Chapter 9
jett
“This is going to be totally radical,” I cheer.
Sofía trudges out of the hotel lobby, sunglasses slung over her eyes, a massive coffee thermos in her hand, and her bag dangling from her shoulder. She drags one foot in front of the other, and I bound behind her.
Sleep evaded me, thoughts and hypothetical scenarios of this PR relationship and what it might entail flashing through my mind. For once, she was flimsy with details, and after a few hours of hyperfixating on our conversation, I tried to funnel the energy into work.
It worked—mostly.
I’m running on five hours of sleep, but I’m wired with anticipation.
With a sharp glare, she plops onto the bench beside Molly, her bag falling to the ground with a loud thunk.
“Can we be radical with our inside voices, please?” Molly asks, about as awake as Sofía, which is not at all.
We’ve got two zombies on our hands.
Seems like the jet lag finally hit them.
The light peeks over the horizon as we wait for our tour guide to take us to the Blue Mountains. Leaving the two corpses to sip on their coffee, I help Doug rearrange his camera bag, fitting the last lens in and zipping it closed.
He’s always had an eye for finding the right shot, taking the best footage. What he’s not great at is putting it all together, puzzling the pieces into something whole. That’s where I thrive. It’s why we’re the best duo of all time.
I flick my focus to Sofía, her head slumped on Molly’s shoulder.
What the hell does she have planned for this PR relationship?
How does she know what people will like? Will we need to hold hands? Hug? Kiss?
I waited last night for some type of instruction. A PowerPoint, maybe. Or a spreadsheet. Both are on-brand for Sofía. Instead, it was total silence.
Something nudges my shoulder, and I rip my gaze from her and peer at Doug. “What did you say?”
He lifts a brow. “Having trouble focusing this morning?” he asks, his voice low so he doesn’t irritate his wife. Molly scares me a little when she’s tired. Sofía, too. “Did you remember to take your medication?”
“Yeah. I’m good. What was your question?”
I have a daily reminder set, with a backup in case I ignore the first. But there’s no issue with my focus right now. It’s all Sofía.
“Did you want to start with the fifty-millimeter lens? I have a thirty-five and eighty in my bag, plus the drone and a GoPro, but I can get exposure and lighting settings established on the drive.”
“You’re the boss,” I tell him, bumping his shoulder. “I think we’ll have a range of shots, based on Sofía’s summary.”
I spent an hour poring over what we could expect on the tour. In bold, at the top of the paper, it read: Hard hike, wear appropriate clothing. Bring water. It’s hot. Below it, another line with the species we could expect to see: wombat, short-beaked echidna, wallabies, kangaroos, koalas.
Below each species were additional bullet points and an overview of the history and geography of the region. Her notes alone will make voicing over the footage a breeze.
She does think of everything.
A large SUV pulls up to the hotel’s valet, and a middle-aged man with a graying beard, kind eyes, and a head-to-toe khaki outfit hops out of the driver’s side. A worn leather hat sits on top of his head, wide brimmed and decorated with a strip of braided leather.
The intense urge to yell “crickey” nearly knocks me on my ass.
“Sofía?” he asks in a thick accent.
She trudges forward. The navy biker shorts and matching top are tight against her skin, much like the black dress she tried on yesterday, the memory searing.
The quiet joy she radiated. The subtle confidence that grew as she became more comfortable.
The smile she attempted to hide when she shuffled through the shopping bags and realized I bought every item she tried on.
She steals my breath away so often I’m beginning to think I could survive on a planet without oxygen as long as she’s around.
“That’s me,” she says.
“My name’s Mark. I’ll be your guide today in the mighty Blue Mountains. I reckon it’s gonna be a beaut.”
“This is Jett, Doug, and Molly,” she says as we collect our gear. “I know we’ve chatted already, but there’s a heavy focus on filming nature and wildlife for a documentary series, so we may need flexibility with the schedule.”
The broad smile Mark offers her sends a flare of discomfort straight through my chest. “You got it, little lady.”
The skin beneath her left eye twitches, and the sensation beneath my sternum intensifies. Bag in her lap, she settles against the window on the car’s back bench, and I take the seat beside her.
The engine revs to life. “It’s gonna be two hours until our first stop.”
I scoot across the leather, inhaling that tart cherry perfume Sofía always wears. “You should take a nap, little lady. Might make you less of a grumpy pants,” I tease, knowing it will press one of her buttons.
Her lips purse. Right on the mark.
“I will murder you,” she responds in a monotone voice.
Valuing my life, I slide back to my seat. “That escalated quickly,” I grumble.
I’m brainstorming a comeback to her murder threat—it’s a hard one to combat—when a granola bar breaks my train of thought. It wiggles in front of me, a perfectly manicured hand holding the offering.
“You haven’t eaten yet this morning,” she whispers.
“Oh, I forgot.” I scratch the nape of my neck, feeling sheepish. “Happens sometimes with my meds.”
“You like chocolate, right?” She flips the bar around to where it says double chocolate. “I got these in case you were ever hungry.”
I take the snack, a bit stunned, and rip into the wrapper.
“ADHD medication?” she asks, before immediately backtracking. “Sorry, that’s not my business.”
Seldom have I met someone as perceptive as Sofía. “It’s okay. You’re right, like always.”
“Well”—she pats her bag—“I always have snacks, if you need them.”
“Thanks.”
She ends the conversation with a yawn, digging her eye mask from her backpack and slipping it on.
We’re twenty minutes into the ride when a heavy weight falls onto my shoulder.
Sofía slumps against me, zonked out, mouth open as she gently snores.
My arm is locked in place, bent at an uncomfortable angle.
I try to wiggle my fingers, but she shifts, and I turn to stone, not wanting to wake her.
Needles prickle at my fingertips, and I know there’s only one solution to the problem: I’m going to have to stay still for the next two hours.
When we arrive in the Blue Mountains, west of Sydney, the sensation in my fingers or any portion of my arm below the elbow is gone.
Sofía rustles, swiping the back of her hand against her mouth, removing most of the evidence that she drools while she sleeps, the tiny dots on my shirt the only remaining proof.
It’s a weird sensation having someone fall asleep on your shoulder. A duty to let them rest. An honor they feel safe enough to fall asleep with you. A damn pain in the ass because my arm hurts.
“Are we there?” Sofía asks, smoothing out her hair.
She doesn’t comment on her use of me as a human pillow, so I follow her lead. Maybe it’s not a big deal. That’s what I plan on telling myself until it’s true.
“You snore,” Molly says, spinning around in her seat, her chestnut hair pulled back into a tight ponytail.
Her smile is motherly, if a little teasing, and Doug coughs a laugh beside her.
The blood drains from my face as Sofía stiffens beside me. “No I don’t.” She jerks her head when I suppress a laugh. “I don’t snore, right?”
Does she want me to lie to her?
I glance at Doug for help, but he shrugs. What an unhelpful friend. Mateo wouldn’t answer a text in time to save me from this, so I guess I’m on my own here.
How to proceed? Truth or lie?
Turns out, if you’re silent long enough, you don’t even need to answer.
“I’m getting out of this car with you people,” Sofía mumbles, pushing past me, climbing over Molly, and leaping onto the gravel parking lot in front of the trailhead.
“We were teasing,” I say. Her footsteps stall at the sign, and I eat up the space between us, shaking out my arm now that feeling has returned. “Are you upset?”
She tilts her chin. “No. I’m not upset.”
“Good. That would be a major vibe killer.”
“Can’t have that.”
“Nope.”
Mark stands beside us, hands on his hips while he scans the horizon. The stance of a true pioneer. “About a six-kilometer hike, and then we’ll move. Reckon we might spot a wombat. Saw a burrow a few days ago with a different group when we headed to the Jenolan Caves.”
“They have a hard plate on their butt,” Sofía boasts. “To protect the burrow by blocking the entrance. They’re also so cute.”
“Right on,” I cheer. “Keep the facts comin’.”
Doug and I work together to gather the gear we need for the hike, leaving the rest behind. I take the camera, securing the strap around my neck, while he sets up the drone. Molly stares at his ass, and when I raise a brow, she shrugs.
“He’s my husband, and I think he’s hot.”
“Thanks, baby,” Doug says over his shoulder, adjusting the controls to make sure the blades on the drone are functional.
“Gross,” I mumble, loud enough for them to hear.
Outside of my parents, they’re two of the sappiest, most head over heels in love people I’ve ever met. And I envy them for that. Charlie and Mateo, too. I spent so long imagining what a life like theirs would look like for me—a lifetime with the person I love.
I had imagined that life with Grace.
She would work at a veterinary clinic, bringing home every animal that tugged at her heartstrings. I would keep filming videos and making content, traveling the world with her when she could join us.
And eventually, I would give it all up. Spend the rest of my days with her. Maybe I would volunteer at the shelter to surprise her. We would have dinner every night and share about our days—good or bad, it didn’t matter.
The image was so vivid in my mind, a series of clips that created a magnificent movie. So clear, I bought a ring. So confident, I proposed.
Turns out, I was the only one with those dreams.