We pass a bathroom and she makes a beeline for the women’s side.
Outside, I debate whether or not to wait for her. There’s no reason I need to escort her to the office, or loiter around to make sure she gets set up for the night in the dark. We’re not friends. My obligation to her was fulfilled as soon as she was safely off the trail.
Still, I linger. Rather than stand around the bathroom entrance like a creeper, I decide to sit at a nearby picnic table. Other than a few puddles, there’s little evidence of the storm. Crazy to think we hiked through snow only hours ago.
The air has a chill to it. I dig out my phone to check the low temperature for tonight. Turning it on after being in the backcountry for three days, I notice a bunch of texts in my family group chat.
Forty-seven to be exact.
I scroll through the conversation to make sure everything is okay with both my mom and my sister. It would appear everything is fine, but the planning for their annual trip to Japan is in full swing. I don’t know if they discuss everything in this chat to keep me in the loop so as to not hurt my feelings or if it’s to apply gentle pressure to get me to change my mind.
Frowning, I tuck the phone in my jacket pocket. Snowbird stands a few feet in front of me, observing me. Her face is clean, as are her hands, but the rest of her is a wreck.
“You stayed?” She sounds confused.
“Why wouldn’t I?” I shrug. “Figured I’d make sure you get a spot for the night or give you a lift into town if you needed.”
“That’s nice of you,” she says, genuinely pleased.
“It’s nothing.” I jump down from my seat on the picnic table.
“I do appreciate your kindness,” she drawls.
“Your Scarlett accent again?” I nudge her with my elbow.
“I already told you—Miss Julia Sugarbaker. Sheesh. It should be obvious.” With an exasperated sigh, she rolls her eyes.
Her happy mood fades when we reach the campground office. The sign on the locked door explains they’re full for the night.
“It’s okay. I’ll sniff out some hiker trash and share their site.” She covers her disappointment with a smile. “No big deal. I can always stealth camp in the donkey pasture. Shh, don’t tell the rangers.”
“In the mud? Sounds like a terrible idea.” I scowl at her suggestion, and not because she’s teasing me about breaking rules.
“If the showers are hot and the laundry room is still open, I’m all good.”
This feels like goodbye, and I’m not ready to watch her walk away.
“Or …” I hesitate.
“Or?”
“You could come back to my quarters. We have hot showers and a laundry room so you don’t have to worry about having change for the machines. And …”
“Yes?” Her eyes hold wary anticipation.
“I have a bed and a couch … if you wanted to stay over. Better than squeezing your tent into an overcrowded spot with a bunch of strangers. Might be nice for you to have another night inside. I’m happy to take the couch.”
“Jay?” she interrupts.
“Or, I’d be happy to drive you into town and find you a room. Although, I’m thinking if the campground is full, it means there aren’t any vacancies nearby.”
“I said okay.”
Lost in my head, I missed it. “To what?”
“I’ll stay with you.”
“You will?” I ask, surprised.
“I like hanging out with you, too.”
My answering smile feels too wide, too happy. I temper my expression, or at least attempt to. Not sure how successful I am. “Okay, sure.”
“And Jay?”
“Yes?”
“I’m fine with sharing a bed.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Olive
I’m totally playing it cool with Jay, impressively nonchalant about his sleepover invite.
He didn’t even run back into the hills when I brought up sharing a bed. We’ve proven we’re mature adults who can sleep together without sleeping together. If he balked, I was going to suggest a pillow wall or hanging a blanket between the two sides. There is no way I’m not sleeping on a real mattress with sheets and blankets and maybe even a comforter tonight, but I’d feel bad making him sleep on his couch. Jay’s tall, and unless he has a long sectional in his tiny ranger pad, I doubt he’d fit comfortably.
He leads us down the road behind the station to a group of small cabins and a long, single-story building. Or bunkhouse. Not sure what to call it.
“Seasonal employees stay in the dorm.” He points to the long building. “It’s exactly how you’re imagining it, complete with bunk beds.”
“Do you have bunk beds?”
He glowers at me. “No, I have my own cabin.”
“Fancy,” I kid.
“Simple, but it suits me.” He bends to unlace his muddy boots. “Uh, do you mind taking off your shoes before we go inside?”
“Don’t want me to track dirt all over your floors?” I toe my shoes off.
“Habit. My mom always had us do it at home.” He places his shoes neatly next to the front door.
Inside, the cabin isn’t much larger than the moonshiner’s retreat, except his has a living room with a green couch and a plaid armchair, a bathroom, and a bedroom. His kitchenette features more than a sink. Feels like we’ve upgraded from the bedbug-infested motel next to the highway to a Marriott. It’s not the Four Seasons, but I’m not complaining.
Dropping his pack near the threshold, he removes his hat and jacket. “I’m starving and I can’t even offer you a toaster pastry. We both need to eat—what do you say about grabbing dinner together?”
I watch him, trying to determine his motivation. Ranger Daniels is an expert in sending mixed signals. My ego still stings from his rejection of my kiss. Yes, it was forward of me. Yes, it might have been unexpected. No, I won’t be sticking around to develop any sort of relationship. Still. It stings.
Yet, here we are. He could’ve let me disappear into the night with a tip of his ranger hat and a fare-thee-well. Instead, he’s invited me over and asked me to dinner.
“Would this dinner include real food that doesn’t come out of a package?” I can feel the drool pooling in my mouth at the thought of an actual, never-freeze-dried meal.
“Uh, sure. Although, your package free requirement rules out the grill at the camp store. Their burger patties come frozen.” His forehead wrinkles in an adorable way when he’s confused or thinking. “I’m pretty sure both Daisy’s and The Porch cook everything in house. Daisy’s is known for her pie. The Porch has steaks, but it’s kind of fancy.”
The way he says it means it’s expensive and likely out of his budget.
I swear my knees buckle and my voice shakes when I ask, “There’s pie?”
“If we get there early enough. They often sell out.”
It’s dark out, but it’s also Daylight Savings, so it could be nine o’clock or five right now. I have no idea what early means around here. Four-thirty? It could already be too late.
“What are we waiting for?” I open the door and sweep my arm outside. “Let’s go.”
His eyes scan down to my feet and back up to my head as he remains silent.
“What?” Why is he stalling when there’s pie at stake?
“Maybe you want to, um …”
“What?” I roll my wrist in hopes it will encourage him to spit it out.
“Well …” I swear the tips of his ears go red.
Impatiently tapping my socked foot, I cross my arms and wait.
He blows out a slow, extended exhalation. “You’ve been on the trail a long time and maybe …” He scratches the back of his neck. “No offense or anything, but …”
“Whenever anyone says no offense or anything followed by a but, it’s going to be offensive.” Dipping my chin, I pin him with a look. “Spit it out.”
“You might want to shower and change your clothes.” His words tumble over
each other in a crowded rush. One of his eyes scrunches closed as he grimaces. “Sorry.”
Right, the mud and grass and let’s not think too hard about what else covering my clothes. How could I forget?
“Why don’t you shower first? I’ll put the muddy stuff in the wash for you.”
Domesticated ranger? “You do laundry?”
He gives me a funny look. “Of course. My mother doesn’t live with me.”
I think he’s joking. I hope he’s joking.
He laughs. “Single mom, remember? We took turns doing laundry. So yes, I do my own. Kind of sexist for you to assume I don’t.”
He’s right. “Okay, you have a deal.”
After showing me to the bathroom and giving me a clean towel, he leaves. I strip out of my clothes and, extending my arm past the barely open door, drop the filthy and stinky pile outside.
The shower is everything, and Jay has decent bath products. Shampoo and conditioner. Manly fresh body wash. The only thing missing is a razor. With the beard, he obviously doesn’t shave his face. I don’t need to shave anything either. We’re having dinner and a platonic sleepover. Like I would with Campbell.
Shit. I need to text her a proof-of-life pic. It’s been over three days. She’s probably worried.
Clean and fresh as mountain snow, skin pink from the heat, I step out of the shower and grab my towel. Drying off, I realize I don’t have a stitch of clothing to put on. Not even underwear. Jay took it all.
The horrible scene in Sixteen Candles where the nerd holds up the girl’s panties to a consortium of fellow geek boys flashes into my mind. For a brief, horrifying second, I imagine Jay showing off my underwear as some sort of trophy.
Thankfully, life is not an eighties teen movie and Jay isn’t a pig.
My pack is next to the door in the living room. Down the hall.
The towel covers the important bits. Barely. I’ve joked about Jay seeing me naked, but it’s all been bravado in the name of flirting.
I crack the door and listen for noises. His little cabin is still. Carefully clenching the towel around my breasts at the top and holding it down in front of my nethers, I call his name.
When there’s no response, I tiptoe down the hall. No Jay.
Like a cartoon burglar, I creep across the room to my pack. I should have one pair of “clean” leggings along with underwear and my other sports bra. The only top I have doesn’t pass the sniff test, but I don’t have any other … options.
I glance over my shoulder at Jay’s bedroom.
If I were Ranger Jay, would I mind if some random hiker chick snuck into my dresser and borrowed one of my t-shirts?
Definitively yes.
Teeth worrying my bottom lip, I balance the tiny pouch containing my toothbrush and toothpaste on top of the pile of clothes and head to the bathroom. Still thinking about how it’s unfair he probably has dozens of clean shirts just going to waste in there, I brush my teeth.
I totally use his deodorant. He’ll thank me later when we’re in public.
The exterior door opens and shuts. Heavy footsteps make their way down the hall and stop outside the bathroom.
“Snowbird?” He knocks twice.
I swing the door open, and he averts his eyes. “I’m decent.”
He glances at me then sweeps his gaze down my body to my feet. “You’re dressed.”
“I figured Daisy’s wasn’t a clothing-optional pie shop. Sorry I’m not wearing something nicer. This is all I have.”
“No, people around here aren’t fans of naked pie consumption.” He shakes his head. “I bought you these. In case you wanted fresh clothes.”
I snatch the bag from his hands quicker than a tourist snagging a fake Birkin bag on the streets of New York.
“Nothing fancy. I had to guess your size.”
“Where did you go shopping so fast?” I peer into the bag. All I see is dark green fleece.
“Campground store. They have souvenir sweatshirts and tees for the visitors.”
“Thank you!” I hug him.
He half-hugs me back. “I’ll leave you to it.”
“If you don’t mind me changing in your room, you can use the bathroom now.” I slip past him.
“Okay, sure. Make yourself at home.” He closes the door.
With my bag of loot in hand, I enter Jay’s bedroom and flip the light switch near the door. I don’t know how I expect his room to be decorated. Maybe a Smokey Bear blanket or moose sheets.
His bed is neatly made with light gray sheets and a navy tartan comforter. There’s not a bear or buck or moose in sight. Straight up LL Bean-approved tasteful decor.
A simple dresser sits on the wall opposite his bed. On the top are framed photos. Having no idea how long Jay will be in the shower, I do my snooping first. Is it really snooping if he knows I’m in here? What else am I going to look at? The old-school poster of the Smoky Mountains on the wall?
The largest frame holds a color photo of a little boy with a man with the same hair color. They’re at a car show and the man has the boy on his shoulders. Their smiles are identical. This must be his dad.
Next is a smaller silver frame. In it is a picture of a more recent Jay hugging a petite brunette in glasses. Her arms are wrapped possessively around his waist and he’s resting his head on top of hers. They look happy.
My stomach sinks.
Is this his girlfriend?
Feelings of guilt and regret propel me away from the dresser and the snooping. I dump the contents of the bag on his bed. A pair of gray sweatpants with GSM on the side and a coordinating green sweatshirt with a bear on it slip out onto the comforter.
I wouldn’t be caught dead in this outfit in New York. Luckily, I’m not in the city right now. Clean, fresh, unstained clothes are the sweetest gift.
Even if he has a girlfriend, I like Jay, really like him. Beyond the rugged good looks and whole birds-of-a-feather thing in common, he’s smart and kind, makes me laugh, clearly thinks I’m hysterical.
If nothing more, I think this could be the start of a friendship. We can be pen-pals. The thought of being “just friends” with a guy like Jay pings of disappointment in my chest, but I also know I’d be okay with it. Better to be friends than say goodbye in a couple of days and never speak to him again.
Quickly, I switch outfits. The sweatshirt is too big, the pants tight over my hips and too long in the legs. I roll the length into cuffs and tug the hem of the top to mid-thigh to cover my butt.
I’m not sure about the dress code at steakhouses in the Smokies, but this outfit wouldn’t get past the maître d' at a single high-end restaurant in the city. Maybe Gray’s Papaya, the hot dog chain.
Jay doesn’t have a full-length mirror in his bedroom, so I have to imagine what I look like in this moment.
A Spanish olive comes to mind.
To avoid the temptation for more snooping, I decide to send my overdue selfie to Campbell.
Water still runs in the shower as I pass the bathroom.
Reaching deep into my pack, I extract my phone and turn it on. For self-protection, I’ve turned off all notifications. Tapping Campbell’s name, I bring up our texts, snap a selfie, give her my location, and hit send.
Done. Time to once again unplug myself from the Matrix.
“I thought you didn’t have a phone,” Jay accuses.
He’s standing in the opening between the living room and the hall. In a towel.
Okay, who’s the one without boundaries now?
Sweet Keanu, his chest. Water rivulets chase each other over his pecs, down his abs, disappearing beneath the white terrycloth towel. I’m envious of fabric. Life isn’t fair.
I hold up my smartphone. “I have a phone.”
“The guy on the trail said you didn’t.”
“What guy? Oh, Bronchialasaurus? The older guy with a cough?”
He nods.
“I told him I didn’t have a phone. He wanted to exchange photos or numbers or send me dick pi
cs. Probably. Whatever his motivations, I lied and told him I’ve been traveling without one. No big deal.” I shove the phone into the small zippered pocket on the front.
His brows draw together above the bridge of his nose. “Did you ever think to check the weather warnings with it?”
“I only use it to send proof-of-life photos to my best friend so no one sends out a search party. Then I turn it off to avoid the rest of my life.” Having no reason to be ashamed or upset, I remain calm.
He grumbles and brings one hand to the top of his head.
I’m not opposed to what this position does to his muscles, but I don’t like how he’s speaking to me. “You sound hangry.”
“No, I’m frustrated.” He places his hands on his hips, looks down and back up at me. “I’m also not wearing pants. Excuse me.”
He disappears down the hall. The door to his room softly clicks closed.
A few minutes later, he returns wearing jeans and a long-sleeved dark gray t-shirt.
“Let’s go get some food.” He slips on a green fleece jacket the same color as my ensemble.
We look like an old couple who has been together for so long they’ve started wearing matching outfits. Given his annoyance with me, I keep this observation to myself. My filter must be functioning better at lower altitude.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Jay
For some reason, seeing Snowbird with a phone really burned my biscuits.
I’m not sure her having access to weather reports would’ve made a lick of difference in her actions. The other AT hikers told her about the storm. She admitted she knew it was coming but still went off on her own and didn’t heed the warnings.
I shouldn’t be mad. All’s well that ends well, right? We’re both safe and uninjured. She still has all ten toes and fingers.
As far as her losing her common sense, I’m not sure how much she had to begin with.
We’re both quiet as I drive down the dark, winding road leading out of the park and into the neighboring hills. I pass the right turn to Green Valley and keep going straight for about half a mile.
Happy Trail (Park Ranger Book 1) Page 15