6. Tess
SIX
TESS
What are the odds Ian went inside and threw those cupcakes straight into the trash? I’m going with sixty-forty. At least I tried. If Amy asks, I can confidently say I’m doing my part.
Whether it’ll make a difference or not is anybody’s guess.
I sit on one of the patio chairs and watch August play. He’s settled a bit after his initial home from daycare blitz, and he’s sitting in the grass talking to the dog. Probably making all kinds of plans for what they’re going to do together this summer.
I keep reminding him Dutch isn’t ours, but it’s not sticking.
Ian walks back outside. His presence is mildly unsetting for so many reasons—the lingering ghost of my old crush, his unfriendly demeanor, the way he glares around like he wishes August and I lived anywhere else. He crosses his arms and stands by his door, our duplex’s grumpy bouncer. I half expect him to call Dutch inside for the night, just take his toys and go home, but he doesn’t.
Doesn’t say anything, either.
I still can’t imagine what could have happened to make him change so much. Sure, it’s been fifteen years, but he was outgoing and friendly, talkative and engaging. A major flirt, too, not that I ever experienced that side of him.
Frankly, the only thing I experienced of Ian Vaughn back then was admiring him from afar. But I watched him well enough to know he wasn’t shy with the local girls. He’d lean in close, whip out a devastating smile, and every girl in his orbit melted.
In my more embarrassing daydreams, I was a few years older, we were a whole lot closer, and he never noticed a single one of those other girls. He only had eyes for me.
“Seems awfully optimistic,” Ian grumbles behind me.
I startle out of my reminiscing, my cheeks going hot. There’s no way I actually said that out loud, right?
“What is?” I squeak, my stomach flipping over.
He nods into the yard. “Dutch doesn’t make a very good pony.”
I follow his gaze to where August is trying to ride Dutch like a horse. Thankfully, his feet don’t leave the ground as he awkwardly hovers over the dog, but he waves one hand in the air like a rodeo star. The dog doesn’t seem to mind.
“Don’t put any weight on him,” I call.
August stops spinning his invisible lasso and waves, then goes straight back to being a cowboy.
“Dutch weighs more than the kid does,” Ian says.
That’s true. Maybe I’m worried about the wrong one getting hurt. But it’s a gorgeous evening, warm without being overly hot like it will get in another month or so. I want August to enjoy it as much as he can. And right now, he’s certainly enjoying playing with that dog.
Ian steps closer but pauses before he reaches me. The porch stretches from one side of the house to the other, set up with double of everything: two patio tables, four chairs each, two barbecue grills. We even have identical fire pits at opposite corners in the yard. His table is about twenty feet from mine, and he’s hesitating like he might be inclined to walk to it.
“You can sit over here if you want.” Seems kind of ridiculous for him to stay all the way over there when we’re both watching the same thing. My offer is practical, that’s all. It has nothing to do with those long-ago thoughts swirling through my head. I’m trying to be neighborly like I promised.
Ian nods and walks over to my table, lowering himself into the seat farthest from me, and staring out to where August is accosting his dog. Two lines form between his eyebrows as though the sight of a little boy frolicking is somehow distasteful to him. His beard is as scraggly as it was a few days ago, and I don’t look at his sweatpants and T-shirt too closely. Those might be the same, too.
His long hair is different though. It’s up in a bun, a style I’ve never really found appealing on a man. But it shows off his deep widow’s peak and the streaks of gray starting to pepper his temples. Honestly, he looks more like a pirate than ever, which I will die before mentioning to Wren. The look weirdly suits him.
And matches me. I’m not sure I’ve ever had the same messy updo as a man five feet away from me before.
“Twins.” I snap my mouth shut and turn my face to the yard. Now, that I did say out loud.
Lovely.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I blurt. “What, um, do you do for work?”
Work is good. Work is safe. Way better than random comments on hairstyles.
His lips twitch for a few seconds before he responds. “Consulting.”
That’s nice and vague. Yet another thing I should have asked Amy about him. Not that it’s really my business, but as long as it’s nothing illegal…wait. It wouldn’t even have to be illegal.
“Are you in the marijuana business?”
His eyes widen a touch, his eyebrows lifting. “The marijuana business?”
I flail a hand around. I don’t know the proper terms for it, I just know it’s out there. “You know. Colorado. Oregon. I thought maybe…”
I’m not really sure what I thought, but the stunned look on his face tells me I’ve guessed wrong.
He barks a laugh. It’s more exhale than true laughter, but it’s a start.
“No. I’m not in that business.” He shifts in his seat, looking away from me. “The mountaineering business.”
“Like actually climbing mountains?”
He nods, his gaze still on August and Dutch.
That makes sense for him. I don’t know him super well—okay, at all—but before, he’d seemed fearless.
Compared to me, everyone did.
But I could see that working for Ian. The old Ian, anyway. Brash and confident, he would have made a good climber ready to forge his own path just to prove he could. He had the kind of carefree energy that matched the extreme sports enthusiasts I’ve known.
And probably a certain amount of carelessness , too. That seemed to go along with guys who sought out jobs like that. Rock climbing instructor. White water rafting guide.
Ski instructor.
I draw in a deep breath and shiver despite the warm breeze. I definitely do not need to be thinking about him . No point in ruining a perfectly nice evening.
“Is that why you’re out here?” I ask, eager to steer my thoughts any other direction. “To climb in the Cascades?”
I’ve got a little too much enthusiasm in my voice, like I’m a late night host leading my guest to launch into a story to charm the audience.
He whips his head around to me, his gaze narrowing. Once again, I get the feeling my guess is all wrong.
“No,” he finally says. He turns back to watch August and his dog.
This guy would be an absolute bust on a talk show.
August runs around inspecting the big, decorative rocks that ring the yard. He squats down, gazes at the ground for a while, and then moves to the next rock. Dutch follows him like they’re explorers on a mission.
“What are you finding?” I call out.
“We’re looking for bunnies in these holes!” he shouts back.
This kid and his animal kick. We saw a bunny at the park a few weeks ago, and he’s been hoping for a repeat ever since. Every little creature delights him. Squirrels, deer, even the tiny frogs that come out near my mom’s house every spring. He’d bring every last one home to live with us if I let him.
“Tell me if you find one.”
“Seems more likely he’ll find a rattlesnake under those rocks,” Ian says.
I snap my attention to him. “Rattlesnakes?”
Do rattlesnakes live in holes under rocks like that? I’d seen August inspecting them the other day, and I’d just assumed they were caused by rain or something. Maybe insects. Not snakes.
“It’s too hot for rabbits to be out, but it’s perfect for a snake looking for something to…” Ian catches whatever horrified thing my face is doing and leaves off the rest of his Wild Kingdom commentary.
“Should I be worried about rattlesnakes?” Funnily enough, my voice comes out a low hiss. I don’t want to scare August if I don’t have to. But there’s no scenario in which I’m prepared to deal with a snake.
Ian doesn’t seem too concerned. “Dutch has been barking up a storm all afternoon. He probably scared away anything that might have been in the yard.”
I guess that’s one benefit to the noise they’re making.
“I never thought about snakes.” My mom’s yard is an oasis of greenery in the middle of town—the worst we ever had were deer coming along to eat their share of her summer plants. This duplex is closer to the forest and landscaped more sparsely.
Looking at it now, those rocks are probably perfect for snakes to burrow under, or whatever they do. Slither into crevices and rattle their tails. Lie in wait for little children.
Another shiver rocks through me, and I keep my eyes stuck on the ground around August’s feet, watching for signs of movement.
Ian tilts his head toward the back gate and the walking trail beyond. “I’d be more concerned about bobcats or coyotes coming down from the canyon.”
“ What ?” My pulse skyrockets. “Are you serious?”
He takes in my reaction, his eyebrows twitching. “I thought you grew up here.”
“Yeah, but I’ve never seen an actual predator before.” Never once did I think about any kind of threat when I accepted this place. I thought we’d see a few more cute animals, not anything dangerous. “We lived in town, not right on the edge of the wilderness.”
His mouth works like he might have something to say about me calling this area wild . I guess to a mountain guide, it’s probably pretty tame. But it’s not to me if he thinks bobcats might show up some day.
“Get some bear spray and you’ll be fine.”
A strangled sound comes out of my throat before I can stop it. “Should I be worried about bears, too?”
I look to the scrub and trees beyond the fenced yard. Yes, we’re on the outskirts of town, but there are still houses everywhere. We’re still safe. I think?
“Just what kind of sheltered life did you live in town?” he asks.
I snap my jaw shut, his off-hand remark pressing against an old bruise. I was sheltered, coddled by my mom in her protective embrace. I’d grown up naive and trusting to an unhealthy degree. When I finally ventured out into the world, I had a lot of hard lessons in store for me. The biggest one came from a charismatic ski instructor.
I push those memories away. He’s not worth wasting time thinking about. And I don’t entirely regret my mistakes. I never could.
I return my focus to Ian. “Do you always jump to the worst-case scenarios?”
He seems unfazed by my snappish tone. “Might be unlikely, but you don’t want to be reckless out here. It is the wilderness .”
I can’t tell if he’s teasing or trying to scare me, but I’m still going to buy bear spray tomorrow. Just to be on the safe side.
“You know, you’re nothing like I remember you.”
He goes completely still. “And how was that?”
“Recklessness was kind of your whole deal.” Trust me when I say I kept my ear out for gossip about him. He was rumored to do everything from white water rafting to mountain biking to climbing Smith Rock. He would have been the last guy I’d expect to give me a rundown on all the potential dangers in my own back yard.
He watches me for long seconds. “I didn’t realize we knew each other.”
I will not be telling this man I ate up every scrap of information about him like a fangirl, all without ever actually speaking to him. “It was a long time ago.”
Ian swallows hard, his beard wobbling over his throat. “I don’t have the strongest memory of those days.”
I have memories for the both of us. Cringey, cringey memories.
“You weren’t the safety patrol guy. You were…fearless. Bold. Charming.”
I wish I hadn’t thrown in that last part, but I can’t deny its truth. He’d drawn people in, and not just teenage girls with hearts in their eyes. He’d had a following around town, and everybody liked him.
He nods, watching me like he’s suddenly wary of what I’ll say next. Probably because it’s been fifteen years, and I’m still fangirling over him.
“And we dated,” he says.
I stare at him, my lungs refusing to do their job. His comment isn’t quite a question, but there’s a lilt to it like he needs me to confirm his conclusion. Because he doesn’t know. And I can’t help it—I burst into laughter.
His expression shutters and he glances away, probably wishing a bobcat would come along and drag me into the woods. Meanwhile, I can’t shake my giggles. Ian Vaughn thinks it’s even a possibility we dated—and he doesn’t remember? Seventeen-year-old me would be mortified, but thirty-two-year-old me is hunched over from laughing so hard.
“You must have had a good summer,” I say when I catch my breath again. “Can’t keep track of all your girls.”
He scowls harder than he did the day I arrived here. “I was twenty-two.”
That’s it. That’s his whole explanation for flirting with every girl in town. It just makes me laugh more.
“The young and hot defense,” I say between giggles.
His eyebrows tick up. “Hot?”
I can’t even be embarrassed I said it. He obviously knows he had a way with women. Anybody who isn’t entirely sure who he once dated isn’t in need of a refresher on his own looks. “Hey. You were twenty-two.”
“It was a lifetime ago,” he grumbles.
August bounds onto the porch and straight to my side. “What’s so funny, Mama?”
“Just a joke Ian told.”
His little face brightens beneath the fine layer of dirt all over it. “I want to hear the joke.”
Ian winces as though I might actually tell my son about our exchange. My laughing fit isn’t very neighborly of me, even if his full social calendar back then strikes me as a bit ridiculous. I rearrange my features into something less outright amused by the whole conversation.
“I’ll tell you a joke later. You’ve got a couple more minutes before we need to go inside for dinner, okay?”
“Okay.” August runs back into the yard to perch on one of the bigger rocks surrounding the grass, holding court with Dutch.
The rattlesnakes Ian mentioned flit through my mind again, but I’ll have to trust that he’s right. Snakes would have been scared away by all of August’s shouts and running around long before now. It’s when you take them by surprise that bites happen. Probably.
Doesn’t mean I won’t think about them every time we come out here, though.
I finally relax again, and my gaze lands on Ian. He’s still scowling at me, and lifts his eyebrows, waiting for my answer.
Right. I guess I’d better put the guy out of his misery.
“Sorry. I got carried away. We did not date. We never even spoke.”
His shoulders ease back down, and I swear he sighs. Crisis averted, I guess. But I get it. Living next door to an old flame would be so much more awkward than living next to an old crush.
Although, given today’s conversations, living next to a crush can still be pretty dang awkward.
“Yet you remembered me?”
My laughter dies out, probably giving way to pink cheeks. I didn’t think about just how much I was admitting. “The red hair is pretty memorable.”
He nods. “And charming.”
Embarrassment blooms to life in my chest like I’m in high school again. Maybe I can swing the conversation back to dangerous animals.
His gaze drops over me as if he’s noticing me for the first time. The open appraisal makes heat crawl up my neck, but it’s not…unpleasant. I don’t get noticed. Not like this, anyway.
“I wouldn’t have been surprised if we had dated.”
Did the grump just flirt with me? Or is his remark meant to be a reminder of how many girls he met that summer?
Much safer to assume the latter.
“If we had dated, I can tell it would have been really special.”
He glowers, but his mouth tilts to one side like he’s trying to fight a smile. Might be wishful thinking on my part, but I’m going to count this disastrous conversation as a step closer to friendship.