Page 21 of Wandering Wild
Before I can say anything more embarrassing, like how he must have existed solely on leafy vegetables during his formative years, Scarlett thankfully continues her introductions. “And this is Zander’s agent, Gabriel, and Charlie’s best friend, Ember.”
Hawke offers handshakes to them both, holding Ember’s the longest, but only because she grips him like a monkey and breathes, “I freaking love you.”
A chuckle leaves Hawke and he moves his free hand to clasp hers gently between both of his. “That’s very kind of you. It’s always nice to meet a fan.”
I step closer to Ember just in case I need to catch her when she melts into a puddle at our feet.
“Rykon, we’re so grateful for you agreeing to this competition on such short notice,” Gabe says.
The survivalist waves off Gabe’s gratitude. “Not at all. I was already planning to film this episode here, so my team only needed to make a few adjustments for a guest to join me. Or guests, in this case.” He winks at me, and I wonder if Ember will have to catch me instead. It’s easy to see why my mum was obsessed with him. There’s something so endearingly charming about him, from his handsome features to his Canadian accent to his overall physicality.
“As much as I’d love to get to know you all better, you two especially,” Hawke says, indicating Zander and me, “we need to leave soon to make the most of the daylight.”
“Ryk, don’t forget, we need some photos and?—”
Scarlett is interrupted when someone calls Hawke’s name, and he glances across the hangar, dipping his chin at them before turning back and saying, “We can spare ten minutes for promo once they’re dressed—will that be enough?”
Scarlett looks to Ollie, who has been taking surreptitious shots the whole time we’ve been talking.
“I can make that work,” the photographer says.
Hawke claps Ollie on the shoulder. “Good man.” With a polite nod to the rest of us, he adds, “See you soon,” and walks purposefully away.
Scarlett immediately leads us toward a table holding an array of survival paraphernalia, some of which—like the grappling hooks and carabiners—cause a cold sweat to break out on my skin. Scarlett, however, ignores those items and gestures to the rack standing beside the table.
“These are your clothes.” She hands garment bags to Zander and me. “The base layers are a moisture-wicking merino blend, and the outer layers will keep you warm and dry without making you overheat. We pride ourselves on the quality of ourWild Worldapparel, so rest assured that you’ll be as comfortable as possible over the next few days.” She points to a door in the hangar’s wall. “Bathrooms for changing are over there.”
Ember gives me a “Go on” nudge and turns her attention to the table, asking Scarlett about the climbing equipment. Since I’d prefer to remain in denial about why it’s there, I hurry after Zander, lock myself in my half of the bathroom, and unzip my bag. The attire is simple—gray hiking pants that brush my boots, a white long-sleeved thermal shirt, and a fleecy lilac pullover, all featuring the small front-facing hawk logo. There’s also a cream-colored waterproof down jacket, but as soon as I put it on, I have to take it off again, since the pullover is already plenty warm.
I step back into the hangar at the same time as Zander, and come to an abrupt halt at the sight of him. While my clothes are pale, pretty colors, his are darker, his hiking pants a deep navy and his pullover a royal blue that—God, how is it possible for his eyes to be brighter than before? Worse, how caneverythingabout him be evenmoreattractive than when he was in normal clothes?
I hate the betraying flush I feel staining my cheeks, and cover it by scowling and demanding, “Why did I get the girly clothes? You look like you’re about to James Bond your way into a high-security vault, while I look ready to jump on a unicorn and go frolicking over a rainbow. Sexist, much?”
His stupidly,stupidlyblue eyes flash with mirth. “I’ve never heard ‘James Bond’ used as a verb before.”
My scowl deepens, but before I can reply, Ember skips toward us and says, “It’s my fault. They asked for your color preferences when I gave them your sizes. You lookamazing, Charlie Bear. I did good, if I do say so myself.” She dusts her hands together, clearly proud, before her gaze flicks to Zander. “You, of course, look ridiculous. In the best possible way.”
His mouth curls upward as he folds his waterproof jacket—black, naturally—over his arm. “Thanks, Ember.” To me, he says, “She’s right, you look great. Any unicorn would be honored to go frolicking with you.”
The teasing glint in his eyes only makes my indignation grow, but I bite my tongue, partly because Ember is so pleased with herself, but also because I don’t actually have a problem with my clothes. It’s not the attire that has me so flustered—it’s Zander. On an intellectual level, I can acknowledge that he’s good-looking, but I didn’t expect to be so...affectedby him. It’s infuriating that my hormones are going rogue, and I yank them firmly into line.
Blessed distraction comes when Ollie’s flash goes off—reminding me that I need to heed caution with everything I do and say from here on out—and a moment later Scarlett calls us back to the table. Gabe is a short distance away talking on his phone, but his eyes are on us as Scarlett hands Zander and me identical wristwatches. I strap mine on, noting the analog face, compass, and light.
“Keep these on at all times,” Scarlett instructs us. “We’re experimenting with next-gen nano drones this trip—cameras unobtrusive enough that you won’t know they’re following you.”
She pulls a small silver box off the table and opens it to reveal what appears to be a set of metallic winged insects no larger than her fingernail.
“The technology is military-grade and scarily impressive,” Scarlett continues, “but while they can film in crystal clear HD, their audio strength is limited.” She taps Zander’s watch. “That’s where these babies come in, since they’ll act as your microphones. They sync up to the drones via GPS and work in tandem with them, so we can still record what you hear and say without the cameras flying in your faces.”
Zander peers at his wrist with renewed interest. “I’m not a fan of cameras in my face.”
Scarlett chuckles. “I figured you’d be on board with this tech. Our aim is to one day use the nano drones exclusively on these trips, but since they’re still in the prototype stage, you’ll have a cameraman with you on the ground capturing everything as a backup. And speaking of...” She waves to a cute, nerdy-looking man heading our way, someone I’ve seen in numerous photos and videos standing beside Hawke. His light brown hair is tousled and his black-framed glasses sit in front of warm chocolate eyes, his skin as pale as Hawke’s is dark.
“Everyone, this is Rykon’s husband, Bentley,” Scarlett says, before turning to Zander and me. “He’s our lead cameraman—he’ll be with you the whole time you’re gone, but he’ll also remain mostly silent to keep the focus on you two and Hawke.” She then adds, “We try not to have too many people tailing you and ruining the authenticity of the experience, so outside of regular support check-ins, it’ll just be the four of you alone together.”
I’m thrilled by this news, since it means there will be another buffer between Zander and me. The more the merrier, as far as I’m concerned.
“Delighted to make your acquaintance,” Bentley says in a lush British accent, his tone as friendly as his husband’s. He indicates the camera already in his hands, then taps a smaller GoPro version strapped to his shoulder. “I’ll do my best to catch your good angles, but no promises. In the wild, anything goes.”
