“So,” she says with a dramatic pause, “youdon’tthink I need a shower?”
I burst out laughing, and she cracks up, too. It’s the last thing I expected her to say.
“Youabsolutelyneed a shower, Sadie Whitlock. I’ll walk you over myself.”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” I tell her. “This isn’t the Four Seasons.”
She comes to a stop beside me and stares at the lackluster concrete building. It’s in worse shape than I remembered, paint peeling from the sides and a cluster of dead beetles resting in the corner with some empty glass bottles and a tipped-over In-N-Out bag.
“You are suggesting I go get clean…in there?” she says skeptically, arms crossed over her chest, hugging her pajamas and the monogrammed toiletry bag we made a special detour for before heading this way.
“The pipes are fine,” I assure her.
The vibes: not so much.
Even I’m a little wary about what she might find inside—there could be anything from used needles to an actual heroin junkie in the flesh, judging by the detritus. It’s quiet, though, no other signs that anyone else is around for miles. I’m 99 percent sure it’ll be fine.
“Want me to go in with you to check it out first?” I offer.
“Um, yes,” she says. “Yes,please.”
I pull open the worn wooden door, and the motion-activated light illuminates everything in a dim fluorescent glow. Sadie gasps, looping her arm through mine so hard it almost hurts.
“What?” I ask, looking around. “What happened?”
“This place,” she says with a sour look. “It’s just…horrifying.”
I laugh. “It’s actually better than I expected.”
There are two small stalls with toilets in them, and one larger area with a flimsy shower curtain—no obvious mildew or mold, so that’s a plus right off the bat. The tile isn’t too grimy, the trash has been emptied relatively recently, there aren’t any obscene odors, and—most importantly—we’re alone in here. It’s pretty great by campsite standards, honestly.
Sadie takes it all in, still clinging to my arm like her life depends on it.
Not that I mind.
“Where am I supposed to put my stuff while I shower?” she asks.
Huh. I guess there aren’t any benches or shelves or anything like that—I never thought to look.
“Maybe those hooks over there?”
She loosens her grip and heads over to inspect them, adorably scrunching her nose. “They’re a little rusty…”
Emphasis ona little—even up close, I can hardly see it.
“I can hold everything for you, if you want?” I offer, and her eyes light up—
Which is how, five minutes later, I find myself standing two feet away from Sadie, only a flimsy shower curtain between us, as she reaches out to hand me a bundle of clothes.
The clothes she wasjustwearing.
Her strappy neon-pink sports bra peeks out from within the otherwise black fabric. I bite the inside of my cheek as hard as I can to counteract the things I’m feeling—the idea of her, not even a bikini on her body, is almost more than I can stand.
“Do you want me to wait outside?” I ask.
“I think I’d be too creeped out by this place to stay in here alone,” she says. “I feel better knowing you’re right there. Is that weird?”
“It’s not weird,” I reply, my heartbeat picking up at this show of trust: that she feels saferwithme than without me.
