Chapter 18
Luke
The city hadn’t yet woken up as we merged onto the highway the next morning, the roads clear.
By mid-morning, we reached the trailhead that led to our reserved site, and I drove down a gravel access path flanked by towering trees, pulling into a small clearing tucked up against the edge of a gurgling river.
“Well,” I said, stretching as I stepped out. “Ready to set up our temporary kingdom?”
Oliver stood beside me, head tilted back to look at the swaying pines. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”
“Alright, first order of business, location scouting. This is crucial, and since this is your first time as a forest-dweller, I bestow upon you the sacred honor of choosing where our noble abode shall rise.”
He walked in slow circles before finally pointing to a patch.
“An excellent selection. Good drainage. Minimal root intrusion. Ample shade. A riverside view. Well done, but the true test still awaits. You’ve proven you can choose a fine plot for our tent, but can you pitch one?”
“The only tent I’ve ever pitched, I’m pretty sure, isn’t the kind you’re asking about.” He paused as if processing what he’d said. “I mean um . . . that is to say . . .” A flush rose to his cheeks.
It took me a couple of beats to catch up, instant-replaying the conversation.
Oh.
Ohh.
That’s what had him all flustered. Damn, it was kinda cute.
Innuendo and me, we’ve got an interesting relationship.
Half the time it flies right past me, especially if my brain is focused on something else and not expecting the situation to drop one.
But once it lands, I can roll with the best of ’em.
In fact, sex jokes are funny to me. They’ve always felt safe, impersonal.
Since I can’t always relate to the specifics, it makes it less awkward on my end and a hell of a lot easier to laugh at.
Seeing Oliver still bumbling, I took pity on him.
“Yeah, not quite the same, though this will involve poles.” I handed him one of the bundled tent poles.
“Different stakes, though. Literally and figuratively. This involves more structural integrity. Though I suppose both pursuits share a need for tension, a little push pull, and the occasional grunt.”
His blush deepened to a shade that could heat the hot cocoa I planned for us to have this evening. “Yes, well, I can only hope this endeavor proves far less compromising than some of my past tent-pitching scenarios. Fewer flushed cheeks and no accidental witnesses would be ideal.”
“Well, I can’t promise no flushed cheeks, that’s somewhat weather dependent and exertion related, but barring the occasional woodland creature, I can confidently assure you there’ll be no unsuspecting witnesses to your tent pitching, aside from me, but I won’t judge.
As the expert tent pitcher, I’m only here to help you get it up right. ”
“I cannot believe I walked myself right into this conversation,” he mumbled. “Moving on, before this becomes more awkward. Why don’t you show me what to do?”
“You got it,” I said with a light laugh.
The tent took shape in stages, first as a sagging suggestion of shelter, then a proud little dome.
We drove the last stake into the moss-soft earth and cinched the guy lines.
“Behold, our home away from home,” I said.
“Congratulations! You have now completed the first trial of your outdoor initiation. May your path henceforth be paved with secured rainflies and critter-free sleeping bags.”
“That was surprisingly easy. I thought it would be far more complex.”
“Ah shucks, you’re tellin’ me that my reckless competence just ruined the whole challenge of outdoor survival?”
“Perhaps you can redeem yourself during what comes next in my grand outdoor initiation.”
“Gladly. Next up, bedroom assembly.”
We crawled inside the tent and began laying out our sleeping arrangements, first the pads, then the bags.
I’d packed my cold-weather mummy bag for Oliver, the one rated for subzero temps.
Overkill for a mild mountain weekend, especially with the additional layers I’d insisted on getting for him, but I wanted Oliver’s maximum enjoyment on this trip.
Spending the night freezing in the tent could make an otherwise fun trip turn sour real quick.
“Okay,” I said, smoothing out the last corner. “This one’s yours. Top-tier insulation. It’ll be like having your own personal heater.”
He brushed his fingers over the surface. “You aren’t kidding. This looks like something an Arctic researcher would use.”
“Low-stakes camping begins with overpreparing. This is your inaugural forest adventure, it’s gotta come with luxury. Comfort, in my book, is the gateway drug to enjoying the outdoors.”
“So, your agenda is to get me addicted,” he said with a teasing eyebrow raise.
“Just trying to secure my forever camping buddy.”
“I thought Ezra already claimed that role?”
“Ezra’s great, but I’m looking to expand the roster and share some of that with you too.
Really elevate what we got goin’. I mean, we make a killer team.
You’ve already sold yourself with your methodical camp selection and your easy company.
You’d be an asset to any future expedition.
If you wanted to be there, that is. That’s why I’m workin’ hard to sell you on this. ”
Oliver’s face did something complicated, like a dozen emotions were trying to share the same elevator and none of them knew which button to press.
His lips parted, eyes meeting mine then darting away.
He looked fond, maybe? Surprised? A flicker of something that almost looked pained too, but not the kind you talk about.
More like the kind you swallow and smile through.
Whatever thoughts ran through his mind weren’t simple, and I had no idea what to do with that.
Hoping to curb any awkwardness, I smiled and bumped my shoulder to his.
“No pressure. If this ends up not being your jam, we can file it under a one-and-done adventure-bonding experience. But for now, phase two of your outdoor initiation awaits. The sacred first hike. Don’t worry, it’s gentle terrain with low elevation gain.
Three miles tops, and a waterfall at the end.
Perfect for easing you into the ways of the wild. ”
The complicated expression left him, replaced by the look he gets when he’s about to mess with me.
“Three miles tops, you say? Isn’t that what every overconfident wilderness guide says right before someone ends up being airlifted out by rescue chopper because their ‘gentle terrain’ turned into a vertical death climb? ”
“Ye of little faith. Do I look like a man who’d lead you into a vertical death climb?”
“You look exactly like the kind of man who’d underestimate what counts as a climb. I’ve seen you bound up the building stairs four steps at a time, while I’m behind you wheezing like an asthmatic without an inhaler.”
“Okay, fair point, but I promise this hike is certified beginner friendly. No near-death experiences. Honestly, it’s less of a hike and more of a nature walk with ambition.”
“Luke, I work in marketing. You think I don’t recognize flashy spin when I hear it?
We do it all the time. ‘Sales rep’ is dated and associated with some not-so-positive stereotypes, so we call it a ‘business development specialist.’ Same thing, fancier title.
You can slap whatever shiny label you want on our little excursion—nature walk with ambition, leisurely wilderness stroll, gentle outdoor vibe experience—but at the end of the day, it’s all the same. It’s a hike. You’re not fooling me.”
“First off, I resent the accusation that I’d ever try to fool you. And second, we’ve been over this already. I see straight through your protests. You’re looking forward to this.”
Cocking his head, he asked, “Am I?”
“Yup. I can see it. That glint in your eye? That’s the unmistakable look of a man who’s ready to embrace the majesty of nature and maybe even enjoy it.”
“That glint is the reflection of me calculating all the ways I’m going to haunt you if I die, or how to punish you if this ends in blisters or any injury that involves the word splint.”
“I’ll take my chances. Besides, to have inspired enough emotional resonance to warrant a haunting? That’s next-level connection,” I said, grabbing my pack. “If you must haunt me, I’ll handle it with pride. Hell, I’ll even buy a Ouija board so we can keep in touch.”
“You would.”
“Totally, but it shouldn’t need to come to that. I’ll personally carry you back if blisters become an issue, but before it gets that far, I’ve got moleskin in my hiking first-aid kit. Now, let’s pick it up, recruit, day’s a wastin’.”
We set off, ancient cedar and firs surrounding us, their trunks soaring upward to a vaulted canopy. The late morning sun shone through the trees, the air fresh with a damp moss smell.
Oliver walked next to me, his new windbreaker rippling in the breeze.
The pale blue really did criminal things to his eyes.
Eyes I’ve watched reignite, gaining spark and mischief and depth.
It takes a hell of a lot to survive something like he did and come out the other side still kicking.
It’s not the kind of strength that makes headlines but damn sure deserves to.
Every survivor I’ve ever worked with carries that quiet power.
But with Oliver, I’ve had the pleasure to see it—all his quirks come back, his sass return in full force, and his confidence grow.
He has a social circle now, he and Talia have become remarkably close.
He’s really come into his own. And I love that for him.
I also love being the guy who gets to walk beside that.
But unlike with clients where I guide them to safety, help them find their footing, then step back once they’re steady, I don’t want to step back from Oliver. He’s become a constant.