“Tell me more about this backwoods hike we’re going to take on Thursday,” I said, “and I’ll put the laptop away.”
I gave him my full attention and put some energy into my smile. There was a definite vibe between us, but I knew how to flirt without falling for a guy. I wasn’t sixteen years old anymore.
“We’ll start at the same trailhead I use for the more popular routes, but we’ll head uphill at the fork instead of down the path and along the shore by the shallow caves—people love to take pictures in those, but since you aren’t concerned with photo ops—which seems strange for a reporter—"
“I only take pictures of unusual features for my work, and they use stock photos for the beauty shots of the shorelines. I’m not a photographer. Unless it’s something really unique mentioned in my article, I don’t supply the images. On Kiawah Island once I got up close and personal with a baby gator accidentally, and I took a picture of him to add to the funny anecdote about it in my piece.”
“So we can skip those caves. We’ll start early so the uphill climb isn’t torturous in the heat. I’ll bring water and sunblock and things we may need.”
“Good deal. Anything specific I need besides a hat?”
“Hat’s a good idea, more for bugs than shade.”
“Right,” I said, “what else?”
“We’ll see some birds and lizards, old-growth forest—"
“I like the sound of this. Although I hate seagulls they’re so aggressive. One tried to fight me for my calamari earlier.”
“These are not coastal birds, I promise. They pretty much ignore hikers. They aren’t used to people and don’t consider us a source of treats or scraps. We’re just intruders they avoid. And, I know I shouldn’t have to say this, but for the love of all that is holy, do not try to grab a bird on the hike.”
“Why would I try to grab a bird?” I laughed.
“It has happened before. Some woman wanted to yank out a feather for a souvenir. She tried to grab a bird that was on the ground preparing to take flight.”
“I hope it pecked the shit out of her,” I said, shaking my head.
“No, but I should have won an award for not laughing my ass off. Anyone who works with the public can tell crazy stories about what people will do.”
“I used to work retail. Believe me, I know. But the worst part was the people who hit on you. Do people try to molest you on hikes or just attack the birds?” I asked coyly.
“It happens from time to time,” he said and looked a little embarrassed. For all his cocky attitude, seeing him look a tiny bit shy was cute as hell. I swallowed hard. He made me want to smile all the time.
“I bet it’s teenage girls here with their families. That was the worst in retail. Some high school kid comes into the soap and lotion shop I worked at, and he’s clearly there to buy something for his mom or his sister or his little girlfriend, and he acts like he has swagger. Starts asking me when I get off work, how old I am, if I have a boyfriend,” I laughed. “I was in college. I had zero interest in some sixteen year old who was still concentrating really hard on trying to grow a mustache.”
“It’s really awkward when kids like that act like they have a crush. I want to put my hands up like the cops are there and say, ‘no back away from me right now!’” he said.
“I can see how it’s worse if you’re a guy when it’s some teenager. You don’t want to so much as touch them on the shoulder.”
“Right. I’m backing away, I’m talking to the dad the whole time, I’m really stern and quiet with the teenager and I say things like, ‘watch your step here’ and ‘it’s better if we don’t talk so we can focus on the trail.’ I don’t want to be rude, but I also don’t want to do anything that seems like encouragement.”
“I just told the boys to get lost.”
“I can’t encourage anyone to get lost on a hike I’m leading. Bad for business if they have to call emergency services to find somebody,” he said. I laughed.
“I know what you mean. Go play with someone your own age, please. Even as a travel writer, I’ve been on a beach or at a pool talking to an employee or guests about their experience or recommendations for stuff to do, and some kid comes over and offers to pose with his shirt off it if I need a picture for my magazine. I try to stick with ‘no thank you’ but I really want to run screaming or threaten to tell his mother.”
“I know it’s innocent. I crushed pretty hard on the lifeguard at the public pool when I was about twelve. I know I irritated the crap out of her, offering to get her a bottle of water or bringing her a popsicle or something. I know now she was being polite but wished really hard I’d go away,” he said, with that self-deprecating smile that got me.
“Well, I was way too mature to bug anyone older with a crush,” I said loftily.
“Really?”
“No. My brother was on the basketball team. I’m three years younger than him, and I went to all the practices to watch this one gangly blonde-haired kid who wasn’t even very good at the sport. But I thought because he knew me through my brother that he was probably just keeping his love for me a secret so he didn’t piss off Jake.”
“Was that why?”
“Oh, yeah sure,” I laughed. “Tons of eighteen-year-old boys are secretly crazy about their friend’s freshman sister who has braces and thinks Crocs are the height of fashion. I was a hot mess, and at the time I thought he pined for me too, but really he was trying bravely to ignore me. I baked him cookies and one time I even told him I had brought a clean pair of my brother’s socks in my backpack in case his socks got sweaty and he wanted to change.”
“That is fantastic,” Billy laughed.
Dimples bracketed his gorgeous smile and I got butterflies in my stomach and in my chest at the sight. He was just—heart-stopping. The looks and the charm were a deadly combination. I’d have to be sure to have fun without ever letting myself get the least bit serious about him. No feelings. I already had a crush on him, and I wasn’t about to go beyond that, but he was going to be hard to resist. Everything about him seemed designed to be appealing, attracting me powerfully. I could imagine myself with my arm around his waist, his arm draped over my shoulders, walking together and laughing, tipping my head up to see his smile. No more picturing us together, I scolded myself.
“Since I interrupted your dinner, let me buy you some dessert,” he said. “I happen to know the cook, and her tropical tiramisu is incredible. Mango curd and she soaks the ladyfingers in pineapple juice instead of espresso. Cinnamon and a little chile in with the mascarpone, and toasted coconut on top.”
“That sounds killer. I’ll take it,” I said. “But you have to split it with me. I ate a ton of shepherd’s pie and I’m not exactly headed back to the field to tend the livestock.”
“It’s a deal,” he said and signaled the waitress. He ordered the dessert and a beer for himself. While we waited, I told him how impressed I was by the pub and its authenticity.
“Have you been to Ireland?” he ventured.
“No, not yet. Almost all of my travel features have been beachfront resorts. I’ve visited a lot of the West Coast, the Gulf side of Florida, as well as Georgia’s coast. I’ve covered most of the Caribbean and some of central America. I can’t say any of it’s more beautiful than this, though. St. Martin is really something to see. And I thought I’d seen every beach there was to see,” I shrugged.