Chapter 8
Willow
There are no words for the breathtaking splendor of this place.
The mountains stand as timeworn sentinels in the distance, rising above the endless treetops, so thick in places that they blot out the sun.
There are myriads of trees that I can’t name.
Some have leaves that rustle in the breeze, and some have needles that don’t make a sound.
Some are tall and proud, with trunks so thick that I know I wouldn’t be able to wrap my arms around them, while others are newer, spindly little saplings with whip-thin trunks that seem to shiver right from top to bottom with the slightest brush of air.
It’s so wild to walk on the soft mossy ground, an entire ecosystem full of life, with only trees as far as I can see.
It would be overwhelming if not for the fact that I can just tip my face up and see the endless blue sky above me.
If I was here by myself, I never would have ventured more than ten feet into the woods.
I would have kept the clearing in sight at all times, terrified of getting turned around and hopelessly lost.
Odin steps so confidently between the trees, trying to pick the easiest path for me to follow at all times, that he either has explored this place countless times, or he has a built in compass that I was born lacking.
We’ve been quiet for the past twenty or so minutes, since he took the backpack from me that Tarynn and I packed at her house, shouldered it, and readjusted his large camera bag to hang across his chest.
I told him that he should pick a good picnic spot, but on the way, we could keep an eye out for birds or other wildlife for him to photograph.
Maybe that was na?ve. He didn’t correct me because he’s too nice.
Either way, I’ve tried not to sound like a galloping heifer crashing past branches and picking my way along, and I haven’t broken the silence with idle chatter.
Maybe I’m not as quiet as I think I’m being, because we haven’t seen so much as a squirrel or a single bird.
I can hear the birds, way off in the distance, blanketing the woods with their song, but none have ventured near.
On the plus side, we also haven’t run into any bears, mountain lions, or moose.
I don’t know if they’re out here, or maybe this is the wrong area, time of day, or season for them, but either way, I’m glad we haven’t crossed paths.
I’m temporarily distracted from the beauty of our surroundings as I watch Odin sweep aside a low hanging branch for me.
He holds it, letting me pass, then lets it go so gently that it barely sways.
All this time, he’s cut through the trees like he’s a natural part of this place, not a tall, well-honed, entirely masculine being with a body as a big as a linebacker, but chiseled as hard as the outcropping of rock jutting from the mossy floor.
This planet is so wondrous and breathtaking, its topography a mystery.
Having lived my whole life in LA, I appreciate seeing a forest like this.
I appreciate being out of the city. Maybe there’s some merit to the touch grass thing.
If I’m honest, I appreciate the man in front of me, cutting such a hard figure, but kind enough to sweep aside branch after branch to make going easy for me.
It’s not just his rugged topography that I find intoxicating.
It’s his mind, his experiences, his wisdom, and his seemingly boundless generosity.
He has no idea that the very air is electric, but I know. My body has been sparking with it ever since I saw him pull into the clearing, handling that massive, thundering bike as easily as if it was an electric scooter.
I’d be a liar if I said that the minute he planted his feet on the ground, shed his helmet, swept a hand through his sweat-slicked hair, and surveyed the clearing like a soldier about to enter a battle where something is just off and they can sense it, the bike growling loud enough to shake the whole clearing, didn’t leave me breathless.
I’m so busy thinking about the memory, lighting off another array of fireworks in my gut, that I almost miss the gurgling water just ahead of us.
A small stream, only a few feet wide, cuts through the woods at an unnatural angle.
It carves its way through the land, cutting out its own bed without the need for rocks or strewn boulders.
It’s probably fed from the mountains. I’m instantly smitten by the clear burbling water, and fascinated by the way it changes the scent of the air, enhancing the earthy aroma and toning down the scent of the trees.
It’s all so fresh and clean that I wish I could stay out here for a hundred years. Become a country vet with my own little place, get to know the man in front of me and-
“Did you sleep at all last night?”
Odin slings his camera bag off and lowers the backpack to the ground. His clear indication that this is our picnic spot cuts my illicit reverie off just in time.
“Nope. I was too excited about this.”
He tries to stay impassive, but he fails.
From the second he got here with Crow, I could tell that I’d surprised him, but I’m not sure it’s a good surprise.
I don’t buy that the obvious tension in his shoulders, his rigid stance, and his pulse thrumming in his neck far too quickly, is just him being hypervigilant of anything that might be out here in the woods with us.
Some people don’t like surprises, or being made the center of attention. Maybe I stepped all over bad memories and triggered something from a past that I literally know nothing about.
“In the midst of your own crisis, you thought that the best thing to do would be to plan this surprise for me?”
It’s a relief to hear the humor in his tone, even if his expression remains flat. “Unequivocally yes. And yes, I’m one of those people who truly does say unequivocally. As for a crisis, I’ve been through much worse.”
He nods, understanding that I meant when I lost my dad, not what happened in LA a few days ago.
He unzips the backpack and pulls out the throw blanket from Tarynn.
It’s one of those granny ones with hearts and gingerbread houses on it, and a pink and green fringe on the ends.
Odin spreads it out, then pulls out the soft lunch box beneath with sandwiches and snacks.
We didn’t have time to go get a full blown fancy picnic basket, but that doesn’t mean that pink lunch bag wasn’t packed with a whole lot of thought and care behind it.
“It seems a little bit… silly,” Odin mutters as he sets the lunch bag down on the corner of the blanket. He adjusts his camera bag, so that it sits neatly beside the backpack. “Celebrating a grown man like you would a five-year-old.”
“Whether you’re a kid or an adult, everyone deserves to feel special.” I offer that gently. I have no idea what hurt might be underlying that.
He bends to unlace his boots. I tear my eyes away fast, unwilling to get a good look at how his worn soft jeans tighten against his ass.
At least my sandals are the strappy, fashionable kind that are totally impractical for any real hiking. They might have pinched the hell out of my feet all this time, but at least they offer a decent distraction.
“How did you even find out?”
I plop down on the edge of the blanket to undo the rest of the buckles.
“Crow told Tarynn and she texted me. After she did, I was way too excited to sleep. Like I said, I’ve never even been camping before.
You can blame it on my own selfish desire to see this place if the whole birthday thing makes you uncomfortable.
It’s beyond amazing, by the way. Totally worth any and all self-indulgence. ”
He scoffs at that. “I don’t think you could be self-anything if you tried.”
“I think everyone can be selfish.”
“This wasn’t about you at all.” He’s known me for less than a day, but he probably knows me better than most people who’ve spent years with me. “You wanted to do this entirely for me. A strange man who you just met, when no one would have blamed you for thinking about yourself.”
“Maybe it’s a good distraction.”
“Doubtful. I think that even though life hasn’t been easy for you, you still have an incredibly kind heart.”
I finally get both my sandals undone and toss them to the side. I swing my bare feet onto the blanket, surveying the damage the straps caused, but they’re only red and far from blistered. I bet that sticking them into that stream would feel divine.
I swivel my legs around, crossing them and yanking my dress down to my knees. “I could say the same about you.”
Odin’s brows shoot up so high that the one even lifts above the edges of his eyepatch. “Is that right?”
“It is,” I insist. “I know that you provided for people for years, even though they didn’t want you in their lives.
” I’m worried for a second that I’ve gone too far, but his brows come down.
He’s not the kind of man who shies away from the truth.
“Odin. When was the last time someone celebrated you? I mean, truly made you the center of attention?”
He leans over his knees, setting his elbows on the tops of them. “I can’t imagine anything worse.”
“I rest my case. Is it truly that bad?”
“No.” His face softens as he turns his face to survey the little space between all the trees.
They’re not that tall here, or as thick, so maybe they’re younger.
The leaves are dark green, made lighter by the sunbeams that flow through them.
Dappled shadows dance across the blanket and spill over both of us.
“No, it’s not that bad at all. I love being out here. ”
There’s a way that people talk about the things that they truly love. Places that have impacted them strongly, people who have carved an impression into them. A sort of wistfulness that speaks of the fondest memories.