Page 50 of The Golden Hour
“Have you been out here before?” Finn asks, handing me a baseball hat and a bandana. At my questioning look, he says, “To keep the sun off the back of your neck.”
“No, I haven’t been here,” I concede, pulling on the hat and trying unsuccessfully to attach the bandana.
Finn takes over, fingers gentle in my hair as he adjusts my ponytail and tucks the fabric under the band of the hat. “I used to come here a lot, years ago, when I lived in the city.”
I frown, turning to look up at him. “Where do you live?”
He smiles, but even though I can’t see his eyes behind dark lenses, I can tell it doesn’t reach them. “I like to think of myself as a nomadic artist. Versatile. Open to opportunities.”
“You don’t have a home?” I blurt, then realize the ridiculousness of me making the statement. “Never mind. I’ve lived out of a duffel bag for years.”
“We’re a pair, aren’t we?”
I sniff out a noncommittal, “Hmph.”
His smile grows a touch. “We’ll hit shade about a half-mile in, but this trail gets a little technical. You up for it?”
“I’m not afraid of technical.” I nod toward his backpack. “I’m assuming you have water and food?”
“Of course not,” he deadpans, “but I did pack crayons and a kite.”
My lips betray me, tilting at the corners. “What on earth made you want to bring me out here?”
I’m hoping for the quick, rational explanation that Molly told him he should. But in true Finn form, he doesn’t do what I want him to.
“I wanted to take you somewhere that would remind you of Oregon. Molly mentioned you did a lot of hiking in the forest up there, so I figured you’d enjoy this. It’s the closest I could get you to Solstice Bay.”
I have no words. Nothing that doesn’t involve admitting what I don’t want to admit—that I’m floored. Touched. That were I a different woman and he a different man, I might swoon.
Instead, I say, “Thanks,” and set off for the nearby trailhead.
* * *
Finn wasn’t kidding—the trail is a bitch. But she’s as beautiful as she is sassy, thick with old growth trees, sloped and spiked from centuries of quakes and storms. She’s not my beloved, rain-and-wind swept Oregon forest, but she’s appreciated nonetheless. It doesn’t hurt that the jewel at her heart is a forty-foot waterfall.
By some stroke of luck, the trail isn’t too crowded, and when we reach the falls three miles in, there’s only a small group of hikers down by the pool.
“Hungry?”
My gaze veers from the water to Finn, standing on a flat rock-shelf some ten feet away with the backpack at his feet. His hat is turned backward, face flushed, eyes bright, sunglasses dangling from one hand. Sweat darkens his gray T-shirt, which clings to his shoulders and stomach. He looks like the center spread of an athletics magazine geared toward drooling women. He’s unnaturally, messily perfect. Knowing what he smells like, what his smooth, hot skin feels like only makes things worse.
My want is visceral, twisting my stomach into knots.
A dangerous thought wraps silken chords around my mind. What if I embrace the farce of being his girlfriend? Why shouldn’t I get to touch him? We’re obviously physically compatible, and he did say he wanted to—
“I’m asking if you’re hungry for food, princess. Not man-meat. But I’m glad you like what you see.”
Thank God my face is already flushed from the hike.
“Har har, asshole.” I make my way toward him. “Please tell me Molly made those sandwiches.”
“Pfft. I’ll have you know I make a mean sandwich. But yes, Molly made them. She said this was your favorite.”
I grab Molly’s signature chicken-salad on multigrain bread. “No more talking. Just eating.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I devour the sandwich and tank a bottle of water, then lower to my back and close my eyes. The waterfall churns nearby, dappled sunlight teases my face, and peace soaks into my body from the sun-warmed rock.
