7. Lila
SEVEN
LILA
Add another line to the list of things I am completely unprepared for on this trip: Sleeping in a tent. From being swaddled like a baby in a narrow sleeping bag to the general weirdness of having only a thin layer of fabric protecting me from the great outdoors, I didn’t get much rest last night. I probably burned as many calories wiggling around trying to get comfortable as I did from yesterday’s hike.
And don’t get me started on the noises.
Every little sound had my eyes jolting wide open all night. They were probably just tree branches moving in the breeze or nocturnal animals inspecting our campsite, but it’s hard to think rationally in the dead of night. Restless serial killers who prey on unsuspecting campers when they’re at their most vulnerable probably would have made a lot more racket, but I didn’t completely rule them out. I shivered in my little sleeping bag cocoon while my mind filled with creepy monster men.
I’m not usually a catastrophizer, but I’ve also never slept in the woods before. Looks like that’s a package deal.
“She’s awake!” Deena calls as soon as I crawl out of my makeshift cave .
It’s barely seven, but I guess that’s late in this group. The smell of pancakes cooking draws me closer to her propane stove.
She waves a spatula over her small griddle. “We’re eating in shifts since I can only make three pancakes at a time.”
The others are gathered in a circle nearby, but only Scott and Shannon are eating so far. Nobody else looks quite as rumpled as I feel. I guess sleeping outdoors is some kind of skill I haven’t mastered.
“I don’t mind waiting.”
“If you need coffee or tea, we’ve got some mugs and a carafe of hot water over here.”
“Ooh, yes.” I sort through the selection of instant beverage packets and get a bag of cardamom cinnamon tea steeping in an enamel mug. It’s cold this morning, and my breath puffs out in a little cloud. I’m chilled everywhere except the places my palms make contact with the mug. Not for the first time, I think wistfully of my purple roller bag and all the extra layers of clothes I could be wearing this very minute.
But alas.
I wander away from the breakfast line to enjoy my tea. It’s probably best if I don’t socialize until I wake up a little more. Honestly, I don’t know if tea is enough to perk me up out here. These last twenty-four hours haven’t been anything like a normal day. I went to bed before nine last night like an infant, for goodness’s sake, and I still feel like two-day old pizza—stiff and unappealing.
“Good morning, Lila.”
That voice rumbles through me like a cat’s purr. My stomach goes weirdly fluttery. I’m going to think of it as the wonder of the great outdoors finally hitting me. Right in the fluttery feels.
I turn around, and holy moly, I am not prepared for the sight of Grant Irwin first thing in the morning. His hair is askew, dark stubble coats his jaw, and the hint of sleepiness in his eyes almost makes my heart hurt from cuteness overload.
Grant’s definitely not having a two-day old pizza morning. It’s disgusting how little effort men can get away with. His eyes could be crusted over, and I bet it would work for him. And me? I gave myself an even messier messy bun, swiped my face with a cleansing wipe, and pretended I didn’t see the beginnings of dark circles under my eyes in my tiny travel mirror.
Take that, beauty influencers.
I mumble a close approximation of “Good morning” and sip at my tea.
“Not a morning person?”
“I’m more of a hurkle-durkler, myself.” There’s nothing better than snuggling back into bed after the alarm goes off. Sometimes I set my alarm early just so I can get cozy in the covers one more time.
He looks at me like I made that up. Grant must not watch TikToks about the joys of indulging in lazy mornings.
“No, I’m not a morning person.” In absolute perfect timing, my mouth cracks into a huge yawn behind my hand. “Especially when I didn’t sleep very well.”
“Were you too cold?”
“The sleeping bag was the exact right temperature, surprisingly. I was as snug as a little burrito.” I opt not to tell him how much the spooky sounds bothered me. “I just couldn’t get comfortable. There was a rock under my mat, and it might as well have been in my sleeping bag for all the good the mat did.”
“You don’t like the sleeping mat?” His teasing tone says he knows very well there’s nothing much to like. “It’s the finest four-inch-thick mattress on the market.”
“Anything that rolls up to the size of a Stanley cup can’t possibly cradle my hips and shoulders the way I’m used to. I spent most of the night longing for my brand-new memory foam queen bed.”
His mouth curls into a smile. “Are you sure it wasn’t a pea underneath your mat, princess?”
I narrow my eyes into slits and take another sip of tea. I will not think about how much I might like that nickname if he said it under any other circumstances. No way.
“We can’t all be experts at sleeping in gruesome situations.” He’s probably camped in all kinds of crazy places. Maybe even one of those trips where they sleep right on a cliff wall, and one wrong move means splat . Sounds about right.
“Is this a gruesome situation for you?”
I grumble some more. “So far, I’ve carried all my stuff like a pack animal, been attacked by an army of ants, and was forced to sleep on an incomprehensibly large rock all night. This forest has some room for improvement.”
“The camp toilet didn’t make the list?”
My glare turns murderous. “I am actively trying to block that from my mind. Please don’t ruin it for me.”
“My apologies.” He holds eye contact with me a beat. “Any positives so far?”
He’s not flirting, right? No. Maybe? The bigger question: do I want him to be flirting?
This guy? Who manages to be absolutely gorgeous first thing in the morning, is apparently more than capable in the woods, and when asked for his best memory on a mountain climb, responded with someone else’s emotional achievement? This guy?
Magic Eight Ball says: Ask again later .
“Dinner was surprisingly good,” I finally say. Nice and neutral.
And completely honest. My expectations were low, but Mitchell’s pesto pasta might be the best I’ve ever had. That could have been the total-body exhaustion talking, but I stand by it.
“We need to find you a few more positives to add to that list.”
Yesterday, I would have said it was an impossible mission. Now, I suspect Grant’s up to the task.
This landscape doesn’t look real. It’s what I imagine whenever a sci-fi movie uses the word “terraforming”—a weird approximation of Earth.
Volcanic rock tumbles everywhere in bumpy mounds left over from the last eruption several thousand years ago. Every now and then, a skinny, bright green pine tree shoots up out of a rocky pile in a way that makes zero logical sense. Like nature saw this desolate landscape and said, “You’re not the boss of me.”
I take a few pictures, since the volcanic stuff has tourist appeal. People love looking at old rocks, right?
“Are the pictures for your social media?” Grant asks as he navigates some of the bigger chunks of rock that have made their way onto the trail.
I thought maybe now that his secret mountain-climbing talent is out, he would switch to the front of our group. Show off his skills and lead the way. But as soon as we had breakfast and packed up all of our gear—which, by the way, is a process I’m so excited to do every morning, yay for that—he was right next to me again in the back.
I tell myself it’s just what good hiking buddies do, but I might be lying.
“No, not mine. I’ll create some content for Horizon Hikes that they can use on their own accounts, but my followers aren’t really into this stuff.”
I don’t think. I’ve never posted pictures from first-hand visits to the woods, but it’s not a safe bet. Being out here is about as far opposite as you can get from the city-centric lifestyle I used to feature every day.
“What is your account like? I don’t have service, or I’d see what Genuinely_Lila is all about.”
“That offer is weirdly flattering and mildly horrifying.”
The sun slices through the sparse trees as we stump along the bizarre landscape. I slathered on sunscreen this morning, but the skin on the back of my neck is already cooked. Yet another thing I should have brought but didn’t—some kind of sun hat. I feel like Deena’s packing list could be expanded just a touch.
I would start with the freedom to bring underwear.
Grant chuckles. “Why mildly horrifying?”
“Mmm, I don’t think it would be your thing. There’s a lot of fashion on there, home decor, aesthetic pictures, and day-in-the-life stuff.”
“I’d be interested in your day-in-the-life stuff. I wouldn’t mind a glimpse at what makes Lila tick.”
“What makes me tick is a steady stream of boba tea and chocolate.”
“See?” He splays his hand at me. “That’s great information. Is this a bad time to admit I’ve never tried boba tea?”
I stop dead on the track and throw out a hand to grab his arm. Um—wow. His biceps are delightfully solid, but not my immediate concern. “You’ve never tried boba tea? A life without boba is only half a life.”
“It’s that serious?”
With the utmost regret, I release his arm, and we continue along the trail, heading into denser trees. “It’s the most serious. You have to try it when we get back to town. I love it so much, I convinced one of Sunshine’s cafés to serve it.”
“I heard you mention that.”
“Really? I don’t think I’ve talked about Perk Me Up out here, have I?”
I do talk about boba tea a good percentage of the time. Specifically, whenever I don’t have a drink in my hand, and I’ve been sadly bereft on this trip. But I haven’t started jonesing so hard for one that I’ve whined about it on the trails yet. And I do mean yet . The time will come.
Grant’s got this strange deer-in-headlights look on his face. “I heard someone say it.”
“Huh.” I’m pretty proud of the fact that I successfully swayed the owners to add it to their menu, but I didn’t know anyone else talked about it. That’s probably a good thing, right? Proving my support of Sunshine’s businesses already. Even if by support, in this case I mostly mean I begged them to satisfy my borderline unhealthy addiction.
In the name of growing their business, of course.
“I’ll have to try it when we’re back in town.” Grant sounds decided, and I like that. Score another win for me.
“I’ll need a glowing testimonial afterward, please.”
“No pressure.”
“I have faith in your good taste.”
“That might be unfounded, but I’ll take it. So you’re out here just to get content for advertising for Horizon Hikes?”
“Mmm, not really. I am doing that, but the bigger reason is that I’m trying to get a promotion. I work for Sunshine part-time planning events, but the mayor and a few council members want to create a full-time tourism position for me. Which sounds great, except there’s a big chunk of Sunshine’s tourism potential I don’t know the first thing about.”
I wave my hand at the freaky rocks and skinny trees around us.
“You’re doing research?”
“I could just Google ‘central Oregon hikes that make you want to pass out from exhaustion,' but I’m hoping the first-hand experience will provide an edge when I give my presentation.”
“That’s a good idea. What else is on your list to get first-hand experience with?”
“Just this.” A five-day hike is plenty. Isn’t it? I chew the inside of my lip. “Do you think I should do more?”
“Couldn’t hurt. There’s a lot in this area to enjoy. Mountain biking, fishing, kayaking, rafting. And that’s just summer activities.”
My hopeful little heart deflates. Arranging this hike had seemed like such a genius move a few weeks ago. Get a little one-on-one time with nature and prove to the council I’m committed to the cause. Now, I’m having second thoughts about how much difference a single hike will make. I don’t know the first thing about any of that other stuff either, and my winter experiences aren’t any better.
Unless sitting in a ski lodge sipping hot cider while the rest of your group tackles the slopes counts. Which I doubt.
“Hey, I didn’t mean to criticize.” Grant’s got his look of concern on, like I’m covered in ants again. “It’s a good plan. When do you give your presentation?”
“In three weeks.”
“That’s plenty of time to get a few more outdoor activities in.”
I try to smile, but I’m not sure I manage it. “Yay, me.”
“Is this your job focus? Events and tourism and social media marketing?”
“Basically, aside from the tourism. That part’s new. I worked for a tech firm in Seattle for several years, but I moved back to Sunshine last winter.” And…that’s about as in-depth as I want to be. I’m really not in the mood to talk about Josh’s business or my old role in it. There’s no point in sharing how I sometimes worked sixty hours a week just to make his company look good.
Definitely don’t want to mention how I was “downsized” within twenty-four hours of breaking up with him. I was replaceable in every way.
“Seattle to Sunshine’s a big change.”
“Yeah. I’m…adapting.” I’m trying, anyway.
“What brought you back?”
“I missed my family.” I refuse to tell him the truth: that the choice stemmed from a place of total humiliation and the utter loss of almost everything I’d valued in my life. I lost my fiancé, my job, my apartment, and my friends in one fell swoop. Just your average rom-com cliché. The only thing missing was my car breaking down on my drive of shame to my hometown and getting rescued by a lumberjack.
“Change like that isn’t easy. I admire?—”
He steps closer to me and throws an arm out like he’s slammed on the brakes and he’s the only thing stopping me from flying through the windshield. In the same instant, a shadow swoops low over us. I shriek and crouch behind him, clinging to his pack.
“What is it?” I whisper.
“Just an owl.”
“But?”
“But…it landed right in front of us.”
Slowly, I peek around the edge of his pack. Not fifteen feet away in the trees sits a massive owl. Maybe it’s regular-sized, I don’t know that much about my nemeses. Either way, my bird-fearing brain concludes it’s massive, and that’s really all that matters .
“It’s staring at us.” I barely make a sound. Am I clutching Grant’s biceps again? Absolutely, I am. He’s the closest thing to a lumberjack rescue I’ve got.
“It probably has a nest nearby.”
“I know how this scenario goes. Up against a bird that big, we don’t win.” My scalp tingles with potential injuries.
“We’re just going to walk by it slowly.” He reaches across me until his hand hits my hip, like that would do anything to protect me against the bird’s pointy beak and sharp claws.
Weirdly, it’s still comforting.
“How did the others get by?” I hiss.
“It was probably out hunting then.”
We take tiny baby steps along the edge of the trail. I’d like to scooch over and off-road it, but that would involve taking my eyes off the owl. It never stops watching us. I don’t know much about wild animals, but I’m pretty sure sustained, direct eye contact is never good.
All my systems are malfunctioning: I’m shaking, my heart’s going wild, and my lungs seem to be turning on and off again.
“I’m freaking out.” Grant’s probably aware of that, since my fingers are digging so deep into his arm I’m going to leave a bruise, but I can’t loosen them.
“Everything’s okay,” he soothes. “He’s not going to attack you.”
“Do you have bird ESP? You don’t know that.”
“I’ll protect you.”
I really don’t know how he could. Still, a tiny sliver of tautness inside me loosens. Not my fingers—those keep their death grip on Grant’s arm. I don’t take my eyes off the owl, either. I’m no dummy. It will strike the second I’m anything less than vigilant.
I don’t take a full breath until we’re out of sight of the great horned menace. I think. It could have better eyesight than I do, and it’s still watching us through the trees.
Grant turns to me, and I finally release him. “I’m sorry about your arm.”
“Don’t be. Are you okay?”
My heart’s racing, I think I pulled something in my Grant-gripping hand, and that owl will most likely visit me in my nightmares tonight.
“Pretty much. Can I ask you a question? As a professional outdoorsman?”
His mouth flattens, but he nods. “Fire away.”
“Is there a part where this is supposed to get fun? People do this for fun, right?”
His smile chases away the last of my panic. “It’s my new goal to show you something fun before this trip is over.”
Past him, Mitchell appears in the distance for his check-in. About a hundred feet and one big bird too late. I wave at him, and he carries on again.
My attention refocuses on Grant. “You must like a challenge.”
His eyes spark. “I love them.”