Chapter 12 Rowan
ROWAN
Lola Kennedy is going to be the death of me.
Maybe not the death, but definitely another downfall. I’ve already had so many, and this time, I thought that I had fool-proofed myself. Moved far enough out into the wilderness, set up enough barriers around myself and the outside world that nothing would get in.
And yet, here I am, walking alongside her on one of the trails, savoring each time she reaches out and uses my arm for support, for balance.
The trail is almost completely dry now; we have the high winds up here to thank for that. I need to reposition one of my trail cameras, and Lola offered to accompany me.
I don’t know if she’s just nosy, doesn’t want to stay at the cabin on her own, or likes spending time with me.
Having her here over the past few days, bedtime has been an effort in restraint.
During the day, at least there’s something to do with my hands, like making more bread — more bread than I’d ever eat, for the simple sake of showing her how to do it, from beginning to end — or fixing the wobble to the table.
All the time, we chat. About our lives, mostly, and occasionally about our parents. She tells me about her awkward relationship with her mother, and her non-existent relationships with her half-sisters, who are much cooler than her.
I tell her what I can, in a roundabout way, about my exodus from the city. The peace I found up here, instead. And I spend some time convincing Lola that, yes, I have read every one of the books on the shelf. And that, no, I am not one of those freaky fast readers.
“People think reading a lot means you read fast,” I countered, plucking one of the books from her hand before she could put it in the wrong place on the bookshelf.
“But it’s about spending more time reading.
If you spend half your free time scrolling on your phone, and the other half in front of a TV, of course you’re not going to get a lot of reading done. ”
“How do you know what scrolling is? I thought you were a caveman.”
“… Lola.”
So, during the day it wasn’t so bad. Even if there were moments in which all I wanted to do was press her body to mine, there was something about the sunshine that made it feel impossible.
But each night, when the sun starts to set, and we have dinner together, let Cheesecake out one last time, it almost feels like we’re dancing a familiar dance toward a certain end.
Like how could two people be in a place like this alone, together, with the sparking chemistry between us and not end up touching?
And yet, every night I force myself into my bedroom.
I imagine a lock on the outside of the door that’s been turned, keeping me from venturing out.
I don’t even let myself get up in the night to go to the bathroom, out of the fear that I might find her already awake, or bump into her, or even, maybe, standing right outside my door.
Besides, she’s a woman alone with a strange man in the middle of the woods. It only makes sense that if she wanted something to happen, she would come to me. To make sure I wasn’t pressing her farther than she wanted to go.
“Rowan!”
This time, when Lola grabs my arm, it’s not for balance. It’s to show me something, which draws me out of my thoughts and brings me back to the present. In the Cascade mountain range.
Where, less than fifteen feet from us, a bear cub is scrounging through the brush, its nose buried in the plants. My blood runs cold, and my first instinct is to take a careful, slow step back.
But that is not Lola’s first instinct. No, she — apparently having no survival instincts at all — releases her hold on my arm, points toward the cub, and starts toward it.
“It’s so cute!” she says.
“Lola,” I hiss, trying to reach for her, but it’s too late. She’s already headed in the cub’s direction. The little bear freezes, lifts his head and looks at her.
“What?” she asks me, turning back for a moment. I scan wildly in the woods behind her, knowing the mama bear can’t be too far away from her cub.
“Walk toward me,” I say, keeping my voice low. She seems to finally register the trepidation on my face, and the smile falls away from hers.
“Oh, shit,” she whispers, her face falling. “That’s a baby.”
“Right.” I nod, watching her remember, surely, what she must have learned as a kid in Colorado, hiking with her dad. We’re lucky that it’s a black bear, and not a grizzly, but unlucky that it’s a cub.
Because any time there’s a cub, there’s a mother nearby. And they’re far more likely to be aggressive when they think you might be a danger to their offspring.
“Just— walk toward me,” I say, keeping my voice low. I still don’t see the mother anywhere behind Lola, which is making me think it might be somewhere behind me instead. “Move slow. Away from the cub.”
Lola does as I say, holding her breath and walking toward me, wincing when a twig cracks under her heel.
Five minutes later, we’re far enough away from the cub that Lola lets out a long breath, bringing her hand to her heart. “I have no idea why I did that! It was so stupid!”
“Yes,” I grind out, still thinking about how close that cub was to her. How I never actually saw the mother, just prayed that she wouldn’t charge on us. “It was.”
“Whoa,” Lola says as we near the front door of my cabin, her eyes cutting to me and the smile falling from her face. “Relax. Nothing happened.”
“Nothing happened?” I can’t stop myself from glowering at her as I close the door, ignoring Cheese dancing around my ankles, begging for a pet that I’m not going to give her. “You basically gave the mother bear an invitation to attack you.”
Her eyes go wide. “I forgot! And it was cute! That’s not a crime, Rowan. Even if you think you need to live in this grouchy, stick-up-your-ass—” She waves her hands around her head, as though searching for the word. “—head space all the time! You don’t!”
I’ve taken several steps into the living room now, and I whirl around, advancing back toward her. All this time — since the first night she came to my cabin — I’ve been careful about not spooking her, not startling her. Not making her think her allegations of me being a murderer might be true.
“You could have been mauled, Lola!” My voice is raised, but I’m not quite shouting.
We’re close enough now that each time her chest — which is rising and falling rapidly — brushes mine, it sends a jolt through me, my hands twitching to reach out and grab her, pull her to me, make sure she’s really, really okay.
“Why do you care? You can’t wait for me to leave, right? Or is it that it would have been a big mess for you? You would have had to call someone, and then the mafia or whatever the fuck you’re hiding from—”
I really, really shouldn’t, but I kiss her.
Or actually, I don’t. I wrap my hands around her waist, pull her in close to me, intending for the entire two seconds that the movement lasts to plant my mouth over hers and swallow those words, because they’re all wrong.
I’m not waiting for her to leave.
In fact, I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time. I forgot what it was like to live alongside another person, to have someone at your side when you wake up. To pour two cups of coffee and to be constantly surprised. To laugh out loud and have someone ask, what’s funny?
And out in the woods, I realized for the first time since she landed in a heap on my porch, just how much she matters to me. More than she should.
Back when my sister first met her husband, she was trying to explain their connection to me, telling me that there are some people in life that you just click with, whether that’s romantic or platonic.
I couldn’t understand why she would already be thinking about marrying a guy she’d just started dating — though the actual proposal came a full year later — and she said it was something you couldn’t really understand until it happened to you.
It’s been creeping up on me since the first time I saw her, that it might be happening to me. And the sight of her near that cub — the realization that I could lose her, that she could get hurt, and that I might not be able to protect her — it tugged at something inside me just a little too hard.
“Rowan?” she whispers now, and I realize I’m holding her in my arms, just a breath away from my lips, staring into her eyes like I might be able to find the answer there.
And the look on her face isn’t like she’s pissed that I’m touching her, or that she wants me to let go. It’s like she wants me to kiss her, almost as bad as I want to taste her on my tongue.
“Sorry,” I say gruffly, releasing her and taking several steps back. I clear my throat, run my hand over the back of my neck, and nearly trip over Cheese, who must be able to smell the bear or sense the tension in the air between Lola and me.
I can’t look at her, or I’m going to walk back over there and finish what I started.
“Sorry,” I repeat, because I don’t know what else to say. “I just… need some air.”
And with that, I turn and walk away from the moment, knowing I might not be able to ever get it back.