Page 57 of Hearts and Hidden Secrets

Evie

There is dirt. There are trees. There are bushes, and bugs, and creepy crawlies.

I can’t believe I’m hiking.

“Am I going to be attacked by a snake?” I ask Patrick as I scan behind me for slithery creatures.

“Nope,” he says, marching confidently forward. “Just bears.”

I jump. “Where?”

He points in the distance, beyond the bend in this trail rolling along the Hudson River shorefront, one of my brother’s regular haunts for his adventure tour business.

“Are you kidding?” I ask, my voice squeaking.

My big, tall, burly brother laughs, tossing his head back as he stops in his tracks. “You’re such a city girl.”

I park my hands on my hips and stare sternly down my nose. Or up my nose, since Patrick is ten feet taller than me. But, in defense of my height, he’s ten feet taller than most people.

“Are. There. Bears?”

He rolls his eyes and gestures to the cliffs overlooking the river, and the sweeping views of Manhattan in the distance. “No bears. But check out the bird of prey.” He points above to a toweringly tall tree.

I follow his hand to a high branch, claimed by a hawk.

“Birds of prey know they’re cool,” I say, reciting a favorite cartoon line, and Patrick raises a fist to bump with mine.

We used to read The Far Side together when we were kids.

Patrick and I actually get along well for siblings, even though we’re opposites in many ways—I’m a city girl, and he’s the king of the outdoors.

But he has a soft heart and a witty brain, and we’ve both sparred and played well over the years.

“Also, would I ever put you in harm’s way?”

“You better not,” I say, and we resume our pace.

“I like you too much to let a bear get you.”

“Aww, you’re sweet,” I say as we crunch along the trail, Patrick several paces ahead.

A tree branch rustles in the breeze and the water gurgles. “Besides, if a bear shows up, all I have to do is outrun you,” he deadpans.

I lunge at him, jumping on his back, crawling up him like a lemur, and delivering an absolutely punishing noogie. “You’re dead to me,” I mutter.

Patrick cracks up.

As I jump off him, I say, “I’m going to tell Mia you use women as bear shields.”

He turns around and gives me a huh look. “Why would you tell Mia?”

“Because you’re into her?” I ask, suddenly confused.

He arches a brow. “I am?”

Make that even more confused. “I thought you two were a thing. I saw you chatting with her at the dinner party at Max and Henley’s a few weeks ago. Isn’t there something there?”

He winks and slugs my arm. “Just kidding. I have it bad for Mia, but I’m not sure I’m her type.”

I move my arms jerkily and speak in a robotic voice. “Does. Not. Compute. Woman who does not fall for Patrick’s charms.”

“Ha ha,” he says as the hawk sails overhead, scouring the skies. “Some women are strangely immune to me.” He clears his throat. “But, um, what about you? And that guy?”

“What guy? I’m not seeing anyone.”

“I thought you were helping someone,” he says, and the words come out awkward, which in itself is odd since Patrick and I usually chat comfortably about dating.

“You mean my new client?”

He snaps his fingers as he stops to gaze at the water and the picnic-perfect views. “That’s it. The Stud Finder is finding a studette. Any luck?”

For a brief moment, I wonder if Patrick is asking if I’m into Dylan. I don’t want to let on, though, so I keep my answer all business. “Not yet, but I’m still getting to know him so I can make the right match.”

He clears his throat. “And do you dig him?”

I tilt my head to the side, studying his face. “Why would I dig him? He’s a client.”

Patrick drags a hand through his light brown hair, the look on his face flustered. It’s a look I don’t see him wear often. “I thought you and Dylan had a connection,” he says, in that flummoxed tone again.

I furrow my brow. “Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know,” he says, tossing up his hands. “But the way you deny it makes me wonder.”

I part my lips to practice denial once more, but I think better of it. I go for truth, because I need to say it. “If you must know, I actually think he’s quite handsome and way more fun than I ever expected, and we have more in common than I imagined…but…”

“There’s always a but.”

“But he’s a client, Patrick,” I say, a note of desperation threading through my voice. “It would be wrong to fall for him.”

“Can’t mess around with the customers,” he says, nodding, since that’s one of his golden rules, too.

“Exactly.”

He tips his forehead to the hawk, circling high above. “That hawk would break the rules, though.”

“That’s why he’s a hawk. He can do whatever he wants.”

For the first time ever, I kind of want to be a hawk.