Chapter 3
3
ONNO
T he moment consciousness took hold, I wished it hadn’t. My body hurt like I’d survived a battle, each muscle screaming its tale of defeat from yesterday’s hike. Moving was a challenge, a protest staged by every cell in my legs as I tried to sit up. My throbbing feet would probably look worse than the day before when I’d inspected them once I was home. And that had been…not pretty.
I carefully lifted the covers, revealing the sorry state of my feet. The sight was almost comical—if it wasn’t so painful. Clenching my teeth, I forced myself into a sitting position and swung my legs over the side. If I allowed myself to stay in bed, I’d be there all day. On the night table stoof a small bottle of ibuprofen next to a glass of water and a tube with antibacterial cream. Bless Brianna.
“Ah, the foresight of a saint.” I downed two ibuprofen eagerly, hoping they’d offer some respite soon. I’d have to wait to apply the cream until after I’d showered.
After throwing on a T-shirt and sweatpants, I hobbled into the living room, where I sank into a reclining chair. Putting my feet up sounded like an excellent plan.
Brianna came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. Whatever she’d been baking smelled delicious.
“How are you doing, honey?” Brianna patted my shoulder carefully.
I let out a deep sigh, and even that made my body ache. “Everything hurts. Who knew a beginner’s hike would be so strenuous?”
“Well, breaking your boots in probably would’ve helped.”
“If I had known boots needed to be broken in, I would have.”
Brianna winced, her hands coming to rest on her hips. “Oh, Onno, I’m so sorry. I should’ve mentioned that. It’s common knowledge around here, but I forgot you’re new to all this hiking business.”
“Don’t worry about it. I learned this lesson the hard way, so I won’t make that mistake again.”
She bent over and studied my feet. “Yikes, those are some impressive war wounds. Try to stay off them today, okay?”
“Wasn’t planning on running a marathon, trust me. And thanks for the cream you left for me. I’ll put some on after I shower.”
She sat opposite me on the couch and played with the towel in her hands. That was so not Brianna. She never sat still for more than a few seconds.
I quirked an eyebrow. “Something on your mind?”
“Guess who stopped by the bakery early this morning?”
“The Banner twins? I’ve already drooled over them from a respectable distance, but thank you. The sheriff is very easy on the eyes as well, by the way.”
“Howell. You know, the guide?” She added the last part when I wasn’t responding immediately.
“I know who Howell is. It’s my body that’s hurting, not my brain.”
“He asked about you.”
I sat up straighter, ignoring my muscles, which screamed their tale of protest. “He did?”
My voice sounded odd even to my ears—hopeful, hesitant, and utterly bewildered.
“Wanted to know if you were okay.”
“What did you tell him?”
She shrugged. “That you spent three hours in the bathtub yesterday, soaking your muscles, and that your feet looked like a war zone.”
Oh my god, was she serious? “Please tell me you didn’t.”
“It’s the truth, isn’t it? And you Dutch are always so proud of being Dutch direct, so why wouldn’t I tell that man, that absolutely fiiiine specimen of a man, the truth?”
“Because… Because…” I sputtered. Shit, she was fighting to hold back her laughter. “Bitch, you had me there.”
“You make it too easy, honey. But no, I didn’t say that. Just told him you were sore but had loved the hike. Oh, and I gave him permission to use your number.”
“What?”
“He had your number from your booking, but he didn’t want to use it without your permission, so I gave him that on your behalf and told him you’d love to hear from him.”
Huh? Why? I’d pegged Howell as straight. After all, he’d mentioned an ex-wife. The possibility of anything else hadn’t even crossed my mind. Until now. “I thought he was straight.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“No, but…” Brianna was right. He could be bi or pan or have had a gay awakening later in life. I shouldn’t assume, even though my gaydar had been completely silent.
“If he asked to use your number, he may not be as straight as you think. Sounds like someone made quite the impression.” She winked at me.
Warmth crept up my neck as realization slowly dawned. Perhaps I wasn’t as perceptive as I’d thought. Jesus, have mercy on me and let it be so. Though for the life of me, I couldn’t imagine what a man like him would want with me.
Howell didn’t leave me in suspense long. About an hour later, his text interrupted my aimlessly scrolling through articles on how to treat blistered feet.
Howell
Hey, this is Howell. Brianna said it would be okay to text you. Hope she was right.
Me
Of course it’s okay! It’s good to hear from you.
Howell
How are you? Brianna mentioned you were sore.
I stared at the screen, a smile creeping onto my face. My thumbs hovered over the keyboard. How much should I divulge?
Me
If by sore you mean that I can barely move, then yes, I’m sore. Although I prefer to describe it as “everything hurts and I’m dying” as it feels more accurate, if a tad dramatic.
Howell:
[crying laughter emoji]
[hug emoji]
I’m sorry. But also, that was funny.
Me
I’m glad my suffering provides you with some amusement. At least it serves a higher purpose, then.
Howell
I promise I won’t laugh too much.
Me
I’m not laughing at all, but only because it hurts too much. Who knew I had core muscles? I sure do now.
Oh, and I forgot to mention that my feet look like I’ve been tortured.
Howell
Oy. How bad is it?
Me
Like I’ve been tortured?
My phone buzzed, and I fumbled it, almost dropping the device in my haste to answer the FaceTime call. “Hi.”
“Hi. Show me your feet.”
“Excuse me? Men usually buy me dinner first before they ask me to undress.”
He snorted. “Sorry. I promise I don’t have a foot fetish. I just wanna make sure nothing is getting infected. EMT, remember?”
“Plus lifeguard, CPR instructor, wilderness guide, and search and rescue volunteer. Yes, I remember.”
“Humor me, Onno,” he said much softer now. I loved the way he said my name. How could I refuse?
After checking my feet were at least clean—if still gross because of all the blisters—I aimed the camera at my feet.
Howell whistled between his teeth. “Oh boy, that does look painful.”
“Trust me, it is.”
“You should’ve said something during the hike. I noticed you were uncomfortable and figured your boots were bothering you, but I didn’t realize it was this bad.”
At least I’d managed to tough it out. “There was nothing you could’ve done anyway. It’s not like I could’ve taken them off or, you know, have you carry me down the mountain.”
Another one of those low, sexy chuckles. “Which I would have, in a worst-case scenario, but you’re wrong that I couldn’t have helped. I always bring special anti-blister tape I could’ve put on to prevent it from getting this bad.”
Crap. I hadn’t known. “Oh. Now I feel stupid.”
“For next time.”
I aimed the camera back at my face. “That’s a funny joke. There will not be a next time. I think I’ve humiliated myself enough, no?”
His face grew more serious than I had expected. “I don’t think you’ve humiliated yourself at all. You tried something new and dared to take a risk. That’s brave. And I was hoping you’d book another tour with me.”
“Oh.”
Not my most eloquent answer, but it was all I had. My English, usually fairly decent, was failing me now.
“I liked hanging out with you,” Howell said.
“Oh.”
“So I was wondering if you wanted to do it again.”
“Oh.”
“Hang out, I mean. Not necessarily on another tour. You don’t have to pay, is what I’m trying to say.”
“Oh.” Somebody slap me. I swallowed. “Sorry, I’m having some trouble finding words.”
“It’s okay if you want to say no. Or if you want to think about it.”
“No! That’s not it. I’m just… Forgive me for being blunt, but are you asking me out? Or am I misunderstanding things and you’re offering friendship?”
He smiled at me, and my belly swooped. “I am asking you out. On a date.”
The word “date” hung between us, charged and buzzing like a live wire. My mind stalled, gears ground to a halt, thoughts stopped. What had he just said? Howell Moorhouse, wilderness guide extraordinaire, with his easy smile, effortless masculinity, and the body of a god, wanted to go on a date? With me?
“Are you…are you serious?” The words tumbled out, each syllable tinged with incredulity. “I thought you were straight, sorry.”
“First, why would you say sorry for that? And second, well, in all fairness, so did I. I messed around with a few guys back in college, but not since then. I never had the urge either, so yeah, I did think of myself as straight. I figured that was a phase since I’d never been attracted to another guy again, not even since my divorce.”
His eyes were earnest, a testament to the truth of his statement.
“But you are now?”
He scratched his beard. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you yesterday and couldn’t stop thinking about you afterward, so yeah, I’d say that counts as attraction.”
“Oh.”
“So I figured I’d give it a shot and see if you felt a spark too.”
“Oh.” I was back to one-syllable answers. Stupid brain.
He chuckled. “Brain not cooperating?”
I shook myself out of the strange stupor. “No. I mean, yes. Maybe? I don’t know.” I inhaled sharply. “Let me start again. Thank you. For asking me out, I mean. I’m more than a little flattered.”
And while my feet hurt, it was nothing compared to the yearning ache inside me—a longing for connection, for the chance to feel wanted, for someone to care about me. I couldn’t believe Howell was offering that.
Howell’s face fell. “But you’re saying no?”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because usually, when people say they’re flattered, they follow it with a rejection.”
Really? “Maybe I’m not expressing myself well. English isn’t my first language.”
“Okay. So you aren’t turning me down?”
“No, I’m trying to find the words to ask…” I sighed. “I don’t understand, is all. I’m a hot mess, as evidenced by my mishaps on the two trips with you, and I’m still hurting and trying to get over what my ex did. Why, for the love of god, would you want to go out with me?”
Howell’s eyes grew soft. “I hate that you see yourself that way. You’re not a hot mess. You’re smart and funny and not afraid to try new things. That takes courage, especially in another country, talking to people in another language. I admire that.”
“Oh.”
Jesus Christ, if I said “oh” one more time, I’d slap myself.
“Thank you. I don’t see myself like that at all.”
“I know, but I do. So why don’t you let me be the judge of who I’m interested in and why?”
He had a point. “Yes, sorry. I need to work on my self-confidence, I guess.”
“After what you told me, I understand where it’s coming from, but don’t put yourself down. But the ball’s in your court, Onno. I know you’re still hurting and getting over your ex, so maybe you’re not ready. That’s fine. But if you are, well, I guess I wanted you to know I’m interested. Anyway, put the camera a little closer to your feet so I can have a better look. Maybe I can recommend some treatments that could help them heal faster.”