Wild About You

Chapter Twenty-Four

Morning comes around, sunny and beautiful, and I’m beginning to think my mood controls the weather.

From the outside, not much has changed from last night. In fact, some things are objectively worse. Like the tent, which, after I fell asleep mid-book with the e-reader open on my chest, continued to collect rain in a gigantic puddle on its roof. When I went to dump it out upon waking up, water soaked not only the rain fly, but a bunch of the regular tent material, which isn’t as quick to dry. I’ve left it lying in a patch where the sun shines through the treetops, hoping that problem will work itself out.

Then there’s the stove I still couldn’t get to work this morning, hoping I could boil water for oatmeal. I ended up reading late into the night until I passed out and woke with a stomach very mad at me for its emptiness. So I’ve had a couple protein bars and might opt for a third.

Also, my eyes. Or the skin under them, which is so puffy from all the crying that I can see it in my normal line of sight. I’m almost too scared to check my compact mirror—key word being almost. I have some kissing and making up to do today, and I’m not about to do it with my eyes swollen half shut. Except for the kissing—eyes fully shut for that part.

Fortunately, I have masks for all my facial skincare needs, and I’m hella stocked up on inspiration. As I use the mirror to apply two shiny, gold gel under-eye masks, I think about Grandma Gatewood. She would probably laugh me off the trail right now for being enough of a diva to even own these things, let alone bring them backpacking on the AT. But superficial differences aside, Finn was right about our kindred spirits.

I’ve never been so pulled into a nonfiction book as I was by the story of this woman’s life and experiences on the trail. The AT of the 1950s was not the AT of today, well-maintained and with easy enough access to shelter, water, and towns that can provide anything you need. Easier still if you happen to be walking a small part of it on Wild Adventures, where your nightly accommodations are preplanned for you and a whole crew shows up most nights with a hot and ready dinner. I don’t think I would have made it past the first day, doing what she did with the lack of preparation she had.

But she pushed on. She slept on strangers’ porches, in ramshackle shelters. Ate whatever she could scrounge up or connected with other strangers who offered to share meals with her. Got all kinds of blisters, bruises, and other aches and pains in her flimsy sneakers and worn-out clothes. Two thousand miles on foot, sixty-seven years old, and she fucking made it.

She’s everything Finn said she was. Said I am, which I’m still not sure is fully deserved. But if he sees that much Grandma Gatewood in me, then it’s in her spirit that I’m gonna finish this thing.

I’ve just decided this when a producer noiselessly appears at my campsite and gives me a heart attack.

“Oh my god!” I gasp and yell at the same time. The young, nerdy-looking guy whose name I still haven’t learned is a little earlier than the time we were told to expect anyone this morning. He didn’t actually provoke cardiac arrest, but he did scare the ever-loving shit out of me. It appears to be mutual, at least, as he jumps back a foot when he sees my masked face.

“What’s wrong with your skin?!” he asks, in my opinion, rather foolishly.

“It’s called Rumpelstiltskin Disease. This monster cursed me with it, making all the skin on my body gradually turn gold until I have a firstborn child I can give to him. Normally you just see me when I’ve covered it with makeup.”

The guy is frozen, arm half extended with the envelope he brought, presumably containing my next map and go time. I roll my eyes as I snatch it from his hand.

“Calm down, buddy. It’s a face mask.”

He doesn’t linger after that, and I tear into the envelope and scan the contents before packing up the rest of my small camp with twenty minutes until my go time. I have a map that shows Finn’s campsite and mine, and a spot where we’re supposed to meet up roughly in the middle and race the other teams to the checkpoint. Partners have to arrive at the checkpoint together, so if yours isn’t at the meetup spot right away, you have to wait for them.

I’m eager to get back to Finn, to tell him how much his letter meant to me, say my own apologies, and fix what’s broken between us. I’m also eager to get to the checkpoint and know we’ve made it to the final challenge. But the tent is the last thing to pack, and it hasn’t dried out yet. I don’t want to fold it up and stow it in my pack to accumulate who knows what kind of gross mildewy growths. But I can’t hold up our team.

In the end, my method is unconventional, but will hopefully allow our primary shelter to keep drying out even as I hit the trail again. I have the large expanse of fabric draped over my pack like a massive cape, folded in on itself only once so it doesn’t quite drag on the ground, and won’t get torn or collect a bunch of twigs and leaves. I feel a little like a menacing forest creature ensconced in this near-literal wet blanket, but I’ll be sure to tuck it away before anyone else’s camera is on me.

I almost resent the woods in daylight for how nonthreatening it all seems. As if they played a mean trick on me by being so terrifying at night, and for so much of the time I’ve spent out here. I can almost feel them snapping back at me, saying, “Hey, that’s your own issues doing this to you! Don’t blame us!”

The fact that I hear the woods talking to me definitely reinforces said issues’ existence. I wonder if Grandma Gatewood talked to herself much on the AT, whether mentally or out loud. If she narrated everything she was seeing like I sometimes find myself doing. Pretty wildflowers opening up their petals to the sunlight. Peaceful breeze rustling the trees. Who gave you all the right to look so idyllic, like I’m in a fairy tale?

Yeah, that’s right. I’ve turned over a new leaf, pun intended. I’m not scared of the forest. I’m embracing it. I am one with the trees. I am gonna find my partner, who supports me and wants to be with me. I will keep working on my issues, because if I can do everything I’ve done out here, I can confront my inner demons. And I’m gonna win the money, go back to Oliver paid up, my future as bright as today’s sun.

I’m so swept up in my inner monologuing that I almost don’t see it. But then my head snaps in a cartoonish double take. Not fifty feet off the trail I’m walking along, the living, black-fur-covered embodiment of my biggest fears is nosing around in the undergrowth.

A black bear.

I come to a stumbling stop, snapping a twig underfoot in the process, and the sound has the bear’s head poking up, turning in my direction. All breath leaves my body as I look into its face for the first time, its dark, fathomless eyes sizing me up. Considering if I’m a worthwhile snack, most likely, or if it should stick to scavenging for berries and greens. What was I saying about not being scared anymore?

Every dark, pessimistic instinct in my body is back on alert, screaming that this is the end, that I had a good run, I guess, but we knew it was only a matter of time before something got to me out here. I’m trembling from my core out to all my extremities, torn between the urge to run like hell and the complete inability to move an inch. Dazedly, I reach my hand back for where the bear spray is normally clipped to my pack’s side, but it isn’t there. Shit, did I put it in the pack by accident?

Making the mental calculations, I figure by the time I can take off my pack and dig through it for the spray, this creature will have pounced, or whatever the bear equivalent is, latched onto my puny arm, and started dragging me off to its cave to share with the wife and kiddos. It feels like if I take my eyes off the threat for even a second, it’s game over.

God, my only hope is that this bear is a vegetarian like Finn.

Finn.Finn, who told me exactly what to do if I find myself in this situation, back in the very first conversation we ever had. Distracted as I was by his sudden appearance, by the whirlwind of our first day on Wild Adventures, all of it, I still retained a lesson or two from that chat, didn’t I?

The bear takes a slow, heavy step, then another, not really toward me but not in the opposite direction either. Its eyes stay on me, anyway. Swallowing the bile I feel rising up, blinking back the terrified beginnings of tears in my eyes, I comb through my memory.

Finn said the rules were different for black bears versus brown. This one is decidedly black. Which I think means…less threatening? I’m almost positive this was not the kind with which I’m supposed to drop down and play dead. That doesn’t feel right. And not that I’ve ever seen a bear in the wild, but compared to the ones I’ve encountered in zoos over the years, this one doesn’t seem huge.

Realistically, though, the chonker still has to weigh, like, twelve Natalies. And I can’t even imagine the kind of sharp, menacing teeth hiding in its deceptively cute snout. If playing dead is most effective with the scariest bears, then it has to work on the less scary ones too, right? My knees bend, about ready to drop to the dirt below and cushion the way down for the rest of me.

But something makes me pause. If playing dead worked with all bears, why wouldn’t he have just told me to do that? There was another option. I recount how the conversation went as best I can, straightening when I remember standing on my toes and lifting my arms in the air before yelling at Finn about his pockets. That was it. With black bears, you try to appear big and intimidating so they’ll run away. I eye the terrifying fluffball, now stopped with its nose pointed up as if sniffing the air. Can it smell my anxiety from over there?

When its front paws leave the ground, the big head and torso slowly rising, the time for floundering is over. Before I think it through any more, I grab on to the pieces of tent fabric hanging at my sides, clutch a handful in each fist, and raise my arms in the air as I rise onto my toes.

“HEY!” I yell, projecting to the back row of the biggest theater I can imagine. “WHAT CAN I TELL YOU THAT WILL GET YOU TO RUN OFF WITHOUT EATING ME TODAY?”

The bear freezes in a half-upright stance. I wonder what they think of this human-sized, nylon-winged butterfly that’s just appeared and started yelling at them. Does anything about me right now say “bigger, stronger predator”? I don’t want to insult this animal’s intelligence.

“WE BOTH KNOW YOU WOULD WIN IF THIS ACTUALLY CAME DOWN TO A FIGHT. BUT I’M SCRAPPY WHEN I NEED TO BE.” Nothing is happening. Why isn’t anything happening? “I PROBABLY WOULDN’T TASTE GREAT EITHER. TOO MANY ARTIFICIAL INGREDIENTS. LIKE, ON MY FACE. ALL KINDS OF CHEMICALS. SOME PURPLE DYE IN MY HAIR, TOO. DO YOU EVEN EAT HAIR? THAT SOUNDS DISGUSTING.”

The bear must agree. Its front legs drop to the ground again while it continues to eye me. This feels like major points on my side of the scoreboard.

“THAT’S RIGHT. WALK AWAY, NOW. YOU DON’T WANT TO SEE ME WHEN I’M ANGRY.” I think that’s something the Hulk says, isn’t it? I feel a little bit like the Hulk right now, with this whole big-and-scary act. Mentally, I pat myself on the back for pulling off “intimidator” so well. “IS IT JUST ME, OR IS THE HULK KIND OF A SUPERHERO-Y GLORIFICATION OF TOXIC MASCULINITY? LIKE, OH, I’M SUPPOSED TO SEE THIS GUY’S ANGER ISSUES AS A POSITIVE? I’D NEVER SAY IT IN MIXED COMPANY, ’CAUSE I HAVEN’T SEEN THE MOVIES AND DON’T ACTUALLY KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THE HULK OTHER THAN RAGE AND MUSCLES AND GREEN MARK RUFFALO, AND I DON’T NEED DIE-HARD MARVEL FANS ROASTING ME OVER A CAMPFIRE. BUT I TRUST YOU TO KEEP IT BETWEEN US.”

Okay, so it’s good the bear doesn’t seem to understand English. But even better is that, after only a little more of my rambling medium-hot takes on popular media, the bear looks away. My yelling voice shakes with a wave of relief that rolls through me, but I know I’m not safe yet, so I keep talking. And ever so slowly, one paw at a time, the large animal turns itself around and lumbers in the other direction from me.

Still yelling nonsense, still holding up my tent cape around me, still stretching myself as tall as possible, I backward walk on down the trail.

“…SO PINE WAS ALWAYS THE BEST CHRIS. I’VE NEVER HEARD ANYTHING TO CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE. LIKE, HE READS BOOKS! HE HAS A FLIP PHONE! I’VE ONLY RECENTLY REALIZED THAT A GUY BEING KINDA ANTI–MODERN CONVENIENCES IS A TURN-ON FOR ME, BUT I’M NOT ASHAMED TO ADMIT IT. AND THE MORE HE LEANS INTO THE SILVER FOX THING, HOT DA—”

“Natalie,” comes a sharp whisper from behind me, and I let out a garbled shriek as I whirl around, tangling myself up in a blanket of damp blue tent and tripping on my own feet in the process. I pitch forward, smashing nose-first into a hard chest.

“What the fuck!”I wheeze, but muffled in the woodsmoke-scented cotton of Finn’s T-shirt, it comes out as more of a “Wrrrtthwfrrrh.”

It’s only when his steady hands clamp down on my shoulders and push me to stand back up that I realize my whole body is shaking like a leaf. That new leaf I allegedly turned over, before getting scared shitless again.

“Shhh,” he soothes, starting to unravel the tent from around me with a furrow between his stern brows. “You’re okay. You’re safe now. You can stop running bear defense.”

“Y-you saw it too? The bear? Th-that was a bear back there. I…I ran into a bear.” My words are choppy, my breaths sawing unevenly out of my lungs. I didn’t notice any of this while I was yelling—or maybe it wasn’t happening, didn’t start till my adrenaline crashed. When Finn, having fully detached the tent from my person and tossed it to the ground beside us, brings his hands up to frame my face and his thumbs to swipe tears from my cheeks, it dawns on me that I’ve been crying. Who knows how long that’s been going on, either? It’s ahead of schedule today.

“I saw it,” he confirms, lips forming a flat line as he watches me warily. “Our meetup spot’s just back there. I saw you coming this way, then you froze, so I started toward you to see what was up. Then stopped when I saw the bear. Then I was like, ‘Hey, jackass, maybe you should go help your partner somehow.’ But then you started talking.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “It was clear you had it under control.”

In an instant, I’m doubled over, my whole body heaving in hysterical laugh-sobs. I feel my backpack jostle and let Finn remove it for me, vaguely registering through bleary eyes that he turns both of our GoPros off. Then his hands return to my back, my shoulders, gently patting around. His voice floats down to me, murmuring assurances that I’m safe and did a great job, and I can’t form the words to let him know I’m not, in fact, having a total breakdown.

Until I can. Straightening back up after a few minutes, I swipe under my own eyes and meet his gaze. “I fucking did that! I looked like an absolute nutjob and said things that hopefully never leave this forest, but I faced down a bear and walked away just fine! Can you believe it?”

This is followed by a rather witchy cackle. Finn continues to eye me for a moment before his expression eases, a slow smile forming. “Hell yeah, you did. You did that, Natalie.”

“I did that!”

“Your biggest fear since we started this thing, and you just handled it like a pro.”

“Bears fear me now!”

“Not sure what the whole tent cape was about, but it worked in your favor.”

“Long story, but you’re right, it did!”

“I’m so proud of you.”

My response to those soft, sincere words is to throw my arms around his neck and claim his lips with mine. Finn catches me against him, tightening his arms around my back to hold me up as he quickly matches my fervor with his own, kissing me like it’s the first time all over again. In a way, it feels like it is. Like it’s my first kiss ever, or at least the first one with someone who’s truly known me—the best of me but also my least flattering, darkest, messiest sides, and he still wants every bit of it. Every bit of me.

Our kiss is frantic, devouring at first, then melts into the slow, deep kind that could go on for minutes or hours. Each pull of his lips on mine, trace of my tongue to his, feels like an answer to one of the questions still hanging over us.

Are we doing this? Yes.

Even though I can be difficult? Yes.

And you can lose patience? Yes.

You’re sure that—? Yes. Shut up. Just kiss me.

But I know there are still words to be said, and in time, I pull back, letting my forehead rest against his as our panting breaths mingle. Finn lowers me to the ground but keeps his head bent close to mine. I’m about to begin when he gets there first.

“Did you read my note?”

I frown, tip my head to the side. “Note?”

Finn’s face flushes even redder than it was from the kissing and he starts to step back, but I can’t let him. I grab his T-shirt in my fist and hold him in place. “I didn’t get any mere note. I got a letter, a tome, my new favorite work of literature that has ever existed, a masterpiece on orange envelopes—”

“Okay, you’re evil,” he says.

I giggle like the smitten little bear conqueror I am. “I’m a better actress than I thought, apparently. But Finn…” I continue with nothing but sincerity. “I’m sorry. For everything—for trying to push you away, and not trusting everything you’ve said to me, how cared for you’ve made me feel. I know it comes from my own shit I need to deal with, and I’ve put things on you that aren’t fair—”

“It’s okay,” he says, shaking his head quickly. “I know I’m not the best at being supportive or encouraging. Or, well, the easiest to be around in general. I’m working on it.”

“No,” I cut back in. “You’re super supportive. I know you’ve worked on it and you’ve changed so much, even in the short time I’ve known you. But I have plenty of work to do too, and like you wrote, I want to work on things with you in my corner. Start dealing with things that scare me.” I gesture back in the direction of the showdown. “I guess I’ve already started, just now.”

“Hell yeah, you have,” Finn says, brushing a soft kiss across my forehead.

I lean in and wrap my arms around him, resting my chin on his chest. “Are there more forehead kisses in it for me? Like, as motivation. Confront some anxiety or unprocessed trauma, get a forehead kiss afterward?”

“I think that can be arranged.” He plants another one on me. “That one was a freebie.”

Laughing, I stand on my toes and bring my lips to his again. When, still lip-locked, he leans forward, picks me up with a hand on the back of each of my thighs, I startle at first then go along with it as he guides my legs to wrap around his waist. But then he starts walking, and I pull back.

“Where are we going?” I ask breathily, dropping quick kisses on his cheeks, nose, chin.

“I’ve been reading this book…,” he says, a sultry, teasing note to his voice that sends a chill down my spine. My spine, which is then gently pressed against the trunk of a tree, Finn’s perfect body caging me in. “Hot on Her Trail. You might know it?”

I nod, biting down on my smile, and his eyes zero in on my lower lip.

He continues, “It’s convinced me of the merits of making out against a tree.”

My laugh is caught by his mouth on mine again. And I have to say, he’s on to something. Or the fictional sexy forest ranger is. But I’ll take this real-life, sometimes grumpy, always gorgeous partner of mine any day.

We kiss each other senseless. Kind of literally, as we both seem to forget where we are, what we’re in the middle of, that we’ve probably used up all ten camera-free minutes for this hour. The only thing that breaks us apart in the end is a loud wolf whistle and a shout of “That’s my boy!”

Finn’s head whips around, body still pinning me in place, and I peek over his shoulder to see Zeke in the distance at what I assume is the meetup spot, one victorious fist in the air. Next to him, Enemi looks characteristically displeased, smacking his arm.

“Zeke! Are you even trying to win? You shouldn’t have stopped them!” She stomps a foot, then turns and breaks into a jog. “Come on, we’ve got to hurry now.”

Zeke looks unrepentant, giving us a huge smile and double thumbs-up before he follows. Finn steps back, hands gently guiding me back to my feet as he gives me a rueful smile.

“Yeah, so we should probably get back to the challenge.” He pulls our envelope out of his pocket, starting to speed-walk backward and reaching up to turn his camera back on. “Last one there’s out of a hundred thousand dollars?”

My heart sinks, even as it’s still pounding from the thrill of being with him like this. “Do you really think we can catch up to them?”

Finn steps to the side, revealing that Evan is still standing at the meetup spot, no Harper in sight. “We don’t necessarily have to.”

My jaw drops. I would’ve thought surely we’d gotten sidetracked long enough for both of the other teams to get ahead. Even as I put my pack on, balling up the tent for Finn to stuff it in the bag, and start on down the trail, I worry about Harper.

But Evan gives us a friendly, if a little tired, wave. “Go on,” they call out. “Win it for us, okay?”

Finn and I start for the second to last checkpoint, jogging as fast as our newly reinvigorated bodies will allow, only stopping for a short break to catch our breath, drink water, and, okay, share another quick kiss or two. And when, a couple miles later, we run up to a gaggle of producers, a couple of cameras, and Burke Forrester to get the good news, we do so hand in hand.