I’m in the middle of posting the selfie to my Instagram—I have asingle flickering bar of service—when the shadows beside me shift and someone clears his throat.
I look up and see Thorn, arms crossed, leaning back against the scenic overlook railing like he has all the faith in the world that it won’t give out and send him hurtling over the edge.
His gaze catches briefly on my attempt to show the world how very brave I am by being here—but rather than commenting on that, he nods toward my shoes.
“Feet hurting yet?” he asks.
I tuck my phone away; I’ll finish the post later.
“Oh, I’m fine,” I say breezily. I like to think of this as a truth that’s yet to happen, rather than an outright lie. “They’re the most comfortable shoes I own!”
And infinitely cuter than hiking boots, I don’t add.
It’s not that I was unaware of the hiking boots suggested in the packing brochure—it’s that I doubted their relevance to me, specifically. My beloved Ultraboosts have never failed me, and I worried an unfamiliar pair of hiking boots would be too bulky and heavy and a nightmare to break in.
Thorn might be a bit uptight, but he’s really hot when he’s at a loss for words.
“What?” I prod. “Just say it.”
He gives me a sidelong glance.
“If I pull out my phone, will you say that again—about how comfortable they are—so I can record it?” His voice really is so deep, as Abby astutely pointed out. “I’d love to be able to play that back when you twist your ankle or slip while crossing a stream.”
I can play this game, too.
“Oh, sure, of course,” I reply. “Now I kind of want to twist my ankle so that everyone here will see that thefirstthing our fearless leader doeswhen someone gets injured is—let’s check the notes—pull out a voice memo to say ‘I told you so.’?”
He grins, point taken.
I take his point, too. “I guess I sort of thought hiking boots were more of a…general concept. Not, like, a specific requirement.”
“A general concept?”
“You know,” I say. “Like…something you could walk forever in and not get blisters? I once walked twenty-eight thousand steps in a single day at Disney World in these shoes.”
Thorn shakes his head and laughs. “Where do I even start?”
“Do your worst,” I say. “I can take it.”
“Okay, so, first of all, this sort of expedition is the furthest thing from Disney World. Second, you walked twenty-eight thousand steps—at Disney World—inthoseshoes? Those exact spotless white shoes.”
“They’re not spotless or white anymore,” I say, purposefully missing his point.
He gives me another look, one that comes off just a little flirty—which I’m certain, given all other clues, is entirely unintentional.
“Okay, so they weren’t thisexactpair,” I admit. “I bought these new for the hike.”
This really makes him laugh, blue eyes sparkling in the sunlight.
“What?” I say, and now I’m laughing, too. “I figured new ones would be better on my feet than beat-up ones. I swear I did putsomelogic into this decision—though in hindsight, I am willing to acknowledge that hiking boots might have been the better choice.”
“For a hike,” he adds, smirking.
“Look,” I say, nudging him with my elbow.
He gives me a once-over from head to toe. “At what?”
Flat tone, one eyebrow raised: he’s the poster child for the wordunimpressed.
