Chapter 8 Collie
COLLIE
I’ve never been so delighted to not have cell service.
I made sure to text Capri at Jackson Hole Airport, letting her know where I am and that I’m safe. And she promised to reassure my parents not to worry.
I’ve gotta say, there’s something pretty spectacular about being in the middle of nowhere. No distractions. No leisure resources. No nagging bosses.
I could get used to the remote life.
“You sure you’re gonna be okay out here, lost girl?”
Lost girl. I’m not sure what to think about Easton’s little pet name for me. I’ve never been close enough to anyone to ever be nicknamed. Easton and I are strangers, yet he wasted no time in making his own judgment.
That makes two of us because I’m most definitely judging him. I can’t figure the guy out. One minute he’s completely stand-offish, and the next he’s fighting back a smile and pulling my hair.
Not to mention the woman’s name on his extra boarding pass.
Something in my gut tells me this trip was supposed to be his honeymoon. But that would be insane, right?
Honestly, I don’t have time to think too far into it. I’m better off worrying about myself, making the most of this trip, and sticking to basic conversation with him.
Not that it should be too difficult.
Shifting my head toward Easton as he opens the hatch of our new home, I say, “I could sleep in a hole in the ground and be perfectly fine. Doesn’t take much to make me happy.”
He has no idea how serious I am. I love traveling, exploring, and visiting new places.
Adventure is just as much a part of me as fitness is.
I usually travel with my girlfriends or Capri, but never with someone I just met.
Those are the people we meet once we get acclimated to the destination.
But out here, in Yellowstone National Park, unspeakable beauty surrounds us.
It’s almost as if we were transported to another dimension.
Surrounded by nothing but evergreens near and far, the softest snow is beginning to fall.
The smell is almost tangible—ripe, velvety, and earthy.
I’ve already seen small deer galavanting through the forest grounds and have my hopes set on encountering a moose or elk.
We’re deep in rural Yellowstone, with nothing but trees, mountains, and springs between us. Camper vans of all different colors are scattered across the grounds: red, yellow, blue, and green. But none of them are orange like ours.
Clementine orange. Never knew I could love a color so much. The exterior paint is drastically faded and resembles an antique style. It’s vintage, likely having housed plenty of travelers before us.
If anything, it makes the burst of earthy colors in the forest even more vibrant in contrast.
Our campsite sports everything I’d imagine a wilderness camper would need, including a carved-out area for fire building with sticks and stones laid out in an unorganized circle, creating a pit to cook on the rack above it.
Two worn navy blue folding chairs surround the area, while a large plastic box sits to the side of the van.
Dirty Dan insisted we store the things that don’t fit in the camper inside.
For me, that’s likely everything. He even gave us a lock to secure it from wildlife.
I didn’t exactly pack for a camping trip. But there’s no way I’m sharing with the class how many pairs of athletic sets I shoved in my suitcase for the conference.
Thankfully, the weather in Nashville was in the thirties, so I’m prepared, for the most part.
I stand back and watch as Easton loads his things into the box while organizing all of mine in the passenger seat of the van. “You don’t have to do that. We can make room for both of our things.”
He turns toward me, eyes filled with nothing but sarcasm. “I’ll manage just fine. Besides, wouldn’t want a bear to feast on your Gucci.”
My one designer bag. I knew buying it would come back to bite me in the ass. Little does he know, I’m still paying the bitch off.
“It’d be worth it if I got to see a bear.” I wink, and he goes back to his task.
I use the quiet moment to take Easton in, and I gotta say, my judgement before was correct. He’s a hottie.
Next level hot, actually. After Dirty Dan bid us farewell, Easton hustled to the secondary Ranger station about a half mile through the trees to change and use the communal restroom.
Although we have a small portable toilet with evenly distributed walls—half the size of a porta-potty, and close distance to our camper.
My guess is that he needed a moment of space.
I get it.
However, I’m not sure what I expected him to look like in regular clothes and not a dismantled tux. But it definitely wasn’t a blue-collar dessert. Tastefully wrapped in formfitting Wrangler jeans with worn fading throughout, telling me just how hands-on Easton is.
Hot. Like a hot and spicy McChicken with extra sauce.
Steel-toe brown work boots cover his feet, and a basic white tee hugs his frame. His enormously tall and muscular frame. Because holy shit—he’s huge. Arm muscles bigger than my face, and a chest that could literally stand against a bear fight.
I’d love to see that face-off.
But the thing I’m salivating over the most, and one I never got a chance to admire with his modest suit on, is the pigmented layer of black and gray tattoos covering his arms from clavicle to wrist. Unfortunately for me, he threw a hoodie on seconds later, covering up the delectable view.
My fault for having a filthy mind, but God, he’s attractive.
Dark brown hair neatly trimmed on the sides, tousled in loose waves on top, and a full beard kept short and clean.
He’s so ruggedly handsome and nothing like my normal type at all.
I seem to always attract the studious ones.
The men who sit behind a desk all day and study graphs, sales reports, or whatever it is they do in a modern building in the city.
But Easton…I bet he gets those big, strong hands dirty. Really dirty. Bet they’ve got torn-up calluses on them, too.
I need to stop. I’ve been here a damn day and I’m already imagining his hands on my horny little body.
I don’t date. Refuse to. I have a one-track mind to get off and get movin’.
Kindly, of course.
Any man warming my bed knows what to expect once we’ve both been satisfied—a quick goodbye and not a phone number to be shared.
Easton is not that guy. Especially not now. The guy might as well have ‘damaged goods’ written across his forehead. The tux and woman’s boarding pass serve as a dead giveaway.
I have my reservations. And while I have yet to see a wedding band on his finger, something makes me question if he has someone waiting for him back home.
“Ready to take a look?”
“Huh?” I blurt out, sounding like I was caught with my hands in my panties.
“Want to check out the inside?” he asks casually. “It’s roomier than I thought. Might not be too bad.”
“Oh. Yeah, sure.” I walk to the back of the van and stand beside Easton with the hatch open. “Oh,” I exhale, examining the small space. “It’s actually kinda…cute.”
He nods before flicking a switch by the door panel. “Check this out.”
My eyes light up as the little orange van comes to life. With the back seats laid flat, at least ten fluffy pillows line the perimeter, while layers of comforters cover the bottom. The style is eclectic and homey, nothing like I expected.
I imagined something along the lines of hunting camo and burgundy-colored accents. This is a pleasant surprise.
That’s when I notice the twinkling lights Easton turned on that string along the worn fabric ceiling. They’re a soft yellow, making the space feel even more cozy and quaint.
Romantic, even.
Although it’s nearing nightfall and the sun is still shining, I can tell the sunroof will be my favorite part at night. Lying back and watching the stars shining through the small van, feeling so small in comparison to the vast world around us.
Yellowstone is magical.
“I’m going to love it here,” I say, not meaning to announce it out loud, and not ashamed I did. “This is exactly what I needed.”
“Yeah?”
I nod. “Yeah. Thanks for asking me to come, Easton.”
With his arms crossed, leaning against the side of the van, he looks at me with so much confidence. “Thanks for coming. Let’s just hope we both get the answers we’re looking for.”
One can only hope.