Chapter 30
Clementine
Being outside makes my debt feel smaller, like the numbers shrink when the rain hits my skin.
It reminds me of being a kid in Alaska, floating on my back in Misthaven Lake, playing mermaids with Yura, or picking strawberries with Gran in the garden.
I remember picking out a rainbow tankini at Journeys with my mom that ended up matching the shiny fish scales of a fish Grandpa caught.
Back then, I knew how to be present.
Hiking with Alec pulls me back there. There’s no scrolling, no comparing myself to everyone else online. Just the soft grunt of him right beside me, feral, wanting him more than I’ve ever wanted to swipe a credit card.
The fog cleared a few miles back. Now there are just churning clouds in the gray sky above.
The back of Alec’s neck is slick with sweat.
His deodorant mixes with dirt and pine and wet air.
Every time he opens his mouth to point out a plant or bird, I nod silently, hoping he doesn’t notice my desire to bite the words off his tongue.
My body, however, is not nearly as romantic.
After ten hours of hiking, my back is screaming, my thighs are staging a mutiny.
The last mile, gnarled tree roots spanned the length of the trail.
I’ve kept my eyes glued to my boots, praying not to trip over another boulder or root or bear scat, which Alec pointed out with way too much enthusiasm the first time I stepped in it.
Who knew I’d become an expert in identifying animal poop before summer was over?
I’m seconds from collapsing when Alec finally announces, “We’re here.”
I lift my head, vision blurring until it snaps into focus.
The camp sits on a ridge above a celestial-blue lake that stretches out like the edge of the world.
Blues, greens, yellows, and browns in every direction.
No one else in sight. A river cuts straight through camp, its rush feeding the lake below, fish flashing silver where the sun catches their scales.
I pull my sweaty bun loose and let the wind take my hair.
It’s one of the most stunning sights I’ve ever seen.
I glance at Alec. His jaw is shadowed, eyes scanning the terrain like he’s memorizing it. Always studying. When he looks back at me, he smiles like he already knows I’ll never forget this.
“You good?” Alec asks.
I’m hunched like Quasimodo, sweat dripping into my sports bra.
“Peachy,” I croak, collapsing next to my pack. “My spine’s permanently shaped like an S, but otherwise I’m thriving.”
He smirks. “You better not tell your gran I gave you scoliosis.”
“I’m gonna have to stretch for an hour just to feel human again.”
“If you need help with your kinks…”
I shoot him a glare, glad to see the heaviness he carried most of the hike lightening. “Save the dad jokes, old man.”
“We’ve got maybe an hour before the rain really sets in.”
“I can do the fire,” I say, pushing upright.
“Why, so I can suck more splinters out of your fingers?”
“There’s a joke there,” I admit, rubbing my temples. “But I’m too tired to find it.”
“You can rest. I’ll set up.”
“No way.”
We fall into rhythm, him stacking river rocks into a fire ring, me gathering the least-wet branches I can find and pretending not to ogle his shoulders.
His long-sleeved black shirt clings to every muscle as he works steadily and efficiently.
When he tosses me his knife and flint, I kneel, strike once, twice, and the flame catches in seconds.
Once the flames are steady, he scuffs his boot across two flat patches of dirt. “Both are good spots for tents.”
“I think we should race.” I unsnap my bag, grinning like a maniac.
His brow lifts. “You know I’ve been pitching tents since before you were born, right?”
“That’s ageist.”
He chuckles again, and something hot twists low in me. “What are the stakes?”
I hesitate, then blurt, “Loser skinny-dips in the lake.”
He gives me a slow once-over. “You just want to see me naked.”
I press a hand to my chest. “Unlike some people here, I would never objectify you with my leering stare.”
He gives me a look that says he knows exactly how much I’ve objectified him already. “And if I win?”
Everything I’ve been trying not to imagine. You pushing me into a tent wall. Your mouth on every inch of me.
“Same stakes!” I yell, yanking my tent pouch open.
He sprints to his bag. Fabric whips against my arms, nylon snapping in the wind. My breath saws in and out, chest burning. I sneak a glance at Alec. His shoulders flex as he threads his poles, and he’s calm, as if we’re not in a full-blown tent death match to see each other’s skin.
“You’re working fast, Clem. Must really want the birthday suit.”
“No distractions!” My fingers are numb as I snap my poles into place.
I jam my rain cover into place, clip it down, and fling my arms up. “Ha! Done!”
He gapes, still threading his last pole. “No way.”
“You’d better be ready to lose those cargos!” I sing, twirling like a lunatic, hips rolling, hair whipping in the wind. My dance teachers would die at my lack of coordination, but for once I don’t care.
“Uh, Clem—” Alec’s voice cuts through. I barely register it. “Clem!” he shouts, already sprinting.
I spin, horrified. The universe, petty little bitch that she is, has snatched my tent like a kite. It tumbles once, twice, then lifts straight into the air and sails for the lake.
“Wait!” I lunge after it, but Alec’s hand clamps my arm, yanking me back before I go over the ridge.
Together, we watch my tent somersault into the water, poles snapping, nylon ripping, floating off like the saddest birthday balloon.
“Uh, guess I forgot to stake it.”
Alec spins me around until we’re chest to chest. He’s smiling with all his teeth. “Bit dramatic to throw it off the cliff just to share a tent with me.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“If you wanted to, Clem, all you had to do was ask.” He lets go of me and strolls back to camp casually, as if he didn’t just nuke my nervous system.
“I can, um—sleep outside?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re sleeping with me.” I blink as he double-checks the stakes in his tent. Our tent. The tent we will be sharing tonight. “If you’re worried, I don’t snore. I once fit four people in here when a storm wrecked half the camp. And they used stakes.”
I’m too stunned to answer.
“I do feel bad, though,” he adds, glancing over. “Technically, you won. We didn’t say the tent had to stay in the camp.”
“Next time, we should be more specific about the rules. Looks like I’ll have to come up with a new bet to get you in that river,” I say, walking toward him and helping him put his rain cover on. Internally, I’m floating into the sky.
“We’ve got a wet night ahead,” he says.
“Wet, huh?”
“From the rain,” he deadpans. “Honestly, it makes more sense to carry one tent for the competition. Lighter load for you. That is, if you don’t mind sharing after tonight.”
I lean into his neck enough to see the sweat gathered behind his ears. “Guess we’ll see how generous you are with your body heat.”
He looks at me, and I can’t look away. His pupils swallow the gold of his eyes, chestnut flakes shimmering like stars. His jaw tightens, five-o’clock shadow darker from two days of not shaving, and my throat goes bone dry. I want to kiss him so badly it almost hurts.
Until the sky cracks open and rain sprinkles down.
Alec steps back. “Fuck, we need to get dinner on.”
“You’re really killing the mood,” I shout over the rain. “I’ll get the goop packs,” I sigh, wishing there was a better option.
“Don’t bother. I’m gonna catch us some food.” He kicks off his boots, rolls up his pants, and scans the ground for a stick. His pocketknife flashes; one quick stroke, and he’s turned the wood into a spear. Watching him do it—his hands sure, strong—makes my core ache all over again.
I dip a hand into the turquoise river. It’s freezing!
Skinny-dipping here would have been torturous, but he wades in like it’s a steaming hot bath.
His focus doesn’t waver from the river, his brows drawn. Rain slicks down his forearms, veins pulsing under droplets. After a minute, he attacks. In one swift thrust, he shoots the spear into the water and bursts back up with a salmon thrashing wildly.
I leap to my feet. “No way!”
Alec glances over, smug as sin. “Hope you’re hungry.”
“This explains the entire human race,” I shout. “Cavewomen saw this and went, ‘Yep. Him. Forever.’”
“Just doing my evolutionary duty.”
He laughs, and I want to bottle the sound, drink it until I’m drunk. He lays the fish on a rock and finishes it with quick, clean efficiency.
My stomach growls. And not just for food.
“Eat up,” Alec says, sliding a tin plate of salmon toward me.
The rain finally let up long enough for him to clean, skewer, and cook the fish over a flat rock, the fire crackling hot enough to chase the damp out of our clothes.
Now the sky is black velvet, stars scattered like spilled sugar.
I settle on a boulder by the flames, warmth licking up my shins, and he sits beside me, close enough I feel the heat of him even stronger than the fire.
I take a bite and moan into the fork before I can stop myself. “Okay, this is insane. Best fish I’ve ever had. In the city, this would cost at least sixty bucks.”
“Do you always moan into your food?” He side-eyes me, the orange glow sharpening the lines of his cheekbones.
“Only when it doesn’t come in a silver packet,” I tease, licking a bit of juice from my lip. “I was starting to worry you didn’t know how to cook.”
“I like cooking over a fire, but I usually don’t bother if it’s just me.”
“Did you learn how to catch fish on YouTube too?”
“No.” He takes another bite, the fish on his plate nearly gone. My gran used to scold my grandpa for eating like that. Said he chewed like he was trying to eat the utensils.