LILA

I think I might die.

Not in the overly dramatic way I usually toss that phrase around—“If I have to wait any longer for a table, I might die.” “If MAC discontinues my favorite shade of red lipstick, I might die.” “If I don’t listen to the latest Taylor Swift album the night it drops, I might die.”

No, this is in the literal “If I walk another mile today, my lungs will shrivel up and my heart will explode” way.

Everybody knows it, too. I think it’s because I’m sucking in air like a malfunctioning Dyson.

Deena turns around on the trail about twenty feet in front of me and gives a tentative thumbs up. “All good?”

I flash her one back, but my thumb is full of lies. “Excellent!”

“We’re about halfway to tonight’s campsite.”

Halfway. On day one of a five-day hike. I’m going to cry.

“Sounds good!”

More lies. No part of that sentence sounds good, especially not campsite. But if I want to get promoted from Sunshine, Oregon’s part-time events consultant to their full-time tourism coordinator, I need to prove I’m interested and invested in everything the area has to offer, including all the outdoorsy stuff.

Even if I’d rather enjoy the wonders of air conditioning, unlimited WiFi, and running water than be out here in the great outdoors.

The rest of our group treks ahead of me, the steady snick-snick of hiking poles and boots playing a one-two beat in my head. Deena and her husband Mitchell run Horizon Hikes, and comped my place on the tour in exchange for some social media promo. They’ve enthusiastically told us more than I ever wanted to know about poisonous plants on the trail, the importance of filtering the water we’ll collect in the streams along the way, and whether we need to look out for bears.

Hint: we do. It’d probably make great content if we came across one, but I’m only willing to do so much for good engagement.

Then there are the four guests on the hike—two married couples who decided a twenty-five mile hike would be the perfect way to celebrate all of them turning sixty this year.

That’s right—my hiking companions are twice my age and already making me look like an absolute fool by not even being winded. They could at least fake a wheeze once in a while so I wouldn’t be the only one.

And then there’s me. Sweating through my clothes, chugging water faster than I probably should, and daydreaming about how nice it would be to sit down in the dirt for five minutes.

Maybe ten.

Normally, I don’t want to do anything in the dirt, but my pride’s as hard to find as my energy right now.

A giant bird swoops down between me and the others, and I suck in a breath, stumbling backwards. Strong hands grip my upper arms to steady me, and my back—well, my pack—runs up against something, keeping me from falling.

“It’s just a hawk,” a deep voice says from behind me. Once I’m sure of my feet again, he releases my arms, but I’m pretty sure I hear him chuckling.

So…that brings me to the last person on this trip.

Grant Irwin. Easily six-three, built like Superman and dressed like a Patagonia model, with dark wavy hair he sweeps back from his face so it doesn’t fall into his eyes. I’ve been trying not to look at him, because that man is a problem.

Part of it is how his soft, Texas drawl makes it sound like he’s caressing words as he speaks them. Part of it is the honest-to-goodness dimple in his chin. But mostly, it’s the way he looked at me when we first met.

His eyes had skated over me, and his smile had turned from warm to chilly before we’d even finished introductions. Like he’d sized me up, taken stock, and written me off in five seconds flat.

It hadn’t helped that I’d brought too many clothes with me and Deena had to set some aside for me to collect when we return, right in front of everyone. Or that she’d told them about my Instagram “fame” as though the rest of them should be honored to be on this trip with me.

And just maybe Grant heard the sound of dismay I made when Deena and Mitchell described the camp toilet they’re bringing along, but I say that part’s totally justified.

Doesn’t matter. I don’t need Grant Dimplechin to like me in order to get this promotion, I just need to complete this hike.

I’m honestly not sure which achievement sounds harder.

“Hawks are still carnivores, right?” I say with a breezy laugh I don’t quite feel. The bird is big, and now it’s staring at us. Its beady eyes are unnerving.

Grant pulls up next to me. The trail is barely wide enough for two here, and our arms brush against each other as we maneuver our hiking poles. That unnerves me, too, but for very different reasons.

“I don’t think it’s going to carry you off.”

“Speak for yourself. I’d make a portable snack.” Unlike the big hunk of muscle at my side, I’m on the petite side.

Grant makes a sound of agreement but then clears his throat. “Just keep your distance.”

Well, that’s nice. I thought Texans were famous for their friendliness. I’m not in charge of how wide the trail is.

“You’re the one who caught up with me. Keep your own distance.”

A deep crease forms between his eyebrows. He stares so long, a weird, winding curl of unease sweeps through my stomach. I don’t care a thing about his handsome face, but I care very much about how easily he dismissed me.

I got enough of that from my ex-fiancé to last a lifetime. No more.

“I meant keep your distance from the hawk,” he finally says.

Oh. I focus on the trail again, sure my cheeks are flaming. If he didn’t think I was a dummy before, he must now.

“But I wouldn’t go broadcasting how tasty and portable you are if I were you,” he says after a minute. “Bears like snacks, too.”

Like I need the reminder.

“I think a bear would go for you and get the full meal.” I’m going to blame this conversation on all the fluid loss from how much I’m sweating. I don’t care what anyone says about how many changes of clothes I wanted to bring, I’m going to need them.

“A bear would take what they could catch first. That would be you.”

No kidding. If a bear showed up right now, I wouldn’t have the energy to run away. I’d just play dead and hope for a brief mauling.

“A gentleman would sacrifice himself to the bear so the lady could get away.”

“Or the gentleman could use the bear spray clipped onto his belt, and they’d both escape.”

I risk a glance at his midsection. Sure enough, he’s got a small, bright orange canister in a holster there. But I don’t look at the rest of him. Definitely don’t catch sight of his big hand gripping his hiking pole handle like it’s a toothpick. The only thing in my head is how he’d shut everything down when we first met.

He’s probably married. No ring on that hand, but that doesn’t mean anything. He could be like my ex, and think monogamy is too confining. Or maybe I’m just not his type.

Grr, no. Why am I even thinking about this guy? It’s that stupid dimple in his chin, messing with my head.

“Nope,” I tell him. “Too dangerous. A gentleman sacrifice is the only way.”

His chuckle rolls over me like a liquid thing, spreading warmth through my belly.

“At least I know where I stand.”

Four and a half more days out here in the brilliant green wilderness, but I don’t think it’s the hike that’s going to do me in. It’s Grant Irwin.

GRIFFIN

Three years later

I hope whoever gave Colton a drum set for Christmas got coal in their stocking. It sure wasn’t me. I like to stir him up now and then, but drums are too far.

The puzzle where every piece makes the sound of the corresponding barnyard animal? That one was from me.

My little nephew marches around my mom’s house rum-pum-pumming everyone straight into a headache. He’s adorable, with curly blond hair like Rowan’s and chubby cheeks and mischievous eyes that hint of Caleb. Adorable, but about fifty decibels louder than I need him to be right now.

I scoop him up, subtly separating him from the prized toy. Can’t tell yet if a tantrum is in order, but if he gets unhappy about the drumsticks being temporarily out of reach, I’ll pretend innocence. “All right little man, we don’t need a drum solo through Christmas dinner.”

I gently dig my fingers against Colton’s ribs, making him giggle. He squeals my name, that little Gwiffin tugging something tender in my heart. Never thought I’d love being an uncle so much. I blow a raspberry on his plump cheek and set him down again, patting his butt to send him in his father’s direction.

Colton immediately veers toward the table laid out with six place settings, probably to see how many tugs it takes before he can pull the tablecloth and all the dishes onto the floor. Caleb intercepts him and hefts him up to plop onto his shoulders. Naturally, Colton starts slapping his open hands on Caleb’s head.

See? Never even needed the sticks.

Rowan moves closer to them, her eyebrows raised. “You’re sure you want another one?”

My brother’s expression lights with pure joy, as though Colton isn’t banging an erratic beat on his cranium. “Yes, please.”

She shakes her head at him, but as wide as she’s smiling, I suspect he’ll get his wish one of these days.

Caleb notices me on my way to the kitchen. “Everything okay in there?”

I pick up the pace, hoping to avoid any color commentary. “All good.”

He just smirks, but I ignore him. Dealing with his triumph isn’t my top priority right now.

In the kitchen, Mom’s peeking at the turkey. Delicious smells waft from the open oven, but I go straight to the fridge and pour a glass of cold water. I grab a warm roll from the tray where they’re cooling, too. A bite to eat won’t hurt.

Probably. As soon as we get a sense of where things are at food-wise, something changes. It’s an ever-changing menu of likes, dislikes, cravings, and if I so much as smell that I will lose my lunch.

“How’s she feeling?” Mom asks.

“Just tired. She gets winded pretty easily.”

Her eyes sparkle with affection. And maybe a touch of amusement.

“Growing a human is a lot of work.”

I make a sound of agreement and duck back out to the living room. With Colton distracted for the moment, it’s peaceful in here again. We’ve probably got less than ten minutes, but I’ll take it.

I set the glass of water and plate with the roll on the side table and drop into a catcher’s squat next to Hope’s chair. “Feeling any better?”

“I’m fine, I just don’t think I’ve been able to take a full breath for a solid month. Your baby is huge.”

Her tone is scolding, but her eyes are full of so much love, I’m having a hard time breathing, too. It still hits me between the ribs every time I look at her—this love we share, our life together, and soon, a new little one. I hope I never forget to enjoy every moment.

I slip my hand over her rounded belly. “He’s just the right size.”

She shifts my hand to the side and holds it there, waiting. “She.”

We decided to let the baby’s sex be a surprise, and we’ve switched our predictions a dozen times so far. He, she—I’m happy no matter what. I’ll strum 70s guitar rock by their crib and teach them to pitch either way. I’ll be there for them, win or lose.

A fluttery kick moves Hope’s belly beneath my hand. The small movement makes my heart kick, too. It’s such an unreal thing to know that’s our baby in there squirming around. Not gonna lie, it still makes me think of Alien just a little, but I never tell Hope that.

“Do you need anything else?”

She shakes her head. “I’m good.”

“Do you want another pillow for your feet?” I’d propped them up as soon as she sat down, but she could probably be more comfortable.

“This is fine.”

“There’s a ton of food in there already if you want something besides the roll. I can slather that thing with jam, bring you in a slice of pie, whatever you want.”

Somewhere behind me, someone snickers. I turn to see Caleb, Rowan, and my mom watching us from the dining room. All they need is for Colton to join them with a satisfied look on his chubby little face, and I’d have a complete set. Hope should paint them—Smug Family Portrait.

“Can’t a man adore his wife in peace?”

They laugh over my pretend grumbling, but at least they slip away. I swear, sometimes they act like they’ve never seen someone in love before.

Down deep, I get it. I’d never been in love before—and now I’m so far gone over Hope and this baby, there’s no going back. Not that I’d ever want to. I’ve got everything I could ever want right here. Still, nobody likes a gloater.

“It sounds like Colton lost his drum.” There’s a hint of congratulations in the curve along Hope’s mouth. She’s the one who’d sent me after it in the first place.

“Like magic.”

“Save some of your tricks for when we go to my parents’ house tonight.”

Lila’s daughter just started walking, and nothing is safe anymore. Bit of a baby explosion in this family, but nobody’s complaining. Well, maybe a few complaints about all of the drinks spilled by curious toddlers, but that’s on us for thinking we’re quicker than them.

“I still have plenty of magic left, sweetheart.” I lean in for a kiss. It starts out soft and sweet, but Hope grabs the front of my shirt to tug me closer. Just when things start to get good, the baby gives an almighty kick, making their objection known.

Hope laughs against my mouth. “Thwarted by the baby already.”

I bend down to get my face close to her belly. “You’re not my boss,” I say softly as her stomach wiggles from the inside again.

Hope smiles at me, that love-filled look in her eyes. “Yes, we are.”

“Yes, you are,” I agree.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.