Back when Matteo and I were friends, we could talk for hours out on the trails—none of this short, terse, trading one-liners crap. We had real conversations. Deep ones.
You’d never know we used to be close.
“Joshua and Zoe left their tent behind at the last site.” I’ve never seen Matteo look quite this pissed on a hike before. “You’d thinkoneof them would have noticed before now.”
“You’d think,” I agree. “Let me guess, they both thought the other had it?”
“Bingo.”
“So, what—you’re rigging up a tent out of my tarp?”
“Thought I’d sleep on it. Let them take mine since they’re not used to sleeping outside.”
Only I know how much of a sacrifice this is for Matteo. While I’ve never minded sleeping outside—and even prefer it in certain circumstances—he loathes sleeping out in the open. He’s chill and easygoing in so many ways, but there’s just something about letting his guard down with nothing to protect him that makes him too paranoid to sleep at all.
“Good for you, man,” I say, and I mean it. Maybe he got over that particular fear while he was down in Peru.
When Matteo heads out, tarp in hand, I get back to where I left off, making sure our tents are extra secure. No wind disasters tonight—not if I can help it.
It’s quick work, but I feel Sadie watching me the whole time.
“Should be good to go,” I tell her when I finish.
“Thanks, Thorn,” she says quietly, dimple popping as she grins.
She’s so damn attractive. The silence between us starts to stretch—until a loud sound from somewhere deep in the woods echoes through the crisp night air.
Sadie startles, losing her balance for just long enough that everything in her arms falls to the ground; at a glance, it appears to be all the same comfort items she’s put in her tent every night so far.
“What wasthat?!” she says, clearly unnerved.
I bend down to help her gather her things. “An owl, probably,” I say. And because I can’t resist, I add, “Maybe a bear.”
She gives me a look, and I crack up.
“That’s not funny,” she says, but she’s laughing. “Owls are terrifying, too.”
“Can I ask which animals youdon’tfind terrifying?”
“They’reallterrifying,” she says.
I can’t quite tell if she’s joking.
“Cats?” I prompt.
“Their claws are too sharp,” she replies, holding out her left arm, where a long scar marks the crook of her elbow.
“Dogs?”
“Oh, definitely a hard pass on dogs, especially the huge ones—an Akita nearly pushed me off a bridge one time while I was on a run!”
“Goldfish? Ferrets? Rabbits?”
“Creepy, creepy, and creepy.”
“How arerabbitscreepy?” I say, laughing.
“My aunt gave me this book when I was a kid about zombie rabbits and they’ve terrified me ever since. Something about their eyes, I think? That and how quickly they multiply.” She shudders. “The stuff of nightmares, honestly.”
