6. Leila

LEILA

Sore doesn't begin to describe the way my muscles feel when I wake up the next morning. My whole body feels like it was trampled on by one of those big cows we saw yesterday.

But as sore as I am, I'm far more preoccupied with thoughts of Nolan.

I'm at such a loss about that man. One moment he's looking at me like he wants to ravish me, and the next he looks like he wants to be galaxies away from me.

If there's no possibility of anything happening between us, I wish he'd make that clear. At least then I could try to get over him and move on with my life. But I keep catching these looks from him. Purposely or not, he keeps giving me these little surges of hope.

I wish I was brave enough to make a move and kiss him. There aren't many things that scare me, but the idea of taking that risk and then being rejected is so daunting. Besides, what if I'm an awkward—or just plain bad—kisser? I'm not ashamed of my lack of experience in that department, but it does make the whole thing more nerve-wracking.

Besides, I'd much prefer for him to be the one taking charge.

When I see Nolan in the hotel lobby, my stomach flutters with butterflies. But although he says good morning to me, and opens the hotel's door for me, and refuses to let me pay for my half of the breakfast food we grab from next door, he maintains a cool demeanor the whole time. And he completely avoids looking me in the eye.

Disappointed and disheartened, I try to direct my focus on the day's hike. I force my attention onto the sensation of the well-worn dirt beneath my hiking boots. I soak in the stunning views of the mountains. I breathe in the clean air and try to enjoy the warm sunshine bathing my skin.

And, of course, I think about my dad. He would have loved this hike.

Around mid-day, Nolan and I stop in a little alpine village for food and rest. As we sit down in the outdoor seating area of a family-run restaurant, settling at a wooden table with a checkered tablecloth draped over it, a couple at the next table over greets us.

After hours of what has essentially been silent hiking with Nolan, it's nice to finally engage in conversation. I find out that they're from Frankfurt, Germany. The wife tells me that they both retired last year and that now their lives revolve around adventures like this.

"That's so cool," I say, smiling at her. "Where else have you been?"

As she and I talk, Nolan and the husband have their own conversation. I'm too focused on what the woman is telling me to pay attention to what Nolan and the man are saying, but then I hear Nolan laugh, a sound that makes my heart drop.

I know it shouldn't. I should be glad that he's finally enjoying himself.

It just stings, knowing that I'm incapable of bringing him that kind of joy.

Soon, our meal is over and Nolan and I are back on the trail. We continue our hike up through a forest of beautifully lush evergreens, which eventually thin out and open up to a meadow filled with wildflowers. It's right around then that my legs start to cramp up. At first, it's just an annoying tightness. But as we keep hiking, it gets worse and worse.

I'm trying to push through, but it hurts so much. My eyes water, blurring my vision. And then my toe hits the edge of a rock, and I stumble and fall forward.

Nolan catches me before I hit the ground. As his arms hold me steady, I let out a pained whimper, tears spilling over onto my cheeks.

"Jesus, are you okay?" he asks.

"No. My legs." I wince and wipe my cheeks dry. "Cramps."

"Let's sit down." He helps me off the path, takes my backpack off me, and sits me on a large smooth rock that's warm from the sunshine. While he takes off his own backpack, I let out a long breath and try to relax my legs.

"Here," Nolan says, handing my water bottle to me. "Drink. You need to hydrate."

I do as he says. I can feel his eyes on me as I drink the water, and although I know he's obligated to look after me, it's comforting.

When I'm done drinking, I say, "I'm sorry we had to stop."

"There's nothing to apologize for," he says. "How are your legs feeling?"

"Better, but still tight. I think I just need to stretch them for a little bit."

"Take your time."

As I gently stretch my legs, I risk a glance over at Nolan. "How are you feeling after yesterday? Are you sore?"

He nods. "Yep. Pretty damn sore."

"If this hike gets to be too much, let me know," I say. "I don't want to drag you along on something that's making you miserable."

"I'm not miserable."

"I'll understand if you are. I know you didn't choose to come on this trip."

"Leila, I'm fine."

It's the first time he's spoken my name, and I'm caught off guard by how much the sound of my name on his tongue ripples through me. It's almost like he just pulled me into his arms and hugged me.

"Are the stretches helping?" he asks.

I shrug. "A little."

"Would it help if I…" He pauses, lets a beat pass, clears his throat. "I mean, I could rub your legs, if you want."

His suggestion sparkles through me. "You wouldn't mind?"

He clears his throat again. "No. I don't mind."

"Okay. Sure. That might help."

My heartbeat picks up as Nolan reaches out and wraps a broad hand around my calf. My skin warms under his touch. As he gently guides my legs onto his lap, a dreamy feeling washes over me, dulling my discomfort and making my breath hitch.

I know that Nolan is only being kind, that he's only looking after me because he promised my dad that he would, but I can't make my heart calm down. Nolan's touch is so caring and tender. And yet also so strong. I love that he's both.

"Is this okay?" he asks.

"It's perfect."

"Not too hard?"

"No. You can even rub harder."

He does, and I sigh with relief.

"Thank you, Nolan."

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No," I say, a little too quickly. "I mean, no, please keep going. It's really helping."

"Good." His eyes briefly meet mine, then slide away toward the mountains. "That sure is some view."

I smile. Even if this is only a fleeting moment of feeling connected to him, I'll take it. "Isn't it beautiful? It feels like we're inside a postcard."

The delay with my leg cramps puts us behind schedule enough that by the time the sun starts going down, we're still really far away from the next village. It's also starting to rain.

"I think we should pitch our tents and camp here for the night," I say, looking around us.

"All right," says Nolan. "Let's get set up."

We find a good spot a short distance away from the trail and pull our tents out of our backpacks. Working side by side, we both roll out our tents, stake the corners, and assemble the poles.

But when I try to raise my tent, I quickly learn that one of my poles is damaged and there's no way to get the tent to stand.

"Shit," I mutter under my breath. I look over at Nolan's tent, which is fully erect. He's crouching down in front of it, making sure it's secure to the ground.

He glances over. "Need help?"

"It's broken. I don't think it's fixable."

He comes over and sees the damage for himself. "Yeah, that's not good." He rubs a hand over his jaw, then says, "You can stay with me."

"Are you sure?"

"What other choice do we have?"

"I'm really sorry about this."

"It's fine." He walks back over to his tent and unzips the flap. "Let's get some sleep."

I grab my sleeping bag and duck inside his tent. I try to take up as little room as possible as I get settled. This little tent definitely isn't meant for two people. When Nolan gets in, there's no avoiding the physical contact that we're forced into having. We keep bumping into each other as we awkwardly arrange ourselves. Eventually we end up both lying on our sides, our backs to each other.

"You good?" Nolan asks, his voice filling the dark interior of the tent.

"I feel like a sardine," I say, forcing a laugh. "But yes."

"All right. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

The sound of rain grows louder as it drums against the outside of the tent. As the sleepless minutes pass, I start to shiver, my sleeping bag only doing so much to warm me against the chill of the night.

Nolan's voice comes into the air. "You okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine."

"Are you cold?"

"I'm fine."

Another few minutes pass. I can't stop shivering. I keep silently willing my body to stop, but I can't.

Eventually, I hear the rustle of Nolan's sleeping bag. I can't tell what he's doing at first, but then I feel his big, muscular arm drape over me.

"Does this help?" he asks, the words warm against the back of my neck.

My shivering is already subsiding. "Yes."

And that's how we fall asleep, Nolan with his arm over me, holding me as if I'm his.