Chapter Eight #2
Aspen followed suit, walking toward the Winnebago in question.
It was a classic boxy model in pretty terrible condition.
The exterior was yellowed and brittle from the California sun, contrasting horribly with the new tires Blau’s must have installed to tempt buyers.
Just looking at it made Aspen’s skin crawl.
“I hate it.”
“I think they’re pretty cool.” Mo moved to stand next to Aspen. “I’ve always wondered what living in one would be like. I bet it’s freeing.”
“If you want to be free, you’d be better off living inside your Subaru,” Aspen barked, darting toward the stores and hoping Mo would follow.
“Oh.”
Aspen, trying her best to block out the memories that had soured her mood, forced out a happy, “Let’s go. I haven’t been to Blau’s in like a year.”
“I assume it’s not a chain?” Mo played along, allowing Aspen a tad bit of relief.
“Nope, it’s family owned and operated. They have similar stock to places like REI, but without the same price tags. The best part though…” Aspen turned to get Mo’s attention before pointing at the adjoining business. “The Thrifty Squirrel!”
Mo finally caught up, matching Aspen’s brisk stride. “Why does a thrift store make it better?”
“You need a phone, silly. How else would I complain to Annie about how annoying you are?”
Mo let out the first chuckle of the evening, which felt like payment in full to Aspen.
She couldn’t control her grin as she looked both ways before crossing onto the apron of the store, pulling open the front door with ease.
The taller woman walked through, and Aspen watched her slowly take in the interior.
Blau’s wasn’t visually pleasing like Bass Pro Shops or REI, but it had everything an outdoor nerd could possibly need.
Plain, busy white-and-gray commercial tile floors, forest-green walls, and mismatched ceiling tiles with fluorescent lighting defined the inside.
The center of the store was chock full of clothes, separated into the usual gendered sections.
The perimeter was lined with outdoor gear for fishing, hunting, camping, cycling, water sports, hiking, and more.
It was basic but clean and well-stocked.
“Not what I expected.” Mo’s voice sounded slightly nervous. “I thought it’d be more kitschy.”
“I get that. A gigantic fish tank built into the side of a faux mountain is cool, but the water bill would keep prices high. Blau’s is no frills,” Aspen said calmly before gently touching Mo’s bare forearm, the warmth instantaneous on her palm. “What are we here for?”
“Uh…” was all Mo mustered, but she almost seemed to push her arm into Aspen’s hand.
“All right, let’s start with needs. What clothes do you have?”
Aspen watched Mo’s face crumple in distress, so she squeezed gently, hoping it would let her know it was okay to take her time. It was obvious she was thinking about Annie, but it seemed like something else was bothering her. The more Aspen watched her struggle, the more confused she became.
“I haven’t backpacked since way before Annie died…so I guess I need clothes?” Mo’s weight transferred from one foot to the other. “I need as many outfits as one would need to trek to the fork in the creek.”
“Which fork?”
“I don’t remember the name, just that Annie preferred this one fork.”
“Well…” Aspen mentally flipped through her knowledge of the dispersed camping areas of Redwood Creek, trying her best to figure out which fork an avid backpacker like Annie would love. “Does Elam Creek ring a bell?”
“No.”
“44 Camp?”
“Um…”
“Bridge Creek? Tall Tall Trees?” Aspen followed up, seeing no signs of recognition from Mo’s profile as she kept her eyes on the shop.
“Anything past those options, like Devil’s Creek at the end of the park, would be expert level to get to this time of year.
The water is only just starting to go down. ”
“Annie loved a challenge,” Mo responded wistfully, shuffling forward to touch a display with paracord bracelets hanging from it. She pulled one off a hook and inspected it before offering it up to Aspen. “Is this a need?”
Aspen chuckled, grabbing it from Mo. “Not a need at all.”
“But it has a compass.”
“A pretty terrible one,” Aspen replied, unsnapping the plastic buckle where the compass was situated to show the metal-edged tool sheathed underneath.
“These bracelets are a great way to carry extra paracord, but this metal multitool thing on the buckle sits underneath the compass, which pretty much makes the thing useless. Anyone who used it while snapped would probably walk in circles before succumbing to the elements.”
“So you’d just die in style, then?” Mo asked, her voice softer now, almost playful.
“Hopefully this is made of stuff that would biodegrade with your body, but yeah, I guess if that’s how you want to go out.”
“No, I think I have paracord and a compass already. I’m more looking for a good map of the park.”
“It’s all right, I’ve already got one up here,” Aspen said, pointing to her temple. “And a paper one in my pack. I’ll get us a backpacking permit for a week or two, so we’ll have time to figure it out.”
Mo turned, her voice becoming hard again. “You don’t have to do that, I—”
But Aspen cut her off with a raised palm, reaching forward to grab her hand and pull her toward the men’s section in the rear of the store. “I’ll get you where you need to go. No ifs, ands, or buts. Now, you are only gonna need three outfits, a rain jacket, and a puffer, tops.”
Aspen pulled her down the middle aisle past the women’s clothes, enjoying the feeling of Mo’s soft fingers along her own more calloused ones.
Once in the men’s section, she scanned for lightweight backpacking shirts and pants, finding them rather easily.
She tugged Mo there, depositing her in front of a table display of men’s hiking pants in a multitude of neutral colors.
“How did you know?” Mo asked, grinning down at Aspen.
“I know what looks good on you,” Aspen replied, winking. “I recommend these here. They are made to repel water, are lightweight, and the lower legs zip off so they double as shorts.”
“That’s useful,” Mo agreed, finally dropping Aspen’s hand to lean forward and grab a tan pair. She pulled them up closer to her chest, feeling the fabric carefully between the thumbs and forefingers of her hands. “I think these will do.”
“Cool, pick your three outfits out. You’ll also need a puffer—”
“I’ve got one of those, actually. A Patagonia one from forever ago, but it’s still nice.”
“All right, then just grab a decent lightweight rain jacket as well. I’m off to get some sports bras, because I need new ones if I am going to come with you.
Which I recommend you also get if you don’t have any, so meet me there once you’re done,” Aspen instructed, turning to walk back toward the front of the store.
“Oh, uh…” Mo hesitated.
Aspen stopped, intuitively picking up on the fact that Mo wasn’t quite ready for her to walk off yet. “Got a question?”
“No, I just, uh…you said you’d come with me and uh…”
“You don’t even know which fork in the creek you want to hike to, so you’ll need a good guide.”
“I’m not saying you aren’t a good guide, I just had a particular plan in…” Mo looked like she was in agony. “Never mind.”
“You sure? I don’t want to overstep.”
“Yeah,” Mo replied, nervously wringing her hands. Aspen found the display utterly adorable. “But I could use some more help here. With shopping, I mean, if that’s okay?”
“Totally.” Aspen suddenly moved behind Mo. “Can I touch you?”
Mo’s breath hitched ever so slightly. “Yeah.”
Aspen looked down where Mo’s flannel laid over her chinos, and she tugged it up and over her waist, her fingers brushing against Mo’s warm, lean back.
It felt amazing to touch Mo like this, so she had to focus to not allow her fingers to spread out and explore.
Quickly she slid her thumbs behind the fabric, between the rear belt loops and her soft skin, flipping out the tag. “Thirty-two by thirty-two.”
“Oh, I’ll probably need a thirty waist. I’ve lost a bit of weight and I just tighten my belt a lot,” Mo explained, her voice wavering just a tad.
Aspen let go, removing her hands and flattening Mo’s shirt back into place with care.
It had been a simple gesture in theory, but in practice it only compounded Aspen’s attraction.
She hovered her hands for a few more seconds before returning to the task at hand, shifting to the display to grab three black pairs of correctly sized pants.
But as Aspen swiveled to offer them up to Mo, she looked down at Mo’s chinos and remembered she had only seen the woman wear some shade of tan on her legs.
“Oops.”
“What?” Mo asked, her face blank.