CHAPTER TWELVE
Hugh offers to drive me home, which gives me a chance to quiz him on what I need to bring tomorrow. I already have a feeling I’m going to embarrass myself when he realizes I have the lung capacity of a five-year-old, so I don’t want to show up in the wrong clothes or bring something that’s going to attract bears or other wild animals that could possibly eat us.
All he said was, “Wear comfortable clothes and shoes. I’ll take care of the rest.”
Now it’s early Saturday morning and I’m standing in front of the mirror, wondering if my yoga pants and formfitting long-sleeved shirt, along with the hoodie I plan to wear will be sufficient. I googled hiking attire last night and this seems appropriate. Comfortable and cute, the best of both worlds. Plus my butt looks great in these pants.
Without too much intense searching, I managed to find the runners I bought two years ago when Bridget and I went on a health kick and decided to start walking together. Even though it was a short-lived phase, I managed to break in the shoes, so hopefully they’ll be comfortable enough for a day of hiking. It took me longer to find the mini backpack I used as a purse during the ’90s. I’m not ashamed to say I was a mini-backpack-wearing, lollipop-sucking, Spice Girl wannabe cliché in my teens, and the ’90s remain my favorite decade. I didn’t keep many things from my teen years—mostly because I didn’thavemuch since my aunt was a minimalist—but I could never bring myself to give away this backpack. I mentally stick my tongue out at Aunt Fan for telling me I shouldn’t keep things I don’t need.
Into the tiny bag goes a scarf and a pair of gloves in case it’s chillier than expected during our hike. I plan to tuck a bottle of water in before I leave. But what if I have to pee? I assume there are no bathrooms along the trails. Will I have to pop a squat if nature calls? The thought of wiping myself with nearby leaves makes me stuff a bunch of tissues into the backpack. Just in case. After a bit of deliberation, I tuck a pack of gum into the outside pocket, along with my favorite lip gloss. You never know when the need will arise for makeout essentials. It’s best to be prepared.
A few minutes before ten o’clock, I head downstairs to wait for Hugh. His SUV—I still think of it as Santa’s Sleigh, thanks to Meredith—pulls to a stop in front of my building promptly at ten, which makes me smile. He hops out and comes around to meet me, which makes me smile even bigger. I have a moment to take in his blue plaid shirt with a black tee peeking out from underneath, dark cargo pants, and sturdy boots before he wraps his arms around me in a quick hug.
“You ready for this?” he asks as he releases me.
“I think so.” This is the first time I’m seeing him freshly shaved, and he looks completely different. He’s still ridiculously sexy, but I have to say the perma-stubble I’ve grown used to suits him. He opens my door and offers me a little boost into the high seat. An amused grin graces his face when he spots my backpack. “Just a few essentials,” I tell him.
On the way across town, Hugh explains we’re going to a park that has a bunch of trails. “I thought we’d try a moderate trail. It takes quite a while to reach the top, but it’s not as steep as some of the other paths. The view at the top is worth it; you can see all of Bellevue from up there.”
When we reach the park and Hugh hauls out a regular-sized backpack, I realize I’ve forgotten my water. Not wanting to seem like an idiot who can’t manage to bring the bare essentials along on a hike, I don’t mention it. It’s not like it’s summer, with the full force of the sun beating down on us and making me sweat or feel like I’m dying of thirst. Hopefully.
Hugh takes my hand, effectively making me forget about my lack of water, the chill in the air, and pretty much anything else. This whole situation is so strange, although not in a bad way. When I’m with him I feel alternately comfortable and nervous. There’s no denying he gives me butterflies and I’d be lying if I said I don’t think about him way more than I probably should.
And yet I’ve never had this type of relationship. We’re friends hanging out, keeping it casual. Are we technically dating? Will it lead to more? Is sex going to be involved? My brain jutters to a halt right there while a fluttery feeling inside me screams‘Please let there be sex involved!’I’m not the most experienced when it comes to dating or relationships, so this whole keeping it casual thing is throwing me off.
At the foot of the path, Hugh pauses to look at me. I pull myself from my thoughts, letting my gaze travel from our joined hands to the trail, then back to him. “Just go slow. I’m new at this.”
Something in his expression—maybe the way his eyes soften, or the slight tilt to his lips—tells me he senses the double meaning behind my words. “We’ll go at your pace. If you need me to slow down at any point, just say the word.” His voice is quiet, roughened by his accent. He’s standing so close I can feel his warm breath on my face. The combination makes my legs wobble, which probably isn’t the best way to start what’s sure to be a long hike. I take a few deep breaths and he gives my hand a squeeze before releasing it to swing his backpack into place.
The trail is wide enough at first for us to walk side by side at a leisurely pace. The fact we’re able to carry on a conversation makes me confident I’ll be fine as we carry on. That confidence begins to wane as we reach the first incline. My breath comes harder from the exertion, despite the hill not being all that steep. Our conversation peters out until we’re walking in silence with the only sounds besides normal forest noises being my heavy breaths and our footfalls.
The trail is fairly smooth with a few steeper areas and the occasional fallen branch or other debris over the path. Whenever we approach something like a log or gnarly tree roots, Hugh reaches for my hand without a word, guiding me and making sure I’m okay. I don’t for a second believe it’s because he thinks I’m incapable of handling myself, but rather just his nature. He’s a gentleman, and it’s hot as hell. Besides, I’ll take any excuse to touch him, even if it’s just an innocent brush of hands or him grasping my fingers.
I have no idea how much time has passed when we reach a huge flat rock to the side of the path. It’s bathed in dappled sunlight and all but calls to my strained legs and lungs. “Ready for a break?” Hugh asks. “This looks like a good spot to rest.”
“Was my gasping getting to be too much? Or did you notice my legs starting to shake?” I collapse on the rock. It holds a surprising amount of heat from the sun, making me want to curl up on it like a cat.
Hugh chuckles. “Neither.” He fishes two water bottles out of his backpack and hands one to me.
I accept it with a murmured thanks, cracking the lid immediately and taking several gulps. My theory about not getting dehydrated went out the window about ten minutes ago when my mouth started drying out. From the corner of my eye, I catch Hugh watching me.
“I had water ready to bring,” I tell him, breathless from chugging half the bottle. “I didn’t tell you I forgot to grab it because I didn’t want you to think I’m an idiot.”
He perches beside me on the rock, close enough for our thighs to touch. “I’d never think you’re an idiot, so you needn’t worry about that.” He studies me, then gives his head an almost imperceptible shake. “For the record, I don’t expect you to be perfect, Ivy. Or to always say or do the‘right’thing. I get the feeling you’re hard on yourself and sometimes forget you’re only human. Give yourself a break once in awhile.”
Well. He sure has me pegged. “Should I start calling you ‘Dr. MacKinnon’?” I ask lightly.
The way he scrunches his face in response is adorable. “Sorry. Force of habit. I didn’t mean to go all psychoanalytical on you.”
“It’s fine.” With his thigh still pressing against mine, it’s way too easy to lay my hand there. I stop myself from allowing my fingers to roam and test out the thick muscles beneath his cargo pants. “I don’t mind, actually. This will probably sound weird, but it’s nice to be seen and understood.”
“Not weird.” His large, rough hand covers mine. That small amount of contact has awareness zinging through me. Most of the guys I’ve dated have had desk jobs, so they don’t have work-roughened hands. Hell, some of them have had softer hands than mine. It makes me wonder what it would feel like to have Hugh’s hands on me in other ways. Rough hands gliding over soft skin, rasping as they move over me…
Hugh’s fingers tighten around mine, jolting me back to reality. Oh god. I hope my face isn’t as red as I imagine it is. From the tiny almost-smirk on Hugh’s face, I’m guessing it is, and I’m also guessing he has an idea where my mind was wandering.
“I think I’m good to go,” I say, even though my legs still feel like jelly. “Probably best to keep going so my muscles don’t seize up or something.”
“As you like.” Without releasing my hand, he gets to his feet, pulling me up with him. We start out again at a meandering pace until my legs adjust, and then we move with more purpose. Hugh points out different things along the path, like a thick copse of trees that still has some of their brightly-colored autumn leaves, and the small animals scurrying about.
