Page 9 of At First Smile

CHAPTER FIVE

Falling

Pen

T he sun’s hot breath kisses along my skin, heating it in the most delicious way as I step out of Rowan’s rental car.

It only took about five minutes to reach Milford Falls.

Two other vehicles are parked in the small gravel lot.

An arbor, made with weathered branches, welcomes us to a dirt path.

From what Lola explained before we left the inn, the trail twists through a small thicket of trees before it forks into two directions: A gentle hike along the riverbed to the pool at the bottom of the falls or a climb up a steep, rocky hill to its top.

“That’s perfect for a pic with Cane Austen and you before we start.” Rowan points at a worn wooden sign.

I shuffle closer, squinting to read the words painted in a rich green that mirrors the leafy canopy above us. Running my fingers over the sign’s uneven surface, I smile at the message: Milford Falls, Adventure Awaits .

“Perfect.” My grin can’t be contained.

“Absolutely,” he rasps, moving behind me.

Twisting my head, my gaze meets his and my breath stutters.

Something in the way his affirmation rolls off his tongue makes me think he’s not talking about the sign.

I’m having trouble reading him. People are like books to me; I generally unlock their secret passages quickly.

I’ve always had the ability to figure them out.

Well, minus Alex. Though I wonder how much of that was my deliberate blindness about who he was versus not seeing him from the start.

With Rowan, I don’t know. My heart, body, and brain are at odds. My heart flutters in his presence, as if trying to tell me something. My brain cautions I don’t know him. Just as the hat he wears obscures his eyes, there’s something a little guarded about Rowan.

Then, there’s my body, willing to melt into a puddle for this man.

Heat from his proximity licks against my exposed skin. As if the first strike of a match, my nerve endings crackle awake with Rowan’s closeness. Gooseflesh blooms. Pulse quickens. Butterflies dance. I’m a living, breathing romance novel cliché.

“I can take it,” he offers, stepping back to create unwelcome distance between us.

A slight chill shivers along my spine. “Thanks,” I murmur, pulling out my phone.

With my phone in his hand, he takes even more steps back and motions for me to pose.

Cane Austen and I sidle up to the sign. I raise my arms, Cane Austen dangles from my right hand, and scream, “Adventure!”

Laughter rumbles from Rowan as he triggers the shutter. He mutters something under his breath, a grin visible from beneath the brim of his cap.

“What was that?” I blink, taking in the way the navy T-shirt molds over his sculpted torso as he strides towards me.

“Uh…” he pauses, swiping his large hand at his neck’s nape. “Who generally takes these photos for you, or do you do the selfie stick thing?”

I take my phone from him. “I’ll do selfies from time-to-time, but usually it’s a phone-a-friend situation. Aunt Bea used to take a lot, but generally it’s my West Coast bestie JoJo or random folks.”

“West Coast bestie?”

A soft laugh escapes. “I have two besties. Trina, who lived next door to me ’til I moved to California with Aunt Bea, and then JoJo who I met in college.

Both ladies are competitive and a tad possessive of the title ‘Best Friend.’ Each gets custody of the title based on which half of the country I’m in. ”

“Who has it now? You’re in the Midwest.”

“Clearly you.” I hip-check him.

He snorts.

“Come on, bestie.” I wink, motioning for him to follow Cane Austen and me.

We slip into quiet companionship as we walk.

Fat leaves rustle in the gentle breeze, its soft kiss cooling my heated skin as we follow the path.

Nature’s hum fills my ears. Luscious would be the best way to describe the dirt path, speckled with tiny pebbles, that loops through the clusters of trees, tall grass, and bushes ripe with colorful wildflowers and berries.

“I get why Lola says this place is popular with couples. It would be ideal for a romantic picnic date.”

“Yep.”

I point to a large tree with leafy branches that offer an awning-like shelter. “That tree is ideal for a private handsy make-out session.”

He coughs.

You’re making this weird, Pen. “Do you have a best friend?” I ask, changing the topic.

“Not willingly,” he grumbles.

“What does that mean?”

“Wes.” He almost sighs the name. “He’s a bartender at the pub I own and rather insistent we be friends.”

I fake pout. “How dreadful , a man who can make you drinks wants to be friends.”

“You haven’t met Wes.” Playfulness coats his retort. “He’s relentless. He makes me process his feelings with him, blasts Broadway music at the pub, and makes me watch The Real Housewives of Potomac .”

“He sounds like JoJo. Does he have an unhealthy obsession with cats?”

“What constitutes unhealthy?”

“In my opinion, more than one cat. JoJo has three – Mr. Rochester, Jamie Fraser, and Captain Wentworth.”

He stops. “She named them after characters from books?”

“After her favorite book boyfriends.”

“If she likes men, she may fall in love with him. He’s a bartender/actor. He played Mr. Rochester in a Hamilton-inspired musical version of Jane Eyre where he rapped a song called ‘Bertha’s Burning Down the House.’ He made me go twice.”

“Stop it!” My laugh is almost a cry. “Please tell me there is video of this.”

“God, I hope not.” Chuckling, he reaches his long arm out and raises up several branches over my head.

Rowan’s thoughtful gesture is done with no fanfare.

Cane Austen finds ruts, drop offs, rocks, and other obstacles while detecting changes in the terrain, but low branches and things from above that aren’t at eye level pose head and face smacking danger.

I’ve been slapped a few times by rogue branches during hikes.

It’s nice when someone points it out, but not in a showy way. Alex would have made a big deal. “If I wasn’t here, there’d be a blackeye marring your pretty face,” he’d drawl . Rowan just does it without making a fuss about it. Refreshing.

“Which way?” Hands on hips, his steps cease. “The easier path to the waterfall’s bottom or the harder one to its top?”

My gaze flips between each side of the forked path. To the right, the gentle trail leading to the riverbed. To the left lies a rugged path of uneven topography that slopes up a steep climb to the waterfall’s top.

I turn, facing Rowan. “Adventure?”

“Adventure.” Grin popping, he places his hand on my lower back and guides me to the left.

My nerves sing with the warmth coursing from his palm through the thin fabric of my tank top. There’s no question about how my body reacts to Rowan. Desire pools low in my belly, hoping his tender fingers will slip beneath my shirt.

You need to calm yourself! “So, you own a pub?” I blurt, a little breathless. “Is it Irish?” My face scrunches. “Sorry. That might be a stereotype.”

“Nah.” He chuckles and waves his hand. “It’s a little Irish. A little Canadian.”

“ Ooh … Like corned beef poutine and hockey watch parties with pints of Guinness?”

“Something like that.” His fingers leave my lower back then wrap about my hand.

The path turns steeper. Clusters of large rocks mar our way. My pace slows as I traverse the rutted and more obstacle-filled trail.

“We could do human guide,” I offer, slipping my hand from his.

“What’s that?” He stops and faces me.

“Let me show you.” I take his bicep and try not to faint on the spot over how big it is.

I know Rowan is fit. My eyesight isn’t so bad that I haven’t noticed how clothes mold around his chiseled form.

He’s barely broken a sweat or puffed out a breath during our hike.

Whereas sweat forms in unsexy spots along my body and my breath stutters just a bit.

I work out, but the hike’s increased difficulty and Midwest humidity hit me harder than I expect.

“I take your arm like this.” I squeeze his hard bicep.

Did he just groan? Focus, Pen.

Biting my lip, I continue, “I’ll be half a person and step behind you. You walk like normal and I’ll follow. Your body’s movement will indicate steps and obstacles. If there’s a narrow space, you’ll move your arm behind your body and I’ll follow. If you’re uncomfortable at all with this?—”

“I’ve got us,” he jumps in.

It’s not just the certainty in his low timbre that eases any doubt in my stomach, but a steady voice inside me.

Human guide requires trust. I need to trust my guide will keep me safe, and they have to trust that I’ll keep them safe.

It’s a partnership where either could lead the other astray.

It’s only been eight hours since I met Rowan. My brain knows this. But my heart…

“I trust you.” I smile. “If you’re unsure of anything, just use your words. Open and direct communication is key for the human guide and visually impaired person dynamic.”

“Funny, Wes would say that’s key to any relationship.”

“So true. Ready?”

He nods and leads us up the steep climb.

“What’s your bar’s name?” I ask, stepping onto the rocky plateau.

“Axel’s.”

“Sounds like a NASCAR bar. My stepdad would love it.”

“You have a stepdad?”

“Charlie. He’s stepdad number four.”

Charlie is a nice guy. Though it’s a tad awkward that he rambles on about all things automobile and NASCAR with me.

I’m all for treating the visually impaired like everyone else, but read the room.

I don’t drive and could care less about pistons and horsepower.

Still, I’d rather listen to him drone on about that, than be pestered by my mother about my romantic life.

“Your mam has been married five times?”

“Yeah. My mom doesn’t like to be alone.”

“My mam’s the opposite.”

“She never remarried?”

My arm raises with the shrug of his shoulders. “Never even dated. We thought she was waiting until we were older. Finn’s a hopeless romantic and tried setting our mam up on some blind dates, but she wasn’t keen.”