I’m a good runner—or I thought I was a good runner, but I’m breathing heavily, while Finn is totally unaffected by what feels like an eighty-nine-degree incline. I consider just dropping into a walk, but there’s no way that I’m going to let Finn Hughes beat me. Especially when it doesn’t seem to make a difference to him whether we’re going up a hill or down a hill. He keeps an even pace with me as we run another mile or so.
I’m dying. I am dead. I’ve died.
“How… are you… doing this?”
“There are a lot of hills in SF,” he says and shrugs. “Don’t worry, I grabbed a copy of the trail map before I headed out. There should be a little rest stop with water after the next switchback.”
Nerd. It’s not like we’re hiking in the untamed wilderness—this trail is just a loop that goes right back to the hotel. But secretly I’m glad to know salvation lies just up ahead. Sure enough, after the next turn, there’s a bench and a small shed. I collapse on the bench, while Finn ducks inside the shed and returns with two water bottles with the hotel’s logo printed along the label. He hands me one, but I shake my head and wave him away. I’m still struggling to get oxygen back into my body. Water is more than I can handle right now. He places it beside me on the bench and looks out on the view. It’s obvious why the hotel set up a rest stop here; the view from the mountains down to the ocean is stunning. If Finn weren’t here to ruin it, it would’ve been absolutely worth the effort to get up here.
We sit there, basking in the fresh air—well he’s basking, I’m struggling to return my breathing to normal—when Finn’s phone pings. He pulls it out of his armband while I pretend to study the crop of wildflowers growing on the edge of the trail. He shields his eyes to read the message, and I subtly arch my back, trying to catch a glimpse of his screen. Yes, it’s totally nosy of me, but I’m curious. It’s barely six thirty. Who would be texting him so early? Work… or a girl? Maybe he’s already swiping through the women of Southern California in hopes of landing a hookup or two while he’s in fresh territory. He typesaway a response on his phone, each letter audibly clacking as he goes.
“Ah yes, I love the sound of technology in the morning. Really helps me commune with nature.”
I can’t help myself. And seriously, who doesn’t keep their phone on silent mode these days anyway?
Finn shoots me a look, then scrolls up a bit and hands the phone to me.
I have no idea what to expect, but what I see there on the screen is probably the very last thing I could have come up with: there are at least three dozen photos of baby otters. One of a baby curled up asleep on its mama’s belly. Another of a pile of four babies tumbled all over each other. And one where a baby otter has bared its teeth, clearly trying to look menacing, but only succeeding in looking totally adorable. I don’t even try to stop the smile that breaks through. “That one reminds me a little bit of you,” he says, and a warm feeling washes over me, snuffing out that spark of competition.
I turn my grin to him. “So what is this? A secret fetish?”
“My mom—”
“Yourmomis your secret fetish?” I interrupt with glee. We may be having a friendly-ish moment here, but come on, I can’t let that pitch go by without a swing.
“My mom,” he barrels on, ignoring my outburst, “sends me these. She has it stuck in her head that otters are my favorite animal, so whenever she comes across a picture of them, she sends it to me.”
Okay, even I have to admit that’s possibly the cutest thing I’ve ever heard. Maybe even cuter than the picture of the otter wearing overalls. It’s close.
I’ve scrolled to the end of the otter photos, and my eye catches a screenshot of a foyer covered floor to ceiling in a midnight-garden-patterned wallpaper. Not just any floral, but a hand-drawn original made by a Brooklyn artisan who has recently gone global. The exact original wallpaper, in fact, I used in a design six years ago. “Is that—”
He takes the phone back from me quickly, and I finish my question. “My foyer?”
It’s the entryway I designed for Nikki’s older sister, Jacqueline, when I first moved to New York. It’s by far my most successful piece of design work, and the room that got me hired at my current firm. It’s the first image that comes up on Pinterest if you type in my name. It’s also one of the last times that I felt like I really nailed what my client wanted while still staying true to myself as a designer. The last few years at work have seemed like compromise after compromise. But working with Jacqueline, I was able to get her to take a bit of a risk while still making sure she loved the room when we finished.
Raising the water bottle to his mouth again, Finn tries to take a sip, but has forgotten to unscrew the cap. I’m surprised at how flustered he seems. He gets the cap off and takes a long swig before replying, as if he’s deciding whether or not to deny it.
“I try to keep up with all my old schoolmates.” My mouth quirks atschoolmates—a vastly inadequate term to describe our complicated history. A small whirlpool has formed around the warm feeling in my rib cage. All the feedback I’ve gotten from work recently has been negative. It’s nice to know that maybe there are people out there who appreciate my aesthetic. “Sybil sent me the link to an article with some of your work.She knows I might need some help with a remodel down the road.”
Ah, so back to Sybil. I’ve always wondered if Finn carries a bit of torch for her, if maybe she’s the one girl he couldn’t catch. Sybil was never one of Finn’s romantic conquests (thank god), but while she and I drifted apart senior year, he seemed to take her in like a lost puppy—or more like they were two lost puppies leading each other straight into traffic. While I was busy cramming, the two of them were poster children for senioritis, hopping from back house to back house getting drunk on Coke and vanilla vodka and smoking pot.
Sybil and I eventually found our way back to each other thanks to a European backpacking trip the summer after freshman year of college—a trip that sparked the creation of the Core Four, with Nikki, Sybil, Willow, and me all traveling together for the first time. Still, it wasn’t until after college when we both moved to New York that Sybil and I got back to the level of friendship we’d had for most of high school. For three years, we were as close as sisters, living in a tiny two-bedroom in the East Village. But eventually the West Coast called for Sybil once more, and she moved back to LA. Now, with a full continent between us, I can feel her slipping away again. I’d written it off as normal adulthood stuff. I mean, she’s marrying Jamie. He’s going to be her person. That’s how it should be. But I can’t help but feel the slightest bit abandoned—and more than slightly territorial. Especially after last night’s stupid game, when Finn seemed to be flaunting that he knows more about Sybil than I do.
So, I do what I always do: go on the offensive. “That foyer seems like it might be more color than you’re up for.” I raise aneyebrow at his black shorts and a slate-gray top. Clearly this man cannot handle bold design choices. “Aren’t entrepreneurs supposed to wear the same black turtleneck every day? Are you suddenly big into florals now?”
“I could be.” Finn shifts his entire focus to me, and the warm whirlpool in my chest sinks lower in my body.
I’m about to toss back another taunt, but I swallow it down. Maybe it’s my worry about losing Sybil again, or maybe the lack of oxygen has left me without my full mental capabilities, but something makes me extend an olive branch. “We used to be a great team. If you do decide you want to work with a designer, you should give me a call.”
He gives me a surprised look, and I’m equally surprised by how much I mean it. Wewerea great team. Finn never misses anything, and he’s incredibly thorough. For debate prep, he would research all contingencies, all perspectives. The only downside was that he could spend too much time in the weeds. He wouldn’t go in for the kill. That’s where I would come in. I could follow my instincts, because I always knew that he’d be there to follow through with the research. It was one of the only times in my life where I knew I could depend on someone to be there for me when I was completely myself. I could go out on whatever limb I needed to because I knew Finn would be there to catch me. Until one day he didn’t.
“Well, I’m going to head back down for breakfast.” I stand, leaving my untouched water bottle abandoned on the bench.
“I think I’ll keep heading up,” Finn says. “Catch you at the welcome party tonight?”
“Yeah, I’ll see you then.”
ITAKE IT SLOWLYback down the mountain. When I make it to the patio for breakfast, the only people I recognize are Sybil’s parents. Mrs. Rain waves me over to sit with them.
