He moved his eyes from my feet and then slowly up to my eyes. “Yeah, I can see why.”
My guest and I had spent the afternoon joking and getting to know each other a bit more. We talked about where we’d gone to school and what towns we’d grown up in. Coincidentally both of us had grown up in the south Puget Sound region near the capital city of Olympia, but because I was closer to Tumwater, a small town next door to Olympia, we’d gone to neighboring but different high schools.
Blake pegged me as a jock, and I pegged him as smart, both laughing at the generalizations. “I was smart,” he admitted. “But I did cross country too,” he bragged.
“Oh yeah,” I quipped. “Because cross country is such a chick magnet of the high school sports.”
Blake pointed at the Crock-Pot. “Stew, mister.”
Our banter was easy and familiar and whatever hostility had been displayed at the trailhead a day ago was gone. Blake was funny, intelligent, and had a warmth I hadn’t expected. I found myself drawn to his cheeky personality and almost forgot the pain I’d seen etched on his face when I’d first encountered him.
“I think I like you,” I stated, handing him a refill on the stew and sitting across from him. “Kinda shocked about it after your icy greeting yesterday, but you’re actually fun.”
“And you aren’t the oaf I thought you were,” he said. “My dad will be so pleased when I tell him about this.”
As if the universe needed to provide any weirder of coincidences, the cabin’s satellite phone rang. That happened maybe twice an entire season. I held up a hand to Blake and hurried to the desk in the corner that held a computer, the satellite phone, and a few charging ports.
“Station 27,” I answered.
“Is this Dirk Halloway?” a voice I didn’t recognize as a familiar crew member’s voice spoke.
“Sure is. How can I help?” I asked, worrying I had a problem that needed my attention, and concerned that the melting snow was still too deep to get out of my area easily.
“This is a longshot, Dirk, but this is Myles Jensen, Commissioner of Public Lands,” he began. “Sorry to disturb you but I have a real concern that my son may be in danger and the last I heard, he was planning on hiking from the Forest Service road that you happen to be located at.”
“I know who you are, sir, and I’m happy to tell you that your son is sitting six feet away from me right now.”
There was a gasp and muffled words from the background by a female voice. “Oh, thank God,” he said, a long and relieved exhale escaping him. “Oh my God. Oh, that’s amazing. May I speak with him?”
I handed the phone over and listened as Blake told his story and I got one side of the conversation. There was a lot of reassuring that he was safe and uninjured. He soothed his mother when apparently his father handed the phone to her. “No, Mom. I don’t know if he’s married,” he responded after a lengthy explanation of what had happened and she was confident Blake was safe. “Yes, Mom, I’ll make sure to get his address so you can thank him but I think Dad probably has it in his office files.”
Blake patiently answered a barrage of several yes and no questions. Just before his mom was done grilling him he answered one more. “Yes, Mom. He is handsome.” After saying goodbye to his father, and finally convincing his mother he was completely fine, the ten-minute call ended. Blake looked at me and grinned. “You’re definitely getting a promotion, or at a minimum a pay raise,” he stated. “My dad is very appreciative of you saving my life.”
“You think I’m handsome?”
CHAPTER NINETEEN: Blake
“I’m talking to my parents about life and death rescues and that’s all you heard?” I asked. “That I told Mom I think you’re handsome? Seriously, Dirk. Can you see yourself in a mirror?”
He looked at me sheepishly, a pouty lower lip sticking out. “I guess it was nice to hear the words,” he acknowledged. “I’ve been a bit low as of late because dates say I’m boring and a fuddy-duddy.”
“What dates? No way,” I assured. “You’re a bit goofy and jock-ish, but that’s what makes you sorta cute.”
“So now I’m just cute?” he pestered, pressing his lower lip out even further. “What happened to devilishly and rakishly handsome?”
I laughed out loud, a first in a very long time. “No one said devilishly, and who the hell uses rakish in this century?”
Dirk grabbed his cell from the kitchen area counter. “I have proof,” he offered, scrolling and then handing me the phone. “See? My buddy Matt says my last date thought I was a fuddy-duddy and too outdoorsy.”
I perused the texts and then placed the phone on the table. “He’s wrong,” I declared, meeting his eyes.
“Thank you, sir. I am mighty obliged for the kind words and shit,” he joked, tipping a fake hat toward me. He was the exact prescription that I needed for the blues in my life.
Dirk cleared the table and then sat back down. There was an uncomfortable silence because we had joked ourselves around the fact that I’d admitted I thought he was handsome. He was more than handsome. A blind man could see that. He was also masculine—a definite plus—and friendly, caring, and a whole host of other things that I hadn’t noticed in a man in years. I liked him and I knew it.
“How have you managed to remain single, Cadet Dirk?” I inquired, curious how he’d escaped the clutches of Seattle’s hungry for love gay culture. “I spilled my guts, so it’s your turn now.”
He leaned forward and rested his chin in his hand, gazing at me to the point of me being uncomfortable and finally looking away. “First things first,” he began. “Why do you always look away when I stare at you?” I instantly blushed and denied doing it but he wouldn’t drop the question. “Maybe you don’t think you’re handsome either?” he questioned. Of course, I looked away again. “You are, you know.”
