It takes me a minute to realize what he means.
“Finish…painting my nails?” I guess. “You?”
He grins. “Why not?”
Maybe he’s thinking what I am: it’s a good excuse to touch me just a little more.
And who am I to say no to that?
I grab the Lava polish only to discover it actually did all spill out. “Well, there went that idea,” I say, turning the empty bottle over in my hands.
“I know we only met recently,” he says, “but would it be wrong of me to assume that wasn’t the only bottle of nail polish you packed?”
Heat fills my cheeks, but I can’t help but smile.
“I’ve got two more,” I admit, holding up the bottles of Strawberry Scone and Lavender Stems. “Though they won’t match the rest of my nails…”
“Who says they all need to match?” he says. “I’ll do one of each.”
I laugh, torn between my perfectionism and the voice in my head telling me I should try to let loose a little. Thatisessentially the point of why I’m here, right? To do things I wouldn’t usually do—and to be okay when my circumstances aren’t exactly what I envisioned.
He takes my hand in his, holds it up close to his face. I move the lamp closer so he can see what he’s doing. By the tentative way he holds the polish brush, I can tell he doesn’t have any sisters and never spent time in an emo/punk band—but his hand is surprisingly steady as he paints, slowly adding a few careful layers of the light pink Strawberry Scone before switching over to Lavender Stems for my pinky.
The sight of him etches itself into my memory: the way his brow furrows in concentration; the focus he’s putting into it so he can get everything just right.
“You’re actually pretty good at this,” I say when he’s done, admiring his work. “Might need to have you redo all the rest of them while you’re at it!”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he says, grinning as he holds up his hands. “Let’s not get carried away.”
I listen to the rain, still going strong, as he tucks the bottles away so my nails can dry. The colors actually look pretty cute together. More than that, from now on, the two shades he painted will be linked with the image ofhimpainting them.
Maybe it’s not so bad to go with the flow sometimes.
Maybe it’s not so bad to spill your entire bottle of nail polish if it means the hot hiking guide can make something even more beautiful than what you’d originally planned.
Abby would be so proud that I’m not onlytoleratingmy mismatched nails, but…actually…really liking them?
Or maybe I just really likehim.
I didn’t come out here looking for a guy, or even a hookup. Being out here is changing me on a molecular level, though, I can feel it: this place, this experience, is carving its mark on me—and Thorn is bearing witness to it.
I think, again, ofSurvivor. I’ve never understood how the contestants could form such tight bonds over such a short period of time, but now I see that the experiences they go through—being far from their comfort zones, out in nature, with almost no contact with the outside world—all combine to function as a pressure cooker. When you’re at a pivotal moment in your life and stripped down to your core, it’s only natural that the people you share those experiences with become deeply bonded with the experience itself.
Maybe that’s what’s happening here. I feel like I’ve known Thorn for fourweeks, not four days—
And everything in me wants to knowmore.
It’s a tight fit with both of us in my tent, especially with Thorn’s height. He’s examining my sleeping bag at the moment (the soaking-wet end, not the covered-in-nail-polish end).
“How does it feel on the inside?” he asks.
The sleeping bags are supposed to be water-resistant to some extent, so maybe it’s just the outer layer that’s still cold and wet.
I slip inside, stretch my legs all the way out. There’s so little space in the tent that we’d be touching if not for the thick layer of sleeping bag fabric between us.
“Not too bad, actually,” I report. “It’s like I can tell it’s wet, but can’t actuallyfeelit—it’s just a little heavier there than it would be without the extra weight the water adds.”
“I’d offer mine,” Thorn says, right as another boom of thunder drowns out his voice. “But…yeah.”
