One more night, and then I get to go home. No more midnight confessions, shared tents, or seaglass eyes. The thought should fill me with relief, but instead it’s a sinking disappointment.
Halfway through the afternoon hike, someone screams. It sounds like Penelope.
I quicken my steps to catch up with the group. There’s a crowd eddying around someone. Peeking between shoulders, I see Penelope, moaning, clutching her ankle on the ground.
“It’s broken!” she shrieks. “Airlift me!”
Skip flits around like a mother hen, bracing Pen’s ankle and wrapping up her scraped palm.
I sidestep toward Eitan. “What happened?” I whisper.
“She was filming on Josh’s phone, not watching where she was going, and she veered off the path and tripped.”
“I’m supposed to walk down the aisle inthree weeks!” Pen wails.
“It’s going to be fine,” Josh assures. “Right, Skip? It will be fine?”
“It’s—ah—just a sprain. We will ice it and elevate it once we make camp!”
“HOW AM I GOING TO FINISH THE HIKE?” Pen shouts.
“I’ll carry you,” Josh says firmly.
With a splint made of sticks bracing Pen’s ankle, Josh hoists her over his shoulders, fireman style. I know Penelope spraining her ankle in the middle of nowhere is deeply unfortunate, but I negotiate that I am allowed to laugh at Pen bobbing over Josh’s shoulders because it is, objectively, funny.
And it’s not like she’s going to die of a sprained ankle.
The group continues on, Penelope moaning the whole way to the next campsite. The area is smaller than the first two, but I still manage to keep my tent away from the group. I debate getting two sleeping pads and two sleeping mats, since Calliope isn’t using hers. I could fashion something close to a queen size sleeping bag, that way. Relish in the solitude of my tent.
I’m just putting the finishing touches on my queen-size-for-one sleeping arrangement when a bag is flung inside the tent.
Followed by a foot, belonging to a best man.
“Thanks for setting up,” Eitan says. He registers thewayI’ve set up and tilts his head. “Planning for us to snuggle without sleeping bags in the way tonight?”
I am mortified. “No! No.” Everything, from my hands to my cheeks, turns a humiliating shade of pink. “I assumed you’d go back to sharing a tent with Josh.”
Eitan shakes his head. “Penelope has him at her beck and call. There’s no way they’re not sharing a tent tonight.” He peels off his flannel, an act that needs a PG-13 warning label, even though he’s wearing an undershirt.
I slam my eyes shut. “So you decided you’d sleep here again?”
“Figured you wouldn’t mind after last night. And it’s only one more night.” The swish of Eitan’s undershirt being removed can be heardandfelt.
“Right.” Every muscle in me is at war. Half of my body wants to pull up a seat, grab some popcorn, and gawk at Eitan shirtless. The other half is still thinking rationally and clues in to the idea that he’s doing this on purpose. Taunting me.
“Must you change in here?”
“Should I change out there, in the middle of the campsite?”
Yes, preferably.
There’s another rustle. “I have a new shirt on. You can open your eyes.”
I do, but I avert them to my bag, opting to refold everything that’s already neatly folded.
“Ruby.”
“Hmm?” I look up. His eyes are soft as rain. His hair is windswept, one stubborn curl dipping onto his forehead.I like you.I spent the whole day trying to get space, trying to clear my mind, and now, those are the only words left in it. In the fraught space of this tent, I can’t wrap my mind around why I didn’t tell him that last night.
