twenty-five | emberly
TWENTY-FIVEEmberly
I slip off my shoes, dunk my feet into the cool water, and sigh when it washes over the blisters (five at last count) on my feet. Never mind that I might be offering up a buffet to any flesh-eating bacteria living in the lake.
At the moment, it feels good so I don’t care.
And I thought last night’s outing was tough.
The outdoor venue was at a bar that made the Off-Road Grill look like a Michelin-starred restaurant. The girls were in a dancing mood and drew more attention than the band while I sat at a sticky picnic table, sipping a glass of warm lemonade like the chaperone at a middle school field trip.
Because I wasn’t in a dancing mood. I was in the mood to put on comfy clothes and curl up on Serenity’s atrocious plaid sofa and have a real conversation with my friends instead of a group chat. A conversation where we use actual words instead of emojis and talk about the things that matter.
By the time the middle-aged guys in the Black Wolf Band closed their last set with Dance the Night Away by VanHalen (and not very well, I might add) it felt like that’s exactly what had happened.
When we got back to the cabin, Rachelle announced that she was exhausted and within fifteen minutes, everyone was in bed.
My only consolation was knowing, to quote Scarlet O’Hara, that “tomorrow is another day”.
If I’d known it was going to involve torture, I might have suggested a different activity.
At least Rachelle, Whitney, and Liv weren’t suffering.
They’d seen the packing list on the website (what kind of resort has a packing list!) and brought shoes for “outdoor recreation”.
Based on our past reunions, most of the recreation took place at the resort’s spa or by the pool, so I’d brought what I thought was the appropriate footwear.
It was not appropriate footwear. But the trail wasn’t really a trail, either, so there was that.
The wooden boards on the dock shift and I scoot closer to the edge so the person can get past me.
Instead, the person stops.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a familiar pair of tennis shoes.
“How was the hike?”
“Good …” I wiggle my toes and wince. Six. “It’s really beautiful up there.”
The view from Berry Ridge was stunning. I’ve traveled to a lot of places, but I could have stayed there for hours, soaking in the scenery. Eating my weight in blueberries.
Will drops down beside me and picks up one of my hiking boots.
“Is this what you wore today?”
I’m guessing by his tone, the answer to the question should be “no”.
“I bought them at the variety store in town this morning. I told the guy I needed hiking boots and this is what he recommended.”
“There’s a break-in period. You don’t want to wear them on a five-mile hike the first time you put them on.”
The guy forgot to mention that part.
Will sets the boot down again.
“Let me see your feet.”
My ankles automatically cross underneath the water and I suck in a breath. Seven?
“They’re fine.”
His brows dip together. “Em …”
For some reason, quite possibly PTSD after seeing an enormous pawprint in the dirt on the hike, my heart flutters when he calls me that and I give in.
A pool of water forms on the dock as I pull my feet out of the lake. At least my pedicure still looks good.
Will takes one of my feet in his hands, studies the damage, and says something under his breath.
“I probably should have worn thicker socks,” I admit.
His eyes catch and hold mine. “It doesn’t look like you wore any.”
“It’s just a few blisters,” I mumble. Why am I constantly making mistakes around Will? In real life, I’m the one fixing other people’s problems, not the one creating them.
“Soaking them in lake water probably isn’t the best remedy.” Will’s thumbs are drawing circles on the insole of my foot, as if he knows there’s a cramp embedded in the muscles.
I close my eyes and suppress the urge to hum, it feels so good.
“… antibiotic ointment and some bandages.”
Oh, right. Will is still talking to me. He also moves on to my other foot.
“Sure, I’ll just hobble back to the cabin and get out my junior first aid kit.” I still feel like humming, but I also realize the pain is making me cranky.
“Do you have a junior first aid kit?”
“Right next to my compass and the Girl Scout handbook. Always prepared, that’s me—” I squeak.
Because I’m not prepared when Will scoops me up in his arms.
“Will!”
“You can’t put those boots back on, and it’ll hurt even more if you get sand in the wounds.”
Fortunately, it’s close to dinner time, so there’s no one on the waterfront to see me clinging to Will like a baby koala as he strides down the dock and across the lawn.
We reach the door of the cabin and he kicks it open like the hero in a romance novel, startling the woman sitting on the couch.
She’s about our age. Not very tall, but physically fit and girl-next-door pretty. Her blonde bob is held in place by the kind of buff the contestants on Survivor wear. The khaki shorts and camo tee tell me that she’s the kind of person who knows there’s a break-in period for hiking boots.
In other words, she’s the perfect match for a guy like Will. And maybe … she is. Will’s perfect match. Instead of struggling to get down and collect what’s left of my pride, I instinctively tighten my grip on his shoulders.
She rises to her feet. “What—”
“She’s hurt,” Will says curtly. He sets me down in the recliner as gently as he’d place a baby bird back into its nest. Which makes this even more embarrassing, because the woman’s gaze skims over me like she’s expecting to see a femur bone sticking out of my leg.
“Blisters,” I murmur.
“They were blisters a few hours ago.” Will’s voice is sharp. “Now they’re open sores.”
“You must be Emberly.”
She knows my name?
I glance at Will, but he’s striding away from me, leaving me alone with … her.
And now she’s inspecting my feet.
“I was wearing hiking boots. And socks. I didn’t even know they were this bad until we got back.” I’m rambling to fill the silence while this stranger—possibly Will’s girlfriend, given the way she made herself at home on his couch—frowns down at me.
Will returns with a first aid kit. I reach for it, but the woman plucks it out of his hand. She bends down and I pull my knees against my chest.
“Um … you don’t have to fuss,” I tell her. “All I need is a Band-Aid.” And a hole to crawl into.
“I’m a volunteer EMT.”
Of course she is.
She saves lives and I save people from decorating mistakes.
“Did you wash out the wounds?” She flips open the lid and begins rummaging through the kit.
“In the lake.” Will doesn’t hesitate to throw me under the bus.
I brace myself for a lecture, but she pulls out a tube of antibiotic cream. “Will, get a basin of warm water.” She looks at me again. “When your friends asked about hiking trails, I told them there were easier ones than Berry Ridge.”
One of the not-blisters is starting to bleed again and I shift my position before it stains Will’s couch. “You know my friends?”
“I was their guide on the canoe trip.”
For a split-second, the pain disappears. “You’re the Nature Ninja?”
From the kitchen, Will makes a sound but I can’t tell if he’s stifling a cough or trying not to laugh.
I’m worried I offended her, but she smiles.
“Reeve Wilde. And now I have a new marketing plan.”
Not only is she outdoorsy and can totally rock a buff, she has a sense of humor, too. And a cool name.
Definitely the perfect match for Will.
“Thanks, Reeve, but it doesn’t look like you’ll have to amputate, so I’ll take a few of those Band-Aids—” Or maybe the whole box? “And leave you two alone.”
I don’t want to leave them alone. I want to be in Will’s arms again. I want to bury my face in his neck, breathing in his scent as if each component—summer sunshine and notes of cedar and pine—was carefully selected and combined just for me. A personal dose of aromatherapy. Or maybe my kryptonite.
Reeve studies me with her Bambi eyes. Along with the blisters, my nose is sunburned and I have a scratch on my forehead from a branch that tried to attack me on the trail.
When we returned from the hike, I didn’t follow the girls into the cabin.
My feet demanded instant relief. I stumbled straight toward the lake as if my body had turned into a divining rod.
“I know from experience that blisters can be extremely painful,” she finally says. “The important thing is to keep them clean and covered to avoid infection.”
“And stay out of the lake.” Will is back with the basin.
“Really. I can do this myself at the cabin—” My breath turns into a hiss as Will takes hold of my feet and submerges them in the algae-free water. “Ouch!”
“If you’d hold still, it wouldn’t hurt as much.”
I glower at Will. “Well, if you—” I stop because he’s smiling.
And now I’m smiling.
“Does this mean we’ve reversed roles and I’m the beast?”
“It means you should be a good patient.” Will grabs the towel draped over his shoulder and carefully lifts up my foot, patting it dry while Reeve’s gaze bounces back and forth between the two of us.
I pluck the towel from his hand. “I’ve got this.”
Will doesn’t look like he believes me, but Reeve hands me the ointment and then a Band-Aid. I try not to flinch as it makes contact with the ragged pieces of skin.
“I’ll be right back.” Will disappears again and my cell phone vibrates.
I sneak a look at the screen. It’s a message from Whitney.
Just made a reservation to go horseback riding tomorrow morning. Are you in?
Tomorrow is Friday. The last full day we have together. Disappointment washes over me. I’m all about trying something new this summer, but the reunions are the only chance we have to go a little deeper. Talk about the things happening in our lives and how we feel about them.
I type back a quick reply.
“These belong to my sister.” Will comes back and hands me a pair of running shoes and red knee socks covered in tiny penguins playing the violin. “I think you and Brighton are about the same size.”
I sigh.
Will and Reeve exchange a quick glance.
“I know they’re kind of worn—” he starts to say.
“It’s not that.” I interject. “It’s just … would she happen to have a pair of cowboy boots lying around somewhere instead?”