Chapter 4 Sadie #2
“You know,” I say. “Like…something you could walk forever in and not get blisters? I once walked twenty-eight thousand steps in a single day at Disney World in these shoes.”
Thorn shakes his head and laughs. “Where do I even start?”
“Do your worst,” I say. “I can take it.”
“Okay, so, first of all, this sort of expedition is the furthest thing from Disney World. Second, you walked twenty-eight thousand steps—at Disney World—in those shoes? Those exact spotless white shoes.”
“They’re not spotless or white anymore,” I say, purposefully missing his point.
He gives me another look, one that comes off just a little flirty—which I’m certain, given all other clues, is entirely unintentional.
“Okay, so they weren’t this exact pair,” I admit. “I bought these new for the hike.”
This really makes him laugh, blue eyes sparkling in the sunlight.
“What?” I say, and now I’m laughing, too. “I figured new ones would be better on my feet than beat-up ones. I swear I did put some logic into this decision—though in hindsight, I am willing to acknowledge that hiking boots might have been the better choice.”
“For a hike,” he adds, smirking.
“Look,” I say, nudging him with my elbow.
He gives me a once-over from head to toe. “At what?”
Flat tone, one eyebrow raised: he’s the poster child for the word unimpressed.
I point one toe as if Adidas has hired me to model a new line of hiking-chic Ultraboosts.
“Nothing broken,” I reply. “Nothing twisted. Pretty sure I don’t even have a blister yet!”
“Yet being the operative word,” he says drily.
“We should make a bet—I bet I can make it an entire week of hiking without getting a single blister.”
“And what will I get when I win that bet?” he challenges. “You’ll have blisters by tomorrow.”
“When I win,” I counter, “you will simply have to admit my shoes are fine.”
“Okay, well, that’s never gonna happen. So when I win, you will have to give up one item from your pack.”
“And leave it behind—here in the woods? Doesn’t that, like, interfere with the whole leave-nature-as-you-found-it thing?”
“I’ll put it in my pack,” he replies. “Where you won’t have access to it until the end of the trip.”
I’m starting to think maybe this bet was a bad idea—I already left behind everything I couldn’t live without. Maybe I should’ve committed to three blister-less days, not an entire week.
But I’m nothing if not stubborn.
“You’re on.”
“I look forward to carrying your espresso machine,” he says, and he means it as a joke, but—
“Wait,” he goes on, eyes wide as he takes in the look on my face. “You didn’t actually bring an espresso machine, I hope?”
“Of course not.”
“But?”
I roll my eyes with more drama than is strictly necessary.
“Fine,” I say. “I might have brought a different sort of coffee situation so I wouldn’t have to go without it the whole time.”
“We rough it in a lot of ways out here, Sadie, but we’re not monsters. We’ve got coffee built into our breakfast plans.”
“Real coffee?”
“Real instant coffee, yes.”
I scoff. “Say that a little louder—I want to see if the coffee bros riot.”
“You’d really rather carry extra weight in your pack for two weeks just so you don’t have to go without your preferred coffee?”
“You really expect people to be satisfied with instant sludge that whole time?” I reply. “I suspect the coffee bros will take my side when presented with the option to have some of mine.”
This, unexpectedly, is the thing that cracks him.
“Let me get this straight,” he says, laughing. “You not only brought your own special coffee, and something special to make it in, but you brought enough to share with three other guys.”
I can’t help it, I laugh, too. It does sound ridiculous when he puts it that way.
Not that I’ll ever admit it.
I shrug, attempting nonchalance. “I had a whole box of beans ground before I came.” I had two boxes ground, but details. “Better to have more than you need than to run out halfway through the trip.”
His eyes light up. “Ah—see, that is where we’re different.”
I suspect we are different, very different, in more ways than just that one, but of course I don’t feel the need to point that out.
“One reason I like my job is that you can never really prepare for every single circumstance,” he goes on.
“It makes you have to trust your gut, think on your feet. You kind of have to learn to adapt when things get uncomfortable. It’s the best kind of rush, not knowing how things will play out and having to figure it all out on the fly. ”
“See, yeah, that sounds like my worst nightmare, Thorn.”
He takes a long sip from his water bottle, looking at me in a way that makes me feel more seen than I have in quite some time.
I shouldn’t have let my guard down like that—shouldn’t have given him this much of a peek into just how extra I really am. I had every chance to start fresh here, for this group and its grumpy leader to see me as Go-with-the-Flow Sadie. Maybe even (oh, the horror) Instant Coffee Sadie.
To Thorn, I am currently Wrong-Shoes/Coffee-Snob/Put-That-Phone-Away Sadie.
“I sincerely hope you win the bet, then,” Thorn says, twisting the lid of his water bottle back in place.
“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”
He smirks. “Because if you lose, your coffee setup is going into my pack for the rest of the trip. On the bright side, hey, maybe it’ll be a chance to try something new. Something outside your comfort zone: the wonderful world of instant coffee.”
“Because being here in the first place isn’t outside my comfort zone?”
He tips his head as if to say good point. “All I’m saying is, I hope you win—for the sake of your feet and your coffee.”
“When I win,” I reply, “I’m making you a cup of my coffee, and you’ll totally admit I was right about that, too. That it was worth it to bring it.”
He holds out his hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
I give it a firm shake—his hand is strong and warm and fits mine perfectly.
“Okay, everyone,” he calls out a moment later. “We’d better get moving if we’re going to set up camp before nightfall.”
The sounds of zippers and chatter fill the clearing. I slip a little on the uneven rocky pavement, as if the universe is also trying to prove Thorn’s point.
He notices, of course.
“Already rethinking that bet?” he says, loading his pack onto his back.
Preemptively mourning the loss of my beloved coffee is more like it, but it’s fun to pretend I have even the smallest chance at winning.
“Just trying to wrap my mind around how long it’ll take to get to camp,” I say coolly.
And how long it’ll be before I get my first blister. And my tenth blister. And how this is just the first day of…many, many days.
“Everyone good to go?” Thorn calls out once we all look more or less ready. “We’ll take another quick break later, but we’re going to cover as much ground as we can before that.”
No one objects. Not out loud, anyway.
Today’s first hike would’ve been enough for me—it’s more time outdoors than I’ve had all summer unless you count the hotel pool.
I have a feeling Thorn would not count the hotel pool.
Now that I’m here, and the excitement is wearing off, it’s finally dawning on me that I’m going to be out in the wilderness for twelve days.
As if on cue, a mosquito lands on my forearm. I shoo it away, then shoo its little mosquito friend, too, before they both settle in for a feast.
Thorn leads the way like he was born king of the woods.
I follow like a lululemon influencer who stumbled out of a photo shoot and found herself uncomfortably sweaty and surrounded by bugs.
How could I ever have thought this was a good idea?