I lean back against the bench, grateful that my stomach muscles have decided to stop trembling. “It’s not stupid. A lot of people think that way. It’s the story we’re told, right? From every animated fairy tale we watched as kids to the songs and stories we listen to as we grow up? We’ll meet someone, and it will be like magic. Boom.” I wiggle my fingers. “Sparkles and hearts. Destiny fulfilled and we live happily ever after without having to work for it.”
He winces. “Yeah. Something like that. It seems so lazy, though, when you stop to think about it. Lazy and entitled. Everything else, I know I have to work my ass off. I sure as hell wouldn’t expect fate to drop those things in my lap.”
I shift on the bench, laying a hand on his knee. “Give yourself a break. If we noticed the cultural conditioning, it wouldn’t work so well or be so hard to shake. I’m sure I’d be the same way if I hadn’t grown up watching the fate thing fail over and over again for my mom.”
“You’re right, but still…” He turns back to the view, and I follow his gaze. The scene is idyllic, all rolling hills dotted with farms and gorgeous old barns that make me want to pick up my pastels again.
“Wow,” I breathe. “That’s pretty. Totally worth losing a lung to see.” I glance back at him, knowing I should let this go, but I guess I’ve given up on making responsible decisions today. “But still what?”
“Hmm?” he murmurs.
“You said I was right, but still… Still what?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he says, his expression innocent. “I can’t remember. Guess I’m tired, too.”
I shoot him a narrow look that he meets with a twinkle in his eyes, confirming my suspicions. He knew I was lying before, and now he’s taking his revenge.
But if I call him on it, I’m caught, too.
So I simply smile and say, “Guess we both should have taken a nap instead of a hike. Should we head home? Forget ice cream and food shopping and get some rest?”
“Hell, no,” he says with a scowl. “What’s wrong with you, woman? In a contest between napping and ice cream, ice cream wins every time.”
I laugh and lean into him, bumping his shoulder with mine. “Then let’s go. I’m starving.”
We head down the mountain, which unfortunately isn’t as easy as it sounds. My sneakers keep sliding in the gravel covering the trail, and Zack’s knee starts aching halfway down.
“You’re getting old before your time,” I tease as he winces again.
“I tore a ligament during a race when I was sixteen. It has nothing to do with getting old.”
“That’s what all the old people say.” He snatches at the hem of my T-shirt, and I dance out of reach, skidding in the loose gravel again.
I go down hard, but I’m laughing even harder. “Oh my God,” I moan. “By the time we get there, I’m going to be covered in dirt. I’ll be sending up a dust cloud like the poor little kid who’s friends with Charlie Brown.”
“The back of your shorts is pretty wrecked,” Zack says, laughing with me as he helps me up.
“Then dust me off, Halloran.” I cast a pointed look over my shoulder. “Help a girl out.”
Zack shakes his head. “Sorry. As much as I’d love an excuse to touch your butt, it won’t help. It’s totally ground in. You may never get those stains out.”
My lips turn down. “Shoot. This is the only pair of shorts I brought.”
“We can look for another pair in town,” Zack says, offering his arm for support as we pick our way through a patch of tangled tree roots popping through the center of the trail. “One of the stores might have something, as long as you’re not overly concerned about fashion.”
“I’m not, but there’s no reason to waste the time or money. I’m leaving soon.” I force my tone to stay upbeat as I add, “I can just wear dresses and skirts until then.”
“Right. That makes sense. We probably won’t be in the mood to hike tomorrow.”
“I’m already sore,” I confess. “I won’t be up to tackling another trail. Unless it’s a baby trail. A very flat, short baby trail.”
“Don’t seem to be many of those around here.” His lips curve in a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “We should spend tomorrow at the pool, soaking in the hot tub and lying in the sun.”
“Sounds heavenly.” I cling to him as I inch my way down a particularly steep stretch, really not wanting to bite the dust again. “But don’t you have to work? I don’t want to tempt you to play hooky if you need to get back in the studio.”
“I’ll work after you leave. I don’t have that much left to do, anyway. I told my manager I want to use at least four of the new songs. Between those and the stuff I wrote while we were touring in Europe, I’m almost done.”
I look up at him. “You told him that? When?”
“While you were changing. Then I turned my phone off so I wouldn’t have to argue with him about it until next week.” He arches a brow. “Is that passive-aggressive?”
“No, that’s one of those boundaries you were talking about earlier.” I squeeze his arm. “You had every right to put the conversation off until you’re ready to have it. But do you think he’ll be mad?”
“Maybe. But that’s not my problem. Bottom line, he works for me, and I need him to do his job to my satisfaction, not his.”
I hum beneath my breath. “Wow. That’s hot.”
He grins. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Boss-level confidence is super-hot. Have you always been like that? Just not cared what other people thought?”
“I care,” he says, sobering. “I care a lot. I just don’t take work stuff personally. The music itself is personal, yes, but the managing and promoting…it’s just business.”
“That makes sense.” We round a bend in the trail, and I exhale in relief as the turnoff comes into view. “Thank God, we’re almost there. Hopefully, they’ll have a bathroom at the ice cream shop. I need to wash my filthy piglet fingers.”
“You a cup or a cone kind of girl?” He takes my hand as the trail levels out, making no objection to touching me while I’m a dirty mess. One more little thing that makes my heart melt.
With every step, I’m more certain that leaving early is a wise choice—prolonged Zack exposure is like leaving chocolate out in the sun. Much more of it and I’ll be a love-sick puddle. “Cone. It’s the only way to go. Zero waste and extra crunchiness. It’s the original win-win.”
He wrinkles his nose. “I don’t know. I’m a cup guy.”
“What?” I ask, playing up my scandalized tone, anything to keep my mind off how much I want to stay here with him. Possibly forever. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I don’t like crunch with my ice cream. I like it smooth, creamy, and a little melted.”
I cluck my tongue in disapproval. “How can you not like the crunch? The crunch is the best part. Tell me you at least like some crunchy stuff mixed into the ice cream itself.”