Chapter Twelve
Oliver
“It’s an easy hike,” she said.
“It’s mostly flat in the beginning,”she said.
I’m about to die and it’s not even six in the morning.
“How much longer is this hike?” I’m barely able to puff out. Sadie looks like she’s taking a casual stroll, barely a change in her breathing pattern and not a drop of sweat on her face. She’s wearing her ubiquitous denim cut-offs and hiking boots, but she’s covered her t-shirt of the day with a faded black CU sweatshirt to fight off the pre-sun chill.
My feet ache, and I don’t know whether to chalk it up to my new hiking boots or the fact that I never walk this much. Ever. I swim and do other things when I feel like I need to do cardio, which is not incredibly often. I’m more of a lift-heavy-things kind of a guy.
Not a death-by-hiking one.
Sadie stops near a large rock at the side of the trail and turns, waiting for me to catch up.
“Maybe twenty minutes,” she says, a wry smile pulling at her lips. “Why? Are you out of breath already?”
I was out of breath five minutes into this hike, but the way Sadie is grinning, I know she already knows that. She’s been listening to me huff and puff for two miles now.
I flop down onto the rock, stretching my legs and feeling the tightness in my muscles that will be chasing me the rest of the day.
“I’m not out of breath. This air is out of oxygen.”
Her face softens as she looks at me before moving her gaze toward the sky lightening in the east. “You get used to it.”
“Like I’ll get used to waking up at unholy hours and singing songs that don’t make a lick of sense?” I bump Sadie’s foot with mine, and she smiles down at me.
“Come on,” she says, extending a hand to help me up. “If we make good time, we can relax at the top before the sun comes up.” And even though my lungs are on fire from exertion and lack of oxygen at this altitude, I reach up and take it.
Because I crave that small touch from her. Not because I’m eager for anymore climbing.
My hand rotates in hers as I stand to tower above her, and for a second, she lingers there, brushing a thumb across the back of my hand, but then she drops it, taking large—or as large as she can—steps away from me.
“Alright, let’s get going!” she says over her shoulder, a little more chipper than before, if that’s even possible.
We’ve been dancing around it all week. That push and pull between us. But it’s one step forward and two steps back with her, thanks to the camp’s No Purple rule. What’s a guy supposed to do? Make eyes at her all summer and hope she gets the message? Hope that she won’t dismiss me because I can’t make a move?
I follow Sadie’s bouncy steps for another twenty-five minutes, pleasantly surprised when she informs me that “the lookout is just past this final bend.” She said twenty, but I know the extra time is because of me and my dragging feet.
The trail makes one final turn, widening into a relatively flat plateau, similar to the area around Cell Phone Rock, but with fewer trees. The mountain continues to rise at our backs, but on three sides, it drops away, giving us a clear view down to camp and out toward Bear Lake.
The sky is brighter, and I can clearly see Sadie as she strolls to the middle of the clearing and sits rather unceremoniously, dumping her backpack on the packed dirt beside her. But the sun is still hiding behind the low mountains east of Bear Lake. She flips her wrist to check the time on the watch she bought yesterday, then pats the ground next to her.
“See? That wasn’t so bad.”
In the growing light, her teasing smile becomes an invitation to come closer to that line we haven’t dared cross at camp. That invisible line separating pink and blue.
“Oh, sure,” I say, carefully lowering myself to the ground beside her. My knee presses into hers, and she doesn’t pull away. “Going up wasn’t bad, but we still have to go down.”
Sadie gives me a quick grin before lifting one of her knees, wrapping her arms around it and pressing her chin to the top. Her other knee is still pressed into mine, and with each heartbeat, I can feel the line between us blurring more and more. But we don’t acknowledge it. Instead, we stare out at the sun that is taking its sweet time climbing the distant mountains.
Same, sun. Same.
I want to check my phone for the time, but I don’t want to shatter the quiet atmosphere of being up here with Sadie. It feels like we’re completely separate from everything around us, and pulling out a smartphone, the universally too-connected device, feels like it would ruin our moment.
So we sit in silence. The stars become fainter with each passing minute.
Finally, the tiniest bit of sun peeks over the tops of the mountains across the lake, sending long rays of first light across the valley below. Camp Brower is nestled in its own little shadowed crevice—the early summer green of the trees deep, the color palette softer, more muted, than the days at camp. New light glints off Bear Lake, sending diamond-like sparkles across the still water.
I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s calm and peaceful and awe-inspiring. If I were an artist, I would hike this trail every day to paint this view. A happy thrill runs through me, knowing that I made the effort—the huge effort on my part—to be here.
A pop and hiss has me looking away from the picturesque landscape and to my right, toward Sadie.
Who’s cracking open a can of Dr. Pepper while watching the day begin.
“You little liar!”
Sadie hides her laugh behind her can.
“You said your chipper morning person happens without caffeine!”
Sadie takes another sip. “It does. I don’t drink Dr. Pepper this early in the morning. Usually. But I’m not up before four on a regular morning.”
She laughs again and bumps my shoulder with her own as she turns back to watch the sun crest above the mountain. I watch her, her cheeks round and pink from smiling, the way she tips her head back for a swig and the way her throat works as she swallows.
She’s gorgeous.
I would be an idiot not to shoot my shot.
Turning back to the sunrise, I silently slide my hand into hers. Lacing our fingers together, I rest our hands where our knees are pressed together. I don’t know how long we’re planning on sitting here, watching the sun rise, but getting off my feet is nice. I’m not looking forward to walking all the way back to camp, but I push that thought out of my head and enjoy the quiet. Enjoy the feeling of Sadie’s hand in mine, the pads of her chilly fingers pressed into the back of my hand.
“What are you doing, Oliver?” Sadie’s whisper is barely audible, like a thought that slipped out without her knowledge.
“Holding your hand.”
“Why are you doing that?” Out of the corner of my eye, I register Sadie turning to look at me.
“Because I like you.” I absently brush my thumb across the back of hers, and her hand flexes in mine. But I keep my eyes on the sunrise, on the way the world looks like it’s waking up after a long sleep.
Sadie sighs and turns to face forward again. I mentally count the seconds she’s allowing me to hold her hand—how long she’s allowing this little bit of purple—and try to guess when she’ll finally pull away.
But she doesn’t.
“We can’t do this at camp.”
It’s my turn to turn and look at her. I study the side of her face, and the way her brow has wrinkled. The exterior signs of her interior battle.
“You said no purple on Camp Brower property. But what about off it? Is this,” I run my thumb up and down hers, “allowed when we’re out here? When we’re in town on the weekends?”
Sadie turns again, meeting my eyes for the first time since we blended into purple. For a moment, all of her questions and worries are on full display. “Do you want it to be?” Her voice is still quiet, like she wants this moment to be as soft as the sunrise to the east.
“Yes.”
“Okay.”