At the time, it seemed like getting into the spirit of the Kristen Quinn book I’m trying to embody. A digital detox with no pings, texts, or late-night doomscrolling in the event I found a pocket of cell service out here. And definitely no well-meaning check-ins from my friends or Jeremy. I’d prove that I could do something hard without needing anyone to watch over me. Real badass energy type shit.
I didn’t think about being stuck inside my head for days onend with nothing and no one to break up the swirling monotony of my own thoughts. My phone has my favorite playlists, along with the dozen or so podcasts I downloaded for the trail. Not to mention—and this one physically hurts—my audiobook library. The best part of my new romance obsession is dual narration, and I was counting on hours of a deep-voiced dude reading sex scenes directly into my ear while I walk. Trudging up the trail in silence is a cruel and unusual punishment that’s way worse than the blister forming on my pinky toe.
I wanted a stranger’s voice in my ear. Or, if I’m being honest, any voice that isn’t mine. Because my head isn’t the chillest hangout spot. I was a sensitive kid, a personality trait not appreciated by my distracted parents or my overachieving brother, and I never quite learned how to quiet the noise.
Trust me, I’ve tried everything. Alcohol and recreational drugs I swore I was only flirting with, which turned into heavier-duty stuff and random hookups. The cherry on top of my shit-choices sundae was a boyfriend who dumped me on the side of the road just outside of Rocky Mountain National Park.
Is it possible to hit rock bottom at twenty? It was the closest I’ve ever been, and I hope to never be that close ever again. No money or friends, and certainly no plan.
But then I got the call that the grandmother I barely remembered, who I’d only ever spent time with one Christmas when I was eight, had died and left me an inheritance. Me, the girl on the edge of nothing. And only because she and my mom had been estranged for decades.
It was enough money to buy a failing bookstore in a postcard-cute town that felt like home the first time I set foot on Main Street. It was the second chance I needed, and I latched onto that lifeline and never looked back.
Before I can start in on the other errors in my perfect plan, I spot a couple perched on a flat rock at the far end of themeadow who offer identical waves when they see me. I raise my hand because that’s trail etiquette, and frankly, I’m thrilled for a break from my own company. When they invite me to join them for lunch, I take a seat on a nearby rock even though I’m not hungry.
I tossed and turned all night on the motel mattress and slept past the alarm this morning, so the breakfast burrito I ate in Frank’s back seat on the way to the trailhead is still sitting in my stomach. But I dig into my pack, pull out one of the PB&J sandwiches the motel sells to hikers each morning, and nibble the corner of the bread while Julie and Pete tell me their life story.
They met senior year of college in Iowa thirty years ago, and even though both sets of parents hated the match, they got married six weeks later.
“It was love at first sight,” Julie says.
“I know people don’t believe that’s a thing,” Pete adds, “but when you know, you know.”
A shiver flickers along my spine as I think about Jensen taking up too much space in my tiny office and the timbre of his voice when he said we aren’t finished.
And my need for us to be, which is what sent me running from Skylark sooner than I planned, chasing my bucket-list challenge and the author who’s been ignoring me for the better part of a year.
So I do, in fact, know what Julie and Pete are talking about, but I really wish I didn’t. I’m afraid that how I felt after two nights with Jensen (not to mention how I still feel) is what love at first sight believers like to wax poetic about. I’m also the worst possible candidate for it.
Jensen isn’t the man for me. In his eyes, I’ll always be the sick girl. Someone whose body might betray her again, my shadow looking a little too much like the one his mother cast. I refuse to be a mirror for potential heartbreak reflected in his smoky eyes.
“You’re lucky,” I tell them, mustering asmile.
“We are,” Julie agrees without hesitation.
“It hasn’t been easy.” Pete reaches out to squeeze his wife’s hand like it’s second nature. “But the best things never are.”
My eyes start to burn, and I glance up at the sun like I’m using it to track the time. What would it feel like to be on the receiving end of love like that?
“Our first grandbaby is due next month,” Julie tells me. “So we wanted to do another trek along the trail we followed on our honeymoon before settling into grandparenthood.”
“That’s great,” I say. “I’m really glad our paths crossed.”
I stand up, shoving the half-eaten sandwich back into my pack before slinging it on my shoulder. I need to get out of here before I burst into tears in front of two strangers.
“I’d love to chat longer, but I got a late start, and a friend’s expecting me in a few days. I need to keep up the pace.”
“Hold up, sweetie.” Julie’s gray eyebrows draw together. “If you can wait five minutes, we’ll keep you company for the afternoon.”
“Oh, that would be great, but I should get going.” I swipe two fingers across my cheek, grateful when they remain dry.
Julie and Pete exchange a look that suggests I’ve come off as either rude or possibly a trail creeper, which I’m obviously not. I don’t want to be this unhinged version of myself, and am fumbling for something to say that will make this moment less awkward, when Julie stands.
To my shock, she steps closer and wraps her arms around me like we’ve known each other for twenty years, then holds on for one extra beat. Shit. My eyes start that burning thing again.
“I hope you have an amazing trip,” she murmurs into my hair. “You look like you need one. Just remember that the mountains can cure whatever ails you.”
I manage a smile and refrain from telling her that the mountains will be less effective than the monoclonal antibody protocol coursing through my bloodstream. Instead, I nod andwave to Pete before starting up the trail again without looking back.