“Rock climbing is something I won’t even try. I lack the necessary motor skills for that.”
“I’m sure you could learn if you put your mind to it, but if it doesn’t appeal to you, why would you? There are plenty of other fun activities you can do.”
He hummed in agreement. “What’s your favorite? Out of all the outdoor stuff you do, I mean.”
I didn’t need to think long. “Hiking. Heading into the mountains. Nature relaxes me, helps me find peace, and I love the physical exertion.”
“After I did the hike, I did some reading on it.” Onno laughed. “I know, I should’ve done that beforehand and prevented the blisters, but I didn’t. Anyway, I read some articles online, and it’s not as easy as it seems. And not as risk-free either. Which I’m sure you know since you do search and rescue.”
I let out a sigh. “Unfortunately, people underestimate the risks. Every year, we have to rescue people who get stranded because of inadequate preparation.”
“Like what?”
“Not bringing enough water or food, forgetting rain gear or cold weather clothing, not anticipating changes in the weather. Or they get lost because they can’t use a compass and have no clue where they are. Sure, we have rescues where people did everything right but an accident still happened. Two years ago, I had to rescue a fellow S&R volunteer who had slipped on a slick rock and broken his ankle. Freak accidents happen, and I never get annoyed over those. But it does baffle me how people can head into the mountains without any sense of the dangers.”
“I wouldn’t have known either.”
“No, but you didn’t go by yourself. You went with a guided tour and followed our gear list to a T.”
Onno chuckled. “I did. Joost drove me to REI in Seattle to get everything I needed. We don’t have the same shoe size, unfortunately, or I could’ve worn his boots.”
It spoke volumes about his character that he’d bought those things for a one-time outing. “We should go for another hike if only to make sure you use your gear again.”
He shot me an incredulous look. “You wanna go hiking with me again?”
“Absolutely. Now that you know you have to break in your boots, you could prepare. And we’ll take it nice and slow so you can enjoy the experience.”
He put his hand on my thigh again. “You are the sweetest to suggest it.”
This time, he left his hand there, and the warmth burned right into my soul.
5
ONNO
Clara was a riot. She was a seventysomething woman with wild curly hair that cascaded around her shoulders like a lion’s mane. With her kaftan bursting with psychedelic colors, she looked like she’d never left the seventies behind her and was now living her best life making gorgeous pottery, cracking dirty jokes, and spinning wildly entertaining tales. Originally from South Carolina, she’d never lost her Southern twang.
“Hope y’all are ready to get your hands dirty.” She sauntered over with a grace that defied her eccentric appearance.
“Absolutely,” Howell said, his deep voice bouncing off the clay-stained walls. “This is Onno, my—uh, we’re here for the class.”
“Charmed, I’m sure.” She took his hand in both of hers. “I can already tell you’ve got the hands of an artist, darling.”
“Or at least a farmhand,” Howell quipped.
“Ooh, I love a man who can handle some serious plowing.” Clara winked, and I burst out laughing.
Howell’s cheeks tinged pink. “Clara, you’re terrible.”
“Terrible, maybe, but never boring.” Clara sashayed back to the front of the room, where a row of wheels awaited our touch. “Now, let’s get started. Pottery is like making love—it’s messy, it’s passionate, and if you do it right, you come out with something beautiful.”
She also served amazing hors d’oeuvres and a delicious, bold red wine. An hour into our two-hour class, I was a little tipsy, had pain in my sides from laughing, and was well on my way to creating the ugliest crooked vase on the planet. The only vase that was worse than mine was Howell’s, and he laughed about it harder than anyone else.
We had a fun group of people—ten in total—and like us, most were new at pottery, but everyone approached it with enthusiasm and a good sense of humor. Once we shaped our wet clay on the wheel, the phallic jokes were inevitable, and the hilarity rose. This was the most fun I’d had in months.
“Move your hands like you’re following the shape of a woman,” Clara said to me. “Boobs, small waist, round hips.”
I snorted. “I’m gay, honey. Women don’t do it for me.”
