7. Shawn #2
“I read a book once where they called it cosmic insignificance theory. Being out here reminds you that nothing you do really matters in the big scheme of the universe. But rather than that being depressing, I think it’s freeing.
I like the reminder that we’re all just tiny specks and that no one individual decision really makes that much of a difference. ”
He leans on his elbows, stretches his legs out in front of him, and cranes his head back, exposing his Adam’s apple. I’m hit by the unexpected but unmistakable desire to know what his neck feels like under my mouth. What the hell?
I don’t have time to dwell on the conundrum because he’s talking about something far more important than my startling attraction to a guy.
“I needed that after my parents died and I was responsible for Brooke. I felt like I was making a different mistake every day, that I was going to fuck up both our lives even more than they had already been fucked up. But you know what—I didn’t.
And I miss our parents, every day. But eventually I figured out that their deaths didn’t fuck up our lives.
We did okay. We’re doing okay in the big scheme of things.
So yeah, cosmic insignificance theory. I’m a fan. ”
“Wow.” His positivity in the face of such a tragedy could be cloying, but he just seems…healthy. And it’s impressive as hell that he endured a terrible thing and came out the other side. “So what, every time life gets to be too much you hike up here and look at the stars?”
He glances at me and smiles. “Well, you can see the stars from almost anywhere around here. All you have to do is look up.”
I chuckle. I guess he’s right. And that means I can get a dose of this therapy whenever I need it. “I’ll remember that.”
“So, you ready for dessert?”
“What—there’s more in that pack?”
“Oh, I’ve got all sorts of goodies in here,” he says, waggling his eyebrows. I get another flash of something like arousal in my belly at the implication he could have something dirty in there.
Wait. Something dirty? Like what? Lube and condoms?
The idea comes out of complete nowhere. I’ve never had sex with a man. And Blaze and I aren’t—we’re not—he’s not…probably. What if—no. We just aren’t.
But for a split second, I let myself wonder what it would be like. I imagine kissing Blaze, his beard brushing against my skin, feeling out his crooked tooth with my tongue, gripping his firm, meaty arms with my hands.
My emotions aren’t the only things swinging around wildly on this mountaintop. My libido’s swinging, too, and definitely in the direction of Blaze. A guy. A guy who’s being paid to hang out with me, not counsel me about my identity crisis.
That’s right, I’m having a crisis of identity, not a sexuality crisis. Somehow, the two things are getting crisscrossed in my brain.
Blaze pulls two enormous cookies from the pack and offers me one.
I take a sniff of mine before taking a bite.
Sugar and salt instantly battle for dominance on my tongue.
“Mmm,” I say with my mouth full. “Salted caramel chip.” The cookie is delicious, and maybe keeping my mouth full of food is a good way to avoid thinking about other things I could do with it.
Like, for instance, kissing Blaze and licking the salted caramel from his mouth.
Because I don’t kiss guys. Not that I’ve been kissing anyone lately. Plus, he’s an employee at the retreat. If anything, we’re starting to be friends, and that’s something I shouldn’t mess with.
Blaze swallows and licks a crumb from the soft hairs under his lip. “I never thought much about salted caramel before. Consider me converted.”
“Yeah,” I echo weakly. “It’s my favorite. Something about the salty sweet combo, you know?”
“Yeah. It’s pretty good.”
I look away from his face and back up at the stars.
I could use another hit of that cosmic insignificance theory right about now.
Except it’s not working. It’s reminding me that kissing Blaze might seem like a momentous thing to want to do, and something I should think about very, very carefully before acting.
But out here under the stars, there’s a part of me that thinks I should go for it.
I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?
I could just ask.
“What were you going to ask me?” Blaze says, and I start. Did I say something out loud?
“Huh?” I swing my gaze back to him. Gosh, he’s really pretty cute.
I shake my head. I’ve literally never thought about calling another guy cute before. Is this some kind of magical mountaintop? Am I falling under some kind of spell?
Or is Blaze just a nice guy and I’m clinging to the first person to be real with me in years?
“Before, you said you wanted to ask me a question,” he says, apparently not actually reading my libidinous mind.
“Oh. Right. I was going to say the Laurels will be playing for the division champs pretty soon. I was going to ask if there’s any place to watch the games.” Maybe it’s not the best idea, but I’m still rooting for them.
“Oh. Well. I’ve got a sports package, if you want to come over.”
Somehow, after three days without connectivity, I forgot that people could have service in their homes. What did I think—that he lived completely off the grid? And now he’s inviting me to his house. Like a friend would do.
“That’s a nice offer,” I say slowly. I want to accept, but it feels too much like an imposition.
“You don’t have to take me up on it now. Think about it.”
“Okay.”
A howl echoes from somewhere below us, followed by what sounds like barking. Misty’s head lifts from where she’d been resting it on her front paws. “What was that?”
Blaze quickly snaps Misty’s lead on as her ears twitch.
“Coyote,” he says nonchalantly. “Not close. But maybe it’s time we head down the mountain.
” He takes two small flashlights out of his bottomless backpack, plus two headlamps affixed to elastic headbands.
He also clips a blinking red light to Misty’s collar, sort of like a bicycle light.
In less than two minutes, we have our picnic cleared back into the pack, bringing every speck of trash with us. Even though I offer, Blaze takes the pack again for the way home. I rationalize that it’s much lighter now rather than make a big deal out of wanting to carry it.
I can see surprisingly well between the headlamp and the flashlight, and the hike down seems faster than the one up, quiet and cool and dark, but not menacingly so.
I’m there with Blaze, whom I trust. I’ve got the whistle around my neck, and we have his good dog by our sides.
We don’t run into a single bear, or even a coyote.
And even though I can’t see the stars through the trees, I know they’re there.