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seven

HUNTER

The words I heard Mollie’s friend say are repeating over and over in my head: You need some sexual adventure.

I don’t usually get involved with women only in town for an “adventure.” I’m not a vending machine, and whatever I dispense would be a disappointment to the women looking for something more exciting and different compared to their “real” lives. I’m just me, and this town is pretty boring if you live here.

Scott can make a fling seem like an adventure. He’s good at that.

But Mollie isn’t trying to kiss Scott. She’s leaning into me .

There are no books to guide me in this situation. None I’ve read, anyway. How to kiss strangers without getting emotionally attached would be helpful information right now.

Teasing her, or even being honest, could deflect the situation. I don’t know how to do this, I could say . Mollie would be embarrassed and also understanding. And that would be that. I’d go on to teach her how to safely ride a mountain bike and she’d go home and forget about me.

Only there’s something about the way Mollie has been so determined to keep trying. The way she acknowledges she’s bad at these activities, like she straight-up acknowledged she was thinking about kissing me. I’ve never met someone so willing to fail over and over again.

I don’t want her to fail now.

When we touch lips, I no longer feel the heat of the sun on my back or the dirt under my hands. Mollie makes a small sound that I also heard her make when she threw an axe the other day, a tiny grunt of release. This time, she hits the target. Our kiss is effortless, my head turning to the right while she turns to the left. Our tongues touching lightly. I’m getting hard and these bike shorts hide nothing.

It’s been a while since I touched a woman intimately. Usually, I know her for a while first and I’d be more in my head when I finally kiss her. It would be more of an intellectual connection.

Holy shit, something different is good.

Reaching out, I let myself touch her arm, trailing my fingers down it. Her skin is soft. I wouldn’t mind being wrapped up in it.

That second is all I get to imagine laying Mollie down on this rocky ground and getting lost in her when two cyclists not with our group blow past us, over the feature, and up the hill. We pull apart, watching them disappear.

“They make it look so easy,” says Mollie, her face wistful.

I watch her face, the furrow between her eyebrows over her sunglasses, and I wish her eyes were visible. What did that kiss mean to her? Did she get the same zing of surprise that I did? The startling need to sink into us for a while?

Her gaze is following the other cyclists, not lingering on my lips. I swallow and force myself to move on. I debate telling her that on the full-suspension bike she’s borrowing, she could have rolled up and over that feature easily without listening to any of the for-practice guidance Scott and I offered. If only she didn’t hit the brakes.

Nah. If it’s not easy for her, that’s all that matters. Not whether it should be. “We’ll get you there,” I say simply, and study her face for signs she doesn’t want to try again. I’m not a good enough teacher to beat resistance. But she looks at the little hill we’re sitting next to as if it’s one of Colorado’s 14,000-foot mountains. Like it’s meant to be climbed.

I’d sort of like her to look at me like that.

“Can you really teach me how to do that?” she asks, still not looking at me. “I’m…pretty bad at this.”

“I can absolutely teach you how to do that,” I reply. “You can be good at this. It takes some time. And practice.”

She nods, like that settles it. Then she looks at me. “I know you only kissed me to encourage me,” she says, matter-of-factly. “I appreciate it.”

She carefully stands up, without bracing her hands on the ground, and brushes herself off. I stare up at her, letting my crotch know we’re done here. It’s slow to get the message.

“Mollie…”

Pausing, she looks back.

I did kiss her to be encouraging, at least a little. But I wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t wanted to. I’ve never felt this way about someone on one of our tours. A little protective, and also…like I want to claim something. I wanted to get there first. Before Scott, or some other guy she might have turned to for her vacation “adventure.” Was that enough? Was that all she wanted? Just a kiss?

“You’ll get there,” I mumble, falling back on my job. On being a guide who can work with anybody. Even a woman who turned my whole ethos upside down in one move.

When we rejoin the others, walking our bikes to get back to the trailhead, Mollie leaves my side with a polite smile to catch up with her friends.

“She OK?” Scott asks, pausing by my side to watch Mollie showing off her war wounds to Nora and Sophie.

Mollie seems to have bounced back from the fall—and the kiss—like it’s something she does all the time. I don’t want to assume, but maybe she does. “She’s resilient,” I say.

We close out the day’s lesson with a few more brake exercises. I make sure Mollie gets back on the bike for a final lesson, yet avoid interacting with her much. She keeps smiling at me—only in a friendly way. Not like we shared something back there that’s unusual. For me, at least.

After we herd everyone back to the center and put away their bikes, I’m walking back to my room when I hear Mollie with her two friends through the open window of the lobby. They’re filling up their water bottles at the cooler.

“It looked like you had a moment,” one of the other two women is saying. Her voice sing-songs on the word “moment” and I know instantly that they’re talking about Mollie and me. I freeze, lurking outside the window frame where they can’t see me. The amount of overhearing I’m doing lately is getting ridiculous—but I’m not about to walk away from Mollie’s response. I know this is about me. Again.

“He’s really nice,” Mollie says. “And smart. He’s so good at this stuff.”

“Annnnnnd?” one of her friends cajoles. There’s a pause.

“We kissed,” Mollie admits.

“I knew it!”

“Way to go, Mollie. Vacation fling here you come.” I can’t tell which it is, but one of Mollie’s friends sounds delighted.

“Here you come,” the other one laughs. “I’ve seen you flirting with Scott.”

“Hey, this isn’t about me. How proud am I that you took my advice and actually went for it? This could be so good for you. When are you going to see him again?”

“Um…” Mollie sounds hesitant. And no wonder; she hadn’t seemed that into our kiss. I look down at my feet. I’m standing in some Indian Paintbrush. I kneel and try to fluff up what I inadvertently trampled on. Maybe I’ll look innocent if I’m caught, not like I’m eavesdropping.

“Mollie, tell me you did not leave it at a kiss.”

“He said he’d help me practice some of the adventure stuff.”

Both of Mollie’s friends laugh. “I bet he’ll help you practice .”

“Did you get his number?”

“You need to go find him right now and set up your next meeting. We’ll wait.”

“But…”

“Have I steered you wrong yet? Go!”

Jumping out of my crouch, I start walking back the way I came, trying to put some distance between me and the window. As a result, I nearly run into Mollie coming out of the door of the adventure center.

“Oh, hi.” We both stop and stare at each other awkwardly.

“I wondered,” Mollie starts in a rush as I say, “Are you still interested…”

We both halt. Then we smile at each other.

“Could we do those private lessons you mentioned? I know it’s a lot to ask,” Mollie says. “I thought I’d improve a lot faster if you showed me some things one-on-one.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it.” I pull out my phone. “Why don’t you give me your number so we can set it up.”

After she does, I linger, shifting my weight back and forth on my feet as I wonder how to bring up the kiss. Or her friends concluding I’m her “vacation fling.” Or my uncharacteristic interest in being that. I wonder if they’re still listening, right on the other side of the door.

“Well, I better…” she begins as I say, “About the…”

We both stop and, again, stare at each other. She smiles and I smile back.

“I could use the practice,” she says. “At everything you’ve showed me so far.”

“Even the…” I blink.

“Yeah. Especially that.”

Well, I’m pretty sure I know what we’re talking about here, but I’m not used to playing games in my conversations. “I thought you did pretty well at the kissing part,” I say.

She grins. “Then maybe I can show you something in return.” She winces. “Not that you don’t know what you’re doing. You’re very…talented.”

“Thanks. I read a lot of books.” Because now I can’t help it, I laugh. I hope her friends aren’t eavesdropping right now, discovering how very not smooth I am. She laughs with me.

“OK, well…” she gestures vaguely over her shoulder. I nod.

“I’ll text you later,” I say. “Maybe tomorrow morning? If you’re OK getting up early.”

“I’m totally OK with that.”

“Great.”

“I’ll see you, Hunter.” I think it’s the first time she’s said my name to my face. I nod.

“See you, Mollie.”

Are all hook-ups this awkward to arrange? I wouldn’t know. This is my first one.

We meet at a small pond not far outside of town. “Nora and Sophie weren’t even up yet when I left the hotel this morning,” Mollie tells me conspiratorially. She seems delighted that I brought her coffee and her favorite muffin—the lemon curd—from Dorothy’s and not sorry to see the sun start to rise over the mountains surrounding us.

The early morning sun illuminates her in a way I’ve never seen before. She’s golden and happy and I’m not sorry I got up and left on one of the few mornings I could have slept in a little, either.

It’s technically a day off for Mollie’s group on the tour. We planted one early in the week so that we didn’t burn people out on activities too soon. Scott’s taking another group out hiking today, while I need to plan the logistics of the next few outings and run inventory.

And hang out with Mollie. I’m already thinking of inviting her to the lake later.

“So, first, we find a rock. You want a kind of flat one.” I start looking around on the ground.

Mollie stands nearby, sipping her coffee and watching me. “You’re so earnest.”

“Does it bother you?” I’ve heard that before, usually toward the end of a relationship when they got tired of me.

“No, I’m worried I won’t be good at this and disappoint you.”

“The only thing you have to do is try. The results don’t matter to me. If you try and you enjoy the process a little bit, that’s all I want.”

She smiles. “Really? Are you sure you don’t want me to become a stone-throwing savant at least a little bit? You know, because you’re such a good teacher.”

Looking around my feet at the rocks, I consider it. “I know I’m kind of serious about this stuff.”

“Kind of.”

“It’s because I want people to enjoy it as much as I do. That’s why I like teaching, not because I want to prove I can make people better at something. People who say anyone can be taught, or whatever, are inflating the ego of the teacher. Learning is a partnership. And you and I are still getting to know each other.”

Then spotting a perfect rock, I pick it up.

Mollie is still eying me when I approach her with it. “Do you journal? You talk like someone who’s figured out their thoughts.”

Extending the rock to her, I nod. “Cheaper than therapy.”

She takes and examines it.

“When you release the rock, you want to let it kind of roll off your fingers. Like this.” I demonstrate with my hand without throwing the stone. “Actually,” I add, and pick up another rock. “Why don’t you try it once first and let me see what we’re working with.”

She makes a face, but gamely hands me her paper coffee cup and takes the rock.

I don’t use the phrase “throws like a girl”—it really means “throws like someone who’s never been taught how”—so I don’t apply it to Mollie’s attempt. She doesn’t turn her body and she throws overhand, so the rock sinks in the water like…well, like a stone.

She makes a face when she turns back to me. “Not good, huh?”

“Did you never play sports growing up?”

She shakes her head. “Shows, huh?”

“This is another simple muscle memory thing. Once we train your muscles on what they’re supposed to do, you’ll have a better chance of accurately throwing whatever you want. Axes, balls, rocks.”

Her eyes brighten, my favorite thing in the world. I love when people get excited about potential learning, and that goes double for Mollie. In the golden light that’s going to make us put on our sunglasses soon, her eyes are brilliant.

“Really?” she asks.

“Really. It does take some practice. And starting gradually, so you don’t hurt yourself and set your progress back.” We start there, with me showing her how to throw with her body instead of only her shoulder.

I use my hands, with permission, to show her how to twist her whole body and step forward with her non-dominant leg and then follow through with the throw. “If you do it right, you can put all the energy from your entire body, from your feet up to your hand, into your throw. That’s called kinetic linking.”

She confesses, “I don’t really get it.” But she keeps practicing, showing me how she’d turn into it without throwing yet.

“Then let it go when it’s going the direction you want,” I tell her, once I think she’s got the turning motion down.

She gives me a face like I’ve overwhelmed her with directions.

“Do you want to pause and eat your muffin?” I suggest.

“Yes!” She almost bounces when we walk over to a bench to sit down. She’d talked about how good this muffin was when we went on the bike outing. She made it sound like the best thing she’d ever eaten, so I had to get one for myself.

And it’s good, I guess, like everything from Dorothy’s is good. She gets some of her pastries from the Arnauds and bakes the rest in-house so they’re all handmade.

The best part about it is watching Mollie enjoy hers. “People always talk about how good the food is in cities,” she sighs, licking crumbs off her fingers. “But there’s something about food in a small town. At least this small town. Do you think it’s the air?”

“It’s made with love,” I offer, fully aware it’s cheesy. “And not by a machine.”

“That must be it!”

I let her enjoy her crumbs in the quiet. There are few people walking around yet this morning and the air is chilly and still. It’s nice hanging out with her. Eventually, I ask, “Ready to give it a try?”

Nervously, she nods. She bites her lip.

“You might not get it the first time, but you can keep trying,” I reassure her. “We have plenty of time.”

She does not, in fact, get it the first time. I keep coaching her, showing her on a few stones of my own. I can tell she’s getting discouraged after the fourth or fifth attempt. She’s releasing her stones too early or too late, not turning her body enough, or forgetting to step forward on one leg. Her brain hasn’t quite latched onto the concept of channeling energy.

“Try using your left hand to point at where you want the rock to go,” I suggest. “And then throw the rock when you’re aiming that direction.”

She tries it, putting all my tips together, and the rock skips once before it sinks. She shrieks. “I did it!”

Her enthusiasm is so genuine, my heart skips a beat. She’s jumping in the air and I hold out my arms because it seems like the thing to do. And then I’m holding her.

We meet each others’ eyes, and the energy buzzes in my feet, traveling up my legs and torso and into the arms wrapped around her. Neither of us step away and so I release the energy by lowering my head to hers.

When we kiss this time, it doesn’t feel like a consolation prize. It feels like joy.