Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Jack holds onto my hand all the way to the canteen, his palm gently pressed to mine, and he only lets go once we step inside to order warm bowls of stew.
I was shocked to find out there’s a canteen in the canyon serving hot meals, like a regular restaurant.
Since there isn’t another restaurant or store at the next campground, I’m savoring this peace offering, even though it feels a little like I’m being weaned off any form of luxury before the harsh reality of the second leg.
We sit shoulder-to-shoulder on a picnic table near the canteen, cradling our bowls while the sky boasts its talents above.
The Milky Way woos us overhead while dinner fills our bellies, and I can’t figure out whether the canyon is comforting us or this giant hole we’ve been traipsing through like ants is just lulling us into a contented stupor so its creatures can devour us in our sleep.
A comfortable silence settles while we eat, but it takes me a few minutes to relax. The tension seeps from my neck when I recognize the absence of the constant need to be on guard and pretend to be someone I’m not. How can knowing someone for two days bring such a sense of peace?
“It’s incredible how much you can see without the city lights. I’m used to going on walks with Giorgio in the evenings, but we never get a view like this.”
Jack coughs, swallowing a mouthful of food. “Is he a housemate, or friend, or something?”
“He spends most nights in my bed, so I’d say he’s more than a roommate,” I tease, rolling my lips. Jack shifts, straightening his back with a throat clearing. It’s just too easy to have fun with this man.
“Giorgio’s got the most adorable hair. But man, his morning breath is something else,” I continue, watching him carefully.
There’s a subtle nod of his head while he stares up at the sky.
“It’s why I don’t let him lick my face, even though he loves to wake me up like that. It’s just gross.”
He finally turns his head, aiming narrowed eyes.
“Giorgio is my dog,” I say, failing to hide the grin on my face. All Jack does is purse those lips with a hum that I feel in my toes.
“You have younger siblings?” I ask, and he turns his head, meeting my smirk.
“A younger sister.” He nods.
I knew it. Jack gives off major first-child vibes.
I’ve devoured my dinner, but I’m still drooling as soon as I smell what’s left of Jack’s food. His eyes track my gaze to his bowl before lifting back to my face.
“Still hungry?” His lips relax into a grin, and I can’t look away.
He’s removed his hat, and his dark hair catches hints of blue from the moon.
That same feeling I had while staring at the canyon for the first time hits me somewhere between my chest and my throat.
It’s that same urgency, like if I stare at him too long, he’ll vanish.
Every time he gives me more of his smile, another thread appears, looping around us.
But am I the only one who feels it?
Jack is unaware of the trance he’s put me in, scooping a tender piece of meat and holding it out for me. There’s not one scenario in the world in which I would refuse, so I do what every red-blooded woman would and lean forward, accepting the spoonful.
Our eyes remain locked as he pulls the spoon out of my mouth and puts it directly back into his, savoring the remnant of sauce.
Woah. That was hot.
He clears his throat again, setting down his empty bowl and lifting his head to the show above us while his words roll out in a hushed timbre. “You seem pretty adamant about finishing this hike. I’m guessing there’s a story there.”
“You know this goes both ways, right? I’ll need answers in return,” I reply, but my voice is still a bit raspy as I attempt to recover from the whole sexy spoon-feeding thing.
His head dips in acknowledgment, his eyes fixed on the stars. Agreeing to this barter is costing him more than he’s letting on.
I draw in a lungful of air, turning my face upwards. “It’s a way for me to prove myself.”
“To whom?”
“To my parents. To me. I don’t even know anymore. I just know it’s important. Maybe I’m only doing it ‘cause nobody thinks I can.”
His eyebrows squish together as his gaze falls on me.
“This…” I gesture around us, “It’s all normal to my family—wild excursions, excelling at physical things.
But it’s never been my strength. None of it has ever come naturally to me.
I’ve tried and given up on just about every sport you can imagine, not willingly, but under the encouragement of my parents.
I think they’ve also been trying to find the thing I’m good at.
It’s like, every Sinclair has to be good at some sport, and I’m the broken model.
My dad played in the NFL. My mom has taken home the gold at the Olympics for figure skating, and my sister is following in her footsteps with snowboarding.
It’s a lot to live up to.” I lift my head again with a humorless laugh.
“What do you want to do?” His deep voice rumbles softly into the night, voicing the words I’ve ached to hear from my family.
“Something my parents can’t understand.” My chest rises and falls as I’m about to tell someone my secret for the first time. “I wanna be an image consultant.”
My words echo into the night, weighty with vulnerability as I open myself to the possibility of being mocked by this strong, athletic man who probably appreciates the sporting accolades my family values much better than he understands the beauty industry.
But he only waits quietly for me to continue, giving me space to speak without a hint of judgment in his eyes.
“I’ve changed my major too many times, and my dad won’t pay for my degree if I don’t finish it.
If I quit, I’ll owe him a buttload of money.
If I don’t—I’ll be miserable forever. But I just got a scholarship for this nine-month course with the best image consultant in the industry, which means I should be able to earn a decent income once I’m done.
With that and the money I make through my work as a social media influencer, I may have enough to drop out of traditional school and still have a way to pay my dad back.
There’s no way I could’ve afforded the image consultant course and all that college tuition.
So I’ve been stuck up until a few weeks ago.
And this was my plan to soften the blow.
You know, my way of proving that I can finish something that matters to him, even if it’s not the academic or professional sports thing. ”
My eyes flick to him for a second before returning to the sky and the magnificent display it puts on for the mountains each night to impress and maybe even outshine this beast that draws people in with its grandeur.
The twinkling smattering of metallics above is a sedative, drawing out more of my secrets.
“There’s so much power in our use of color and the way we brand ourselves.
I love helping people discover how amazing they can look and feel with a little color and style help.
We’ve all got the raw materials to be spectacular, but sometimes we need a little help to see it.
Sitting down with someone when they’re free of makeup, with none of their defenses—it’s a gift.
I get to call out the beauty I see and show them what makes them shine.
But my family…they can’t understand my desire to leave their world of achievement, let alone show an interest in any of this. ”
Jack is still listening quietly, which I take as an invitation to explain the philosophy of color analysis and my passion for its impact.
He asks a total of two clarifying questions, otherwise letting me word vomit, gesturing with my hands as I continue prattling on about the subject and its endless possibilities to the point when I probably should feel tired, yet I only feel invigorated.
Maybe the exhaustion that usually hits me when I try to delicately broach the subject with my family comes from being misunderstood.
And Jack’s genuine interest is all it takes to make me blissfully happy, aching to rest my head on his shoulder. But I don’t.
“Do you live near the Canyon?” I probe, easing into the questioning and praying he doesn’t clam up.
“I work seasonally. I’ve got an RV near the South Rim. But I have a house in Flagstaff.”
“I live in Flagstaff.” My smile brightens like we’re kids, and this fact alone is reason enough for us to become best friends. He replies with a grunt that tells me nothing.
“You were in law enforcement before this?” I ask, soaking up every morsel of information like a woman starved.
My mind is in overdrive, already wondering what his RV looks like.
Is it old and lived in, or is it newer, with every possession neatly stored?
What kind of sheets does he sleep on, and does he cook his own meals or just throw something premade into the microwave each night?
“Yeah. Ten years in the Utah PD, and that was long enough for a lifetime.”
“Why?” I can’t help but stare while he keeps his gaze on the stars.
“They’re understaffed, so shifts were always crazy.
Some nights I’d go home just to sleep for three hours before having to be back again.
Some things on the job kill your soul—bureaucracy, hierarchy, paperwork, and under-resourced teams. A healthy work-life balance is impossible, plus the relatively higher risk of being killed on the job doesn’t help.
” His jaw pulses before he slides off the picnic table.
He doesn’t make eye contact as he straps his backpack on. “We should get settled for the night. I need to clean that cut on your cheek again.”
No hand holding this time as he pulls out a headlamp and we make our way to our campsite.
Dang it.
I’ve pushed too hard. While the sheer number of words he shared made me giddy, it must have spooked him.