Chapter 11
Chapter eleven
Present day: Zac
“Looks like it’s finally you and me.”
The flirtatious tone soaked through his words without even trying. He’d been trying to curb the old habit but coming face to face with his former flame derailed his best intentions. Again.
Running into her at The Rooftop had been unexpected but not unlikely.
Leavenworth was a climber’s paradise and only a few hours from Seattle, where he’d met Tabitha all those years ago.
Of course she’d come out there at some point; it probably wasn’t even her first time.
What blew his mind was that she’d been thrust into his orbit right when he’d been given a chance to prove himself at work.
It was like some joke the universe decided to play to really hit home how incapable he was at maintaining professionalism.
Like dangling a sexy little carrot in front of his face.
She looked exactly the same. Ok maybe exactly the same was a stretch, but being in her immediate presence knocked the wind from him in the same exact way.
He was suddenly reminded what it was like to be twenty again and so stupidly, recklessly in love at first sight.
His heart thumped against his rib cage—fast and mighty.
They stood there, face to face, playing some ridiculous game of chicken, until finally . . .
Click. Click. Click click click.
Jesus, blondie. He kept forgetting that everything they did was captured on camera—evidence of how the week went—good or bad. The reminder triggered a splash of gratitude that doused the remnants of his former rakish persona.
“I’m not even here,” Lark assured quietly, the shutter sounding in rapid succession.
Tabitha cleared her throat and gestured to the granite with a shaky hand. “Shall we?”
Spotting the slight tremor with curiosity, he grunted his agreement.
Smooth, man. Ever the wordsmith.
But it was fine. He shouldn’t be treating this woman any differently than any other customer. Or rather he should be extra diligent in his treatment of her. A lot was at stake. Professionalism was the name of the game.
They ran through the necessary safety checks: securing harnesses, knots, counting quickdraws, and donning helmets.
“Are you ready for me?” Tabitha asked, and Zac wasn’t sure if the teasing tone was real or imaginary. He went with imaginary for self-preservation purposes.
“Always,” he said gruffly then cleared his throat. “Climb on.”
She turned to the wall and stood with her arms at her sides.
Zac watched as she pinched her eyes shut and took a few measured breaths.
It had been a long time since he’d climbed with her, but he was certain she didn’t have the same confident air as before.
This route should be a breeze for her. Eyes-closed-one-hand-tied-behind-her-back easy.
He instantly felt guilty.
It wasn’t the climb that stressed her out. It was him.
“You got this, Tabitha,” he said, redoubling his efforts to play the professional guide.
She turned to him, eyes heavy with strain. But after one more slow breath, something appeared to click, and she approached the granite. The shake quieted as she settled her hands on the starting holds.
And she was off.
She reached the first bolt in a flash and produced a quickdraw from her harness. “Clipping.”
The sharp metallic snap of the carabiner gate spurred muscle memory.
“Your belay is on.” His feed and pull of rope adjusted fluidly to her movements and commands.
His hands reacted of their own volition, as though he could have been asleep and still able to anticipate and react accordingly.
Climber and belayer worked together in perfect synchronicity.
Dance partners separated by meters of rope and bolted rock.
Tabitha reached the top, set an anchor, and called, “Take!”
Zac pulled the slack until she could relax back into her harness while calling back, “I got you.”
At her request, he lowered her down the wall steadily, pausing to allow her to collect the quickdraws she’d used on the way up. Once her feet settled on the ground, she turned to her belayer.
The grin on her face blew back at Zac like a shot from a cannon. The joy beamed off her so brightly that he nearly felt compelled to shield his eyes from the glow. It bathed his heart, reigniting the racket it had been making as they’d squared off before.
She was dazzling; consider him bewitched.
“How was it?” Zac willed the words into the afternoon air after being lodged in his throat.
“Refreshing,” she breathed.
“You were so smooth; some might categorize you as pro,” he said playfully.
Her grin faltered. She kept the semblance of a smile in place, but the twinkle in her eye vacated in an instant. “Thanks,” she said calmly, her words almost cold. “Want to send me back up so I can clean the anchor?”
What happened?
There had been tension between them before she’d climbed, but once she’d been lowered there was so much joy, satisfaction, and suddenly .
. . poof. Zac replayed exactly what he said to have made her tone change.
Had he insulted her? He’d aimed for friendly, and what he said would have been something he’d say to any other client who climbed smoothly.
Was it his tone? Had his inner flirt barged through?
Maybe his eyebrows made a rogue waggle without his knowledge.
“Zac?”
“Yes?”
“The anchor?” Tabitha pointed up the rope, question replacing the earlier elation.
“Oh, right.” He took a step back and called down the line. “Don’t worry about cleaning your anchors. We’re going to leave them up in case any of you want to top rope a route first before attempting the lead.”
Tabitha untied her knot while Zac released the rope from his grigri and went off belay.
For the next hour or so the climbers played musical ropes, switching between the available routes to try them out before deciding on their next leads.
The sun inched closer to the western peaks, and eventually it was time to wrap things up.
“You all did a freaking fantastic job today. Be proud of your accomplishments,” Frankie urged as she bumped fists with each woman. "Some of you should really consider taking our multi-pitch class in the future."
Charlotte raised a shaky hand and asked, "What's a multi pitch?"
"It's a route that's much longer than the ones we did today where the climbers have to do a series of pitches to reach the top."
Charlotte lowered her hand and turned a queasy shade of green. "I think I'll pass."
Frankie chuckled. “Fair enough. Everyone, be sure to gather any personal gear you brought with you. We’ll head back to the van in ten.”
“Mind if we stay behind? I want to get a few shots of the sunset,” Lark asked Frankie.
“It’s fine with me, but clear it with Zac. He’ll be collecting the remaining gear and driving the truck back.”
Zac flaked out one of the ropes as Lark sauntered over. “You don’t mind, do ya, big guy?”
He shook his head. “Fine by me. You staying with us, red?”
“Of course she is. We stick together.”
From across the clearing Tabitha’s lips pulled tight in a flat line. Obviously, the photographer hadn’t run the request by her before speaking up.
Frankie strode over as blondie joined her colleague. She leaned close to Zac. “I don’t think I have to tell you this—”
“You’re right. You don’t.” He kept his voice low to match hers.
“But I’m going to anyways.” She pulled back a little and locked her amber eyes on Zac’s. “Hands. Off.”
Embarrassment and shame slapped Zac hard enough that he nearly recoiled.
He hated how his friends saw him. But he hated himself more for spending so many years acting the way he had to give them that opinion.
He’d behaved himself (mostly at least) for the past eight months.
When were they going to see that he was different?
Capable of being a better version of himself.
You’ve got a lot of damage control and history to undo, asshole.
“Frankie, I—”
She held up a hand and scolded in a hushed voice.
“Stop it. If you apologize to me one more time I’m going to give you the purplest nurple in the history of tittie twisters.
You’ve said your piece; I’ve wholeheartedly accepted.
I see how hard you’re trying to reinvent yourself, and I respect you for it. We’re good. Ok?”
Zac nodded while curiosity nudged aside the shame. “Then what’s with the warning?”
“I see the way you’ve been looking at the journalist all day.” She raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“You noticed that, huh?” The coil of rope hung neatly around his shoulders as he jammed his hands in his pockets and shrugged.
“Yep,” Frankie affirmed. “But what’s more alarming is the way she’s responding to you.”
“And how’s that?”
“Like there’s history.”
Zac did recoil that time then quickly looked down at the rock bits he nudged with the tip of his boot.
“Zaaaaac,” Frankie warned. “Is there history?”
He pinched his fingers together and dragged it across his lip like a zipper.
“So that’s how we’re playing it?” she asked. At his nod she hollered over her shoulder to Lark and Tabitha. “Hey, ladies. Wanna grab a beer after we get back? Just the girls? First round’s on me.”
“I don’t drink,” Lark called back. “Make it a soft pretzel—and don’t be stingy with the nacho cheese—and I’m down. Tabitha too.”
Frankie turned back to Zac as the other two women began arguing in hushed tones and said, “Wanna give me your version first?”
“Nope,” he said, popping the p.
“Suit yourself.” She turned and headed to the rest of the group gathered around the trailhead. Some chattered excitedly, while others swayed on their feet.
Zac grinned, recognizing the buzz that came with the first time climbing outdoors and the first time leading a route at that.
It didn’t matter how powerless or out of control he felt, the crag always managed to supply a healthy boost of good feels, and the sensation only grew the more times he went.
He saw the endorphins rush though countless climbers—customers or not.
He saw the euphoria break Tabitha out of her prickly shell for a brief moment.
The memory of her glow warmed his chest, and he turned to the two women who had stayed behind.
They stood near the edge of the clearing.
The sun dipped below the tips of the surrounding mountaintops.
Lingering rays illuminated the sky from orange to pink and rich purple.
The warm tones played with Tabitha’s hair as the wind teased strands around her temples and nape.
She turned, caught him staring. Zac pivoted and resumed the cleanup, wondering if the rosy glow on her cheeks had anything to do with his gaze. Probably caught too much sun.
Because if he remembered correctly . . .
Despite many, many attempts to the contrary . . .
His girl never blushed.