step between threat and victim with composure. But nothing about my job accounted for the way my heart pounded at the sight of Oliver’s fear, or how his nearness settled me.
