16. Indiana
F rom the moment I hopped into Knox’s old truck up until now, I had thought I’d seen some really beautiful views around the world. I haven’t traveled a lot, but my last job took me to some pretty places. Looking before me now though, I’m not sure seeing something is the same as what I’m doing now.
We’re up on top of a huge waterfall, with another one above us just to the right that flows into this one.
I can see the stream down below. The rocks are covered in moss, and all along the sides of the water are colorful wildflowers.
It’s beautiful and right in front of me.
I can smell the water, reach out and touch it if I want.
I’m in the postcard right now. “I’ve never been inside the postcard before,” I whisper.
“Do what?” I hear Knox’s deep voice ask from behind me.
I laugh. “It’s just that I’ve seen a lot of pretty things.
A lot of nice views. I pick up postcards from every place I visit.
But I’ve only ever seen them from hotel rooms or from the air.
I’ve never been in the view before,” I try to explain.
When I look over at him, he looks thoughtful.
I miss Han in moments like these. I never have to explain anything to her; she just gets it.
“You’re experiencing it in real time,” he says, surprising me.
“Yes, exactly.” I smile, fighting the tears that being seen by someone brings.
“Want to explore a little before we head back?” he asks.
“Absolutely. Please.”
He starts walking down a small trail to our left, Sally following him, and me following her.
I pull Han’s camera from my backpack, looping it around my neck.
I take a couple of pictures from up here before making my way down the pathway to get a few from a different angle.
Still in awe of my surroundings, I barely notice Knox leaning against a boulder by the water’s edge.
I wonder then for a moment if this is a typical hike for him.
If maybe this is a place he brings other people— other women.
The thought leaves behind a bitter taste.
One that, instead of examining further, I push to the wayside, along with all my other unpleasant thoughts, feelings, and concerns.
Knox takes a drink of his water and draws my attention back to him.
His hip propped against the large rock beside him, he’s looking out over the river that the waterfall flows into.
I lift my camera and, without thinking, take the photo. He turns, and I snap another.
“I believe it’s common courtesy to ask someone before you take their picture,” he scolds me.
If I thought he was serious, I might blush or drop my gaze, but the lazy drawl in which he delivers the remark puts me at ease.
He’s only teasing me. He’s only teasing me, and it makes me think of other ways this man could tease.
“I’m not sure what you mean. I’m only capturing the beautiful landscape.
If you happen to be in some of the photos, then that’s completely by accident.
” I give him a shrug and keep moving down the riverbank toward some wildflowers.
I picked up a book before moving that has all the Colorado state flowers categorized.
There are these little slots after each description to place a real flower.
Once a collector, always a collector.
I guess you can move thousands of miles from your family, but the habits you pick up from them stay with you.
Thinking about all the collections I’ve seen through the years tugs at my heart.
I miss the eclectic apartment I grew up in sometimes.
The tight quarters and colorful whimsy are one half of the mold that worked to shape me into who I am today.
Various items on shelves or in cases. I can still see the walls lined with art and hear the clocks.
“Do you ever get desensitized?” I ask when I feel Knox walking behind me.
“In what way?” I’ve noticed he does this a lot. He’s good at answering a question with a clarifying one. Must be the lawyer in him. I’ll play along.
“Now that you mention it, I think I’d like to know all the things you think I could be referring to, but in this instance, I mean to the scenery. I’m not sure I could ever get tired of it.”
When I turn to look at him, his gaze is fixed out on the water again.
I put the lens cap back on the camera and stow it in my pack.
I remove the old ball cap I found this morning and run my hand through my hair while I wait for Knox to respond.
The sun coming out has brought the temperature up, and it’s time for my sweatshirt to come off.
I’m beginning to wonder if he’s going to answer me.
I swallow, readying another prompt, wanting to get to know him better, but when I look back at him, I see his eyes are locked on my waist, where I’m fastening the sleeves of my discarded sweatshirt into a knot.
I’m delighted that he looks interested in the skin I’m now showing.
I watch his throat work before his sapphire blues flick up to my eyes.
Busted, Mr. Holloway. It’s nice to know maybe I’m not the only one feeling the attraction between us grow.
I grin and tilt my head to the side, raising my eyebrows in a silent question.
He clears his throat. “I think if you live anywhere too long, you might get complacent. But if the question is do I get tired of the views? Then no. I could go on the same hike, the same climb, the same turn around the lake, and each time I would find something different to appreciate.” He continues to walk down the river while I trail behind.
I nod. “I don’t know how anyone could get tired of this,” I say, gesturing to the picturesque scene before us.
“You’d be surprised. Small-town living isn’t for everyone.
” he tells me then grabs the back of his shirt, slipping it over his head and off his body in one swift motion.
The defined lines of his back and the tattoo he has in the center of his shoulder blades has my hands twitching in his direction, aching to trace it.
At my silence, he turns to face me, and oh god, forget the waterfall, this is the view.
“You okay?” He’s smirking at me.
I gulp. Honesty is the best policy, right? “I’m trying really hard not to completely objectify you, Knox.” He raises his eyebrows for a second, then his face relaxes into a knowing grin. Of course he knows he’s hot because how could he not? Was taking his shirt off premeditated?
“Don’t try too hard,” he teases and then winks at me. I’ ll be riding this high for days. That crinkled eye smile is already embedded behind my eyelids.
I clear my throat. “No, I guess small-town living isn’t for everyone.
I’ve lived in a big city my whole life, and although it has its perks and opportunities, I’m more than happy being here.
I’ve never in my life been able to look one way or the other and not see a building.
It’s…freeing? Exhilarating? Is that at all how you feel? ” I ask, turning to face him.
“I’m not sure if those are the words I would use, but freeing comes close. When I was living in the city, I did feel homesick from time to time. My plan was always to be back here. Things just fast-tracked as soon as I found out Hazel’s mother was pregnant.”
I have a lot of questions on the tip of my tongue that may be too personal to ask. So I ask one that feels safer.
“Last night you mentioned you didn't have a girlfriend?—”
“You asked if I had one, but go on,” he prompts, and I have to fight my smile.
“Was that how it happened? It’s not really important.
” I brush him off. “Anyway, I guess I was wondering if you have Hazel full time or if she spends time with her mother too.” I can see his shoulders tense in front of me.
Was that too personal? It was the least personal question I could think of.
“I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that,” I rush out.
We continue to walk, his footfalls never faltering.
I stare at my feet, at my bright-blue tennis shoes.
I need to watch each step carefully so I don’t trip over any rocks or roots.
I take Knox’s silence as he doesn’t want to answer me, maybe he doesn’t even want to be out here with me after my rude question.
I hate that sometimes I find it impossible to read the room.
Try as I might, that seems to be a skill I still lack.
I open my mouth, ready to tell him that he can take me home if he wants, but he surprises me by speaking first.
“I have Hazel full time. Her mother passed away not long after she was born, so it's just me—and my family.” An overwhelming sense of sadness takes hold of me at hearing that.
“I’m so sorry, Knox.” I wish I had something better to say, but sorry is what I feel. Sorry that Knox went through losing someone and was left to raise Hazel alone. Sorry that Hazel won’t meet her mother, and sorry that a mother had to leave her child.
“Thank you” is all he says. I decide that dropping the subject and not asking what happened is the best course of action. It’s none of my business, and asking would most likely be insensitive. He would share with me if he wanted to.
We spend the rest of our hike quietly exploring.
I snap a few more pictures, and there’s some small talk.
We keep it light; I do my best to steer clear of topics that could be seen as probing.
I ask about foods he likes to cook, the things Hazel’s into—sharks and princesses—a combo that I am thoroughly intrigued by.
And after hearing him talk about his daughter, I come out of this hike with a new fear.
Knox Holloway is even better than I had originally thought, and I’m in very serious trouble of falling for him.