9. Tess
NINE
TESS
Never let a five-year-old give you exercise advice. They don’t know what they’re talking about. They’re only five.
“You can do it, Mama.” August’s about fifteen feet ahead of me on the trail, cheering me on like I’m ready to cross the finish line of the Boston Marathon instead of less than a mile into a short walking path.
In my defense, it’s impossible to keep up with him on flat surfaces, let alone on the side of a hill. His energy is always cranked to an eleven. I like to top out at about a seven—enough to keep from being a couch potato, but not so much I’m signing up for five-day hikes like my friend Lila did.
Actually, she doesn’t especially like to be active, either. I wonder how that hike’s going.
“You’re so good, Mama! Almost there!”
I laugh, but the more he encourages me on, the more I want to sit down in the dirt. Just for a minute or five.
I made a specialty cake today, which always gives me an extra thrill, even if it means extra work. A group of nurses at the medical center requested a cake for their head nurse’s birthday celebration. A two-layer chocolate cake with mint ganache filling and mint buttercream frosting. It’d been a joy to make, despite Mom side-eying me every time she walked into the kitchen.
She thinks our pie bakery should stick to baking pies, even if cakes are the love of my life. I convinced her to let me add our cupcake offerings to the case last year, but we don’t have cakes on our website or even on our menu board in the store. They’re an insider thing only, by special request.
Is it so wrong I want everyone to know about my cakes?
August runs over, loops around behind me, then runs back to where he was a second ago.
“How do you have so much energy?”
He lifts his arms in the air like he’s flexing them. “It’s my super shields!”
It’s probably just good, old-fashioned, childhood exuberance. I trudge along, sweat running down my spine and a stitch forming in my side, feeling every bit a thirty-something.
Does the sun have to be this bright? I should have grabbed sunglasses and sun hats for both of us, but I didn’t think a short hike could be this grueling.
“Mama,” August whispers. “Come look.”
He’s stopped at the edge of the path on the side that slopes down—it’s not especially steep, but I don’t like him so close to it. I gently take his shoulder and encourage him to take a step back.
“What do you see?”
“Shh!” He crouches, duck-walking closer to the edge. “Down there.”
I follow his pointing finger, but I don’t see anything. My hand goes to my belt, where I clipped a brand-new canister of bear repellent, my brain flooding with images of bobcats and snakes, bears and cougars. I never thought I’d have to be vigilant about predators this close to my own back yard.
Thank you for that, Ian Vaughn.
My caution is crowded out by the memory of Ian’s tentative smile the other night in the grocery store when he’d thanked me again for the cupcakes. It wasn’t much—the barest lift at the corners of his mouth—but I’m counting it.
My heart certainly had. It’d sped up and fluttered and generally behaved like it thinks we’re seventeen again.
I’d told him it was no problem, and we’d gone our separate ways. Or as separate as you can get in a smallish grocery store. We’d crossed paths three more times before I reached the checkout aisle, but we hadn’t stopped again to talk.
He hadn’t smiled again, either, but I’m not taking it personally. I don’t think he’s trying to be a jerk. I suspect he’s just out of practice with people. It’s kind of sweet, even though nothing about that should be endearing. Serial killers probably get out of practice with people, too. But those moments where he shows a glimpse of uncertainty behind his gruff exterior make me want to befriend him even more.
Befriend , Tess. And only befriend.
“Do you see it?” August whispers.
I stare into the sparse trees and shrubs below us. “What do you see?”
He points harder, which is less helpful than he thinks. At last, I spot it—a tiny gray bunny.
I release a huge exhale. “Thank goodness.”
“Can we get him, Mama?” He puts a sinister edge to his voice, like we’re experienced kidnappers lining up our next mark.
“He’d hop away before we ever reached him.” Plus, I’d never let August scale the side of this mountain, so there’s that.
He makes a small sound of acceptance. “I don’t have a bag, either.”
Because that’s the real question when he sees a wild animal—does he have a bag big enough to nab it?
The bunny freezes for a second, then leaps away, disappearing into the scrub brush.
August slumps lower into his crouch now that his quarry’s gone. “Aww.”
“Sorry, buddy.” In a “sorry, not sorry” way.
We stand, but the sound of gravel crunching has me turning to look up the trail. It curves around a switchback just past us, and I can’t see who’s coming.
Or what . Footsteps land in quick succession, spiking my heart rate. People don’t run like that. What do bears sound like when they run? I step in front of August, touching the canister on my belt again. Should I take it out? Get the safety off? Maybe I should have done a practice spray in the yard. I never thought I’d actually have to use it, let alone the first day I had it.
I brace myself, ready for anything. Except for the big, brown animal that appears, running full tilt. My heart lurches even as I realize what it is.
“Dutch!” August moves around me and throws his arms out wide in greeting. Dutch stops short of jumping up on him, skidding to a halt so he can soak up the love. His tail wags a steady beat, his panting muzzle open in a maniacal grin. “You found us, boy!”
I put my hand on my chest, breathing hard. Thank goodness I didn’t mace Ian’s dog. There aren’t enough cupcakes in the world to make up for that.
Speaking of…up the trail, Ian comes around the bend at a light jog. Pretty sure my heart jolts even harder than it did when I thought we were about to be attacked by a wild animal.
He’s shirtless. My brain slips into shock as he comes to a stop about ten feet away.
My eyes lock on his sweaty chest, admiring in person every last feature I’d glimpsed in the picture Wren showed me. Broad shoulders. Insanely firm pecs. Biceps for days. A flat stomach that I most definitely should not be eating up with my eyes.
The sight is like Darcy coming out of the lake—unexpected and mesmerizing. Heat prickles up my neck as my fingers itch to trace the freckles that dance over waves of muscles. Totally inappropriate, but the heart wants what it wants.
My heart hasn’t wanted anyone in a very long time.
Unbidden, my gaze tracks lower. Instead of his ubiquitous sweatpants, he’s wearing athletic shorts. I suck in a breath. Where one leg is all toned muscle, the other is black plastic and metal. I take in his prosthetic leg, my mind stalling out as it shifts from silent applause to curiosity.
August’s laughter as he snuggles Dutch finally breaks the spell I’m under, and I realize just how long I’ve been staring.
Forever. At least, that’s what my heart rate says.
My attention snaps up to Ian’s eyes. Twin blue flames glare back at me. His hair is up in another bun, sweaty tendrils clinging to the side of his face and beard. He’s breathing hard, his chest heaving from exertion, but I refuse to let my eyes dip lower again.
I don’t know how long they’d snag there this time.
Maybe he didn’t notice me ogling him. There’s a chance, right?
“I thought you didn’t hike.” It’s a terrible stab at small talk when he already told me he climbs mountains for a living.
He goes on staring, utterly silent.
“Not that you can’t.” Even as I say it, I recognize how bad that sounds. As though I think he’s incapable . “I’m sure you can handle it. It’s a pretty easy trail. For someone like you.”
Ugh, no. That came out even worse. “A professional, I mean.”
I’m surprised I can speak at all, my mouth’s so full of my own feet. Ian goes on glowering as if maybe we’d both like the earth to swallow me whole.
“I haven’t seen this much of you out here—I mean much of you . At all. I haven’t seen you out here.” I hate every stupid thing vomiting out of my mouth. Why don’t I compliment his glistening pecs and complete my mortification?
If Ian would at least say something, that would help. But he just keeps watching me like the train wreck I am.
“It’s a hot day.” I fan myself like a dork. Is it hot out here or just you?
This is why I never spoke to Ian back when I was a teen. I would have fallen all over myself and spewed an embarrassing amount of nonsense. At least I was smart enough to realize it and kept my distance. So glad I saved that disaster for today, I guess.
Then, as if in slow motion, I look down at August at the same time he realizes Ian has joined us. It’s impossible to miss the way his eyes widen as they latch onto Ian’s prosthetic leg. His mouth dropping open in shock. His tiny hand lifting to point at our neighbor like he’s a shiny-new exhibit in a zoo.
Angry bear. Do not feed.
“Mama, look! Ian’s got a super leg! He really is a pirate like you said!”
Oh, this day is the worst.
I grab August’s hand, closing over his still-pointing finger, and tug him along up the path.
“We should keep going,” I say to Ian. “Need to finish up before it gets dark.”
We’re hours away from sunset, but I’ll take any excuse to leave. If we stay, I’m afraid I’ll complete this humiliation by telling him about my teenage crush.
Or my current one.
Ian says not a word. He’s stood still as sculpted stone since he stopped on the trail, doing nothing but breathing hard and glaring at me. Not even a nod of acknowledgement—not that any of the moronic things I’ve said are worthy of his recognition.
I thought I was used to his silent glowering, but this takes it to a whole new level. I’m pretty sure he’d like to set me on fire and watch me burn down to embers. The way my chest blazes, I’m probably halfway there.
Is it my fault his body left me completely tongue-tied? I cringe because yes, it’s absolutely my fault. I don’t do this. I don’t stare at men or flirt with them or frankly even notice them, but shirtless Ian captured my attention. To say the very least.
“We’ll see you later.” The smile I flash at him is fake and terrible, but I can’t make my face be normal right now. Its default is open admiration , and I don’t need that on display again.
He glares at me like I’ve stumbled into a funeral procession. Here lies Tess, crushed to death by shame.
“But, Mama,” August says behind me. “What about Ian’s leg?”
I shush him before he can mention I also called Ian a viking and keep walking. I just need a second to compose my thoughts, and I can’t think straight with half-naked Ian staring at me like this. I need an escape, and the only one possible is the trail.
Or, you know, I could launch myself off the side of the mountain, but I’m not in the habit of abandoning my child. My dignity? Yes, obviously.
Dutch whines, but eventually their footsteps start up again behind us. I don’t turn around. I’ll either see the muscular back of my dreams or the scowl of my nightmares, and either one would absolutely ruin me.
Once we make it past the switchback and I’m sure Ian’s out of sight, I finally slow down.
“Mama, you’re holding my hand too tight.”
I shake out of my mental spiral, releasing August’s hand. “I’m sorry, baby.”
“Why can’t we talk to Ian? I want to know about his leg.”
“I don’t know if Ian wants to talk about that.” Given his habit of wearing sweatpants in summer, probably not.
He definitely didn’t want to talk to me just now. But if I’d come across a man who’d stared at me open mouthed and drooling all over himself, I wouldn’t have stopped to chat, either. Might as well have wolf-whistled at him and completed the look.
“But it’s like my super shields.”
I sigh. My son said Ian has a “super leg.” He called him a pirate to his face. And I stared like he wasn’t even real. I am the worst.
“Is it gross?” August asks in a small voice.
“What?”
His shoulders sag, his eyes on the dirt at his feet. “Like when Lily said my monitor and pump are gross.”
My breath holds until my lungs hurt. Maybe it’s my heart aching in there. I stop in the middle of the trail, glancing back even though I can’t see Ian anymore. Is that how he took my fumbled attempts at conversation—that I was thrown off by his leg? Sure, I was surprised, but that wasn’t what had me tripping over my tongue.
Attraction to him knocked me flat and backed over me for good measure. But from his vantage it probably felt more like someone trying to get a better look at a car accident. For all my intentions to be a thoughtful, conscientious human, I really blew it today. I had all the tact of August’s rude Kindergarten classmate.
“No, his leg isn’t gross.” I squat down in front of August. “And your monitors aren’t gross. They’re just different.”
He smiles, knowing this conversation by heart. “And different is okay.”
“Absolutely.”
“So we can still be his friend.”
If he’ll let us.
“Definitely.”
We stand and start walking again, more slowly than before. I need to make this right with Ian. Part of me wants to rush down the hillside this minute, but it’d be smarter to take some time to compose myself.
And compose a proper apology.