Chapter 6 Rhett #2
"Same thing." He gave up on the radio. "For the record, if this is where you murder me and leave my body in a snowbank, I'm gonna be disappointed. I had a good day."
I glanced at him. "I'm not gonna murder you."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
"Okay." He pulled his toque down over his ears. "Then I trust you."
Hillcrest Park sat at the city's edge, perched on a bluff overlooking the harbor. I'd been visiting since I was a kid—first with my dad, then alone.
I parked at the base of the trail. Hog looked at the darkening trees and the narrow path winding up.
"We're hiking? At this hour?"
"Five-minute walk."
"It's dark out."
"There's a moon."
"Not reassuring." He climbed out anyway. "If I twist an ankle, you're carrying me back."
"Deal."
The trail was packed snow, frozen from the day's sun. Hog walked beside me, close enough that our shoulders brushed. His breathing was steady, unbothered by the incline.
"This is very 'local guy shows out-of-towner the secret spot,'" he said. "You gonna tell me Thunder Bay's history next?"
"You want the history?"
"Depends on if it's boring."
I smiled. "I'll try to keep it interesting."
We crested the hill and the view opened up—city lights spreading below, harbor stretched dark and wide, and beyond it, the Sleeping Giant in silhouette against the sky.
Hog stopped walking. "Holy shit."
"Yeah."
He moved forward slowly, taking it in. Harbor to skyline to the Giant's dark bulk. His breath formed clouds in the cold.
"So, that's the Sleeping Giant. I at least know one thing, and Pickle's always yammering about it." He pointed.
"Yep, on the Sibley Peninsula, and it looks like a body lying down."
"There's a legend, right?"
"Ojibwe legend. Nanabijou, spirit of the Deep Sea Water.
Turned to stone protecting a secret—silver mine location.
An Ojibwe man told white traders and betrayed the trust. A storm came up and wrecked their ships.
The spirit turned to stone as punishment.
Or as guardian, depending on who's telling it. "
"That's sad."
"Or protective. Giant's still there, watching the bay." I paused. "Like it's not done yet."
He was quiet, looking at the silhouette. "You've known this view your whole life."
"Pretty much."
"Do you still see it? You know what I mean? Really see it."
I looked at the lights below—grain elevators dark against sky, harbor frozen at the edges, the Giant keeping watch.
"I stopped seeing it years ago. It just became the place I ended up."
"And now?"
I glanced at him. He was watching me, not the view.
"Now I'm starting to see it differently. Because you're looking at it like it matters."
"It does matter."
"To you."
Hog rubbed his beard. "To you too. You just forgot." He stepped closer. "That's what happens when you grow up somewhere. It stops being magic, becomes just the place you live."
"I don't think I ever asked where you're from, Hog."
He chuckled. "They look at me and assume lumberjack, so they think I'm from Alberta or Minnesota.
I grew up in a suburb of St. Louis, down in the states, but every summer my parents put me on a plane north.
Gram's place in Thunder Bay was where I learned two things: how to knit and how to feel like I wasn't too much. "
Wind swept past us, sharp enough to sting. I tried to see the city through his eyes.
He added, "The arch down there. Can't ever see it like a newcomer." His voice softened. "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Why'd you stay? Really?"
I could give the easy answer or the truth. I chose truth.
"My parents wouldn't let me leave. Told you that much."
He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Details."
"After high school. Got accepted to Ryerson—Toronto. Construction management. Good school." I kicked at the snow. "My dad said no."
"Just no?"
"Said the family business needed me. Said Toronto was too expensive, too far, and too much risk." The words came out flat. "When you're seventeen, your parents control everything. So I stayed."
Hog reached out his hand, and I took it. His fingers were cold, as he was not wearing gloves. "You resent them."
Not a question.
"Sometimes. Not for needing help. And not my dad now for being sick. For never asking what I wanted."
"And now?"
"Dad's not really there much anymore—barely knows me now. Business is mine. And I'm still here." I looked at the Giant. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm staying because I don't know how to leave."
Silence stretched for a moment. "I get it."
"What?"
"Being told to pick." He pushed his free hand back into his pocket. "Those past guys that always wanted me to choose the real me."
"They were idiots."
"Maybe." He shrugged.
We weren't talking about Thunder Bay anymore. We were talking about us, standing on a hill in the cold, trying to figure out if we were brave enough.
"What if—" I started, then stopped.
"What if what?"
"What if you found someone who didn't make you decide?"
He turned to face me. "Did I?"
The question was direct and raw.
"Yeah," I said. "You did."
He stared at me. "Rhett—"
"I don't want you to pick a lane." The words came out fast. "I like that you fight people and knit pigs. I like that you brought hot chocolate and helped Jeremy with crossovers. I like that you don't make sense on paper but make perfect sense standing next to me."
His breath caught. "You mean that."
"I do."
He stepped close enough to see the frost caught in his beard. "What happens now?"
Heat flooded through me despite the cold. I was suddenly aware of his size, warmth, and how he was looking at me like I'd just said something that changed everything.
"Come back with me to my place. I'll make real hot chocolate. The kind where you melt actual chocolate."
"You're asking me to come home with you."
"Yes."
"After you just told me you want all of me."
"Yes. Is that okay?"
He kissed me.
Right there in the frozen overlook with snow starting to fall, Hog's hands reached out to cup my face, cold fingers against my cheeks. He tasted of mint and the winter air.
When we broke apart, we were both breathing hard.
"Hot chocolate sounds good," he said.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." He kissed me again.
I patted his broad chest with my right hand. "Let's go before we freeze."
We walked back to the truck with Thunder Bay spread below us—the Giant still keeping watch.
I opened the passenger door for him. He climbed in, and I walked around to the driver's side, pulse still racing.
When I slid behind the wheel, he was staring at me with a heat in his eyes I hadn't seen before.
"Just so we're clear—" His voice dropped lower. "I'm not just coming over for hot chocolate."
My pounding heart could have driven nails. "No?"
"No." He reached out for my thigh and squeezed once.