“Again, yes.”
“Can we also drive it?”
“Yes. If we want to.”
Seconds pass without a word until a sharp yelp echoes through the forest. “Oh, hell yes! I’ve always wanted to rough it in the woods.”
I cock my head. “Seriously?” Laughter builds inside of me. I didn’t expect that. Collie clearly doesn’t care about thefact that we don’t know a single thing about each other. “Not sure that’s the reaction I expected, but okay. You keep surprising me, lost girl.”
“You people confuse me,” Dirty Dan mumbles before waving us off. “Holler if you need someone to start a fire for ya. Sheila will be by in the mornin’. I’ll tell her not to knock.” He winks, trotting back toward the UTV.
Jesus Christ.
“Appreciate you, Dirty Dan,” Collie yells at his retreating back and turns to tap my chest. “We’ve got two weeks of getting up close and personal with each other, Easton Voss. Better save some room in this muscular chest for more lost girl revelations.”
Leaving me to it, I’m no longer thinking about the awkwardness to come with this complete stranger. Or the fact that this trip is about to get really fucking weird and personal. No, because I’m too focused on the fact that she called my chest muscular to think straight.
That and the fact that I’m not at all concerned about my safety with Collie Meadows.
But maybe I should be.
8
COLLIE
I’ve never been sodelighted tonothave cell service.
I made sure to text Capri at Jackson Hole Airport, letting her know where I am and that I’m safe. And she promised to reassure my parents not to worry.
I’ve gotta say, there’s something pretty spectacular about being in the middle of nowhere. No distractions. No leisure resources. No nagging bosses.
I could get used to the remote life.
“You sure you’re gonna be okay out here, lost girl?”
Lost girl.I’m not sure what to think about Easton’s little pet name for me. I’ve never been close enough to anyone to ever be nicknamed. Easton and I are strangers, yet he wasted no time in making his own judgment.
That makes two of us because I’m most definitely judging him. I can’t figure the guy out. One minute he’s completely stand-offish, and the next he’s fighting back a smile and pulling my hair.
Not to mention the woman’s name on his extra boarding pass.
Something in my gut tells me this trip was supposed to be his honeymoon. But that would be insane, right?
Honestly, I don’t have time to think too far into it. I’m better off worrying about myself, making the most of this trip, and sticking to basic conversation with him.
Not that it should be too difficult.
Shifting my head toward Easton as he opens the hatch of our new home, I say, “I could sleep in a hole in the ground and be perfectly fine. Doesn’t take much to make me happy.”
He has no idea how serious I am. I love traveling, exploring, and visiting new places. Adventure is just as much a part of me as fitness is. I usually travel with my girlfriends or Capri, but never with someone I just met. Those are the people we meet once we get acclimated to the destination. But out here, in Yellowstone National Park, unspeakable beauty surrounds us. It’s almost as if we were transported to another dimension. Surrounded by nothing but evergreens near and far, the softest snow is beginning to fall. The smell is almost tangible—ripe, velvety, and earthy. I’ve already seen small deer galavanting through the forest grounds and have my hopes set on encountering a moose or elk.
We’re deep in rural Yellowstone, with nothing but trees, mountains, and springs between us. Camper vans of all different colors are scattered across the grounds: red, yellow, blue, and green. But none of them are orange like ours.
Clementine orange. Never knew I could love a color so much. The exterior paint is drastically faded and resembles an antique style. It’s vintage, likely having housed plenty of travelers before us.
If anything, it makes the burst of earthy colors in the forest even more vibrant in contrast.
Our campsite sports everything I’d imagine a wilderness camper would need, including a carved-out area for firebuilding with sticks and stones laid out in an unorganized circle, creating a pit to cook on the rack above it. Two worn navy blue folding chairs surround the area, while a large plastic box sits to the side of the van. Dirty Dan insisted we store the things that don’t fit in the camper inside. For me, that’s likely everything. He even gave us a lock to secure it from wildlife.
