Page 16 of Into the Mountains (Blue Grove Mountain #3)

CHAPTER TWELVE

ELIAS

MAY - FIFTEEN YEARS AGO

THE FIRST DATE

A frustrated groan leaves my lips and I pull off the shirt in one fell swoop.

“That was hot,” Alan comments from his place on my laptop which is perched on the TV stand in my current room.

When I got here a few days ago, my friend from high school, Cooper, was ecstatic to find out I had a date.

I may have left out the part about who the date was with, but that was for his own good.

I know for a fact he also had a crush on Charlotte back in high school and while neither of us acted on it, I finally was.

Even if it did start out as a dare. I’m happy it’s finally happening.

My chest tightens at the thought of Alan and Ash’s dare.

Should I tell her about it? I mean, technically I’m not even the one who swiped right on her profile and she accepted thinking that it was me that initiated the first contact.

Does it really matter though now that we are finally going on a date?

My conscience says yes, but my gut says to ignore that guy. And I usually go with my gut.

“Shut up, man,” I say to both my conscience and to Alan. “I need help, not jokes.”

“Go back to the black shirt and leave the top few buttons undone. Women love that.”

“Can we just hang up on him? His input is completely useless. Don’t listen to him.”

Fortunately, I’m not dumb enough to listen to Asher’s advice. I was on the Skype call with just Alan trying to figure out what to wear when Ash called and I never ignore calls, so I merged them and I now have regrets.

“Does your friend have anything you could borrow?” Cooper wasn’t ever the epitome of style when we went to school.

“Unless hoodies and sweatpants are considered formal wear now, there’s no chance I’ll find anything in his closet.”

The silence stretches as I go back to my closet for the twentieth time, moving hangers back and forth. Again.

“Wait, go back,” Alan says. “No, the other way.” I slide a few hangers to the right until my hand lands on one that contains a powder blue, button up shirt.

“That one.”

Shuffling comes from Ash’s side as he moves closer to the phone. “Really? That’s the one we’re going with?”

“Shut up, you idiot. That color compliments both his light hair and his dark eyes.”

“Are you the one trying to date him?” Leave it to Ash to never take anything seriously.

“Asher, I swear you’re a bigger idiot than you let on sometimes.”

At this point, I don’t even care. I hang up his part of the phone call, leaving Alan on the line. “I’m sorry about him.” I don’t know why I feel the need to apologize for Ash, but I do.

“It’s not your fault he’s so out of touch with everything and everyone around him.”

I shrug. “It’s not, but I’m still sorry.”

My fingers slip over the buttons a few times. “Are you nervous?” Alan asks when he notices.

I run both hands through my hair leaving it messier than before, my reflection in the mirror showing strands going in every direction.

“I am,” I admit sheepishly. I didn’t think I would be nervous.

This isn’t a blind date or one with a random stranger I met on the dating website.

This is with an old friend. Well, I don’t think I’d go as far as to call Charlotte Monroe an old friend.

An old rival is a more accurate description.

No matter what it was in high school, one of my favorite things was getting her riled up about whatever club of hers I joined that month.

Really, I did it because I wanted to get as many extracurriculars as I could for college and most of the clubs also counted as some kind of college credit.

Even though I had one of the highest grade point averages in our class and I had at least half my tuition paid for with sports scholarships, I wanted to shine academically too.

My advisor mentioned that participating in some clubs would do that, so I listened.

“Are you nervous because you’ve never really dated or are you nervous because it’s Charlotte?”

The look on Alan’s face tells me he already knows the answer. “Both. But what if she only accepted the match to settle the score between us?”

“You’ve been messaging back and forth though, right?”

We have. We exchanged numbers on the app and after we set the date and place, we started talking here and there over the last two days.

Mostly the standard how have you been, where are you staying for the summer, etc.

She’s back with her parents for the summer and I wonder how she feels about that.

I think I remember her being closer with her parents than most teenagers, but I could be wrong.

“We’ve been talking, but not much since both of us have been settling in for the summer.”

“I’m sure it’s going to be great. Don’t stress about it.”

“That’s your first date advice? Don’t stress?”

“Just be yourself. But don’t try to beat her at anything.

This isn’t a contest or challenge between the two of you.

It’s a date. So enjoy yourself and just get to know her again.

” I don’t bother correcting him that I really didn’t know her that well in the first place.

We say goodbye after he wishes me luck again and I take one last look in the mirror before bounding down the stairs and stepping into the cool evening air.

Before I leave though, I message Charlotte, because I can’t help but wonder if she’s as nervous and excited as I am.

Can’t wait to see you.

I usually over analyze these things, but this time I don’t allow the whirlwind of thoughts to sink in. Instead, I hold my phone up and take a picture of myself with a sideways grin on my face, the lights from the porch illuminating my features.

Three dots appear and disappear. And again. I imagine her standing on her own porch staring down at her phone contemplating what to send back only to second guess over and over. I only know because that’s usually what I do.

After a few minutes, a text comes through.

CHARLOTTE

I can’t wait either.

Right under it is a picture of her and I think I stop breathing for a second.

All I see is her shoulders and above and all I can say is I never knew my breath could be stolen so easily.

Even though high school was only one short year ago, she looks so…

different. Brighter somehow. So much more confident in herself.

My half smile spreads and settles into my cheeks and I don’t think it leaves my face the whole way to the coffee shop.

When I walk in, my eyes immediately scan the tables for red hair.

It doesn’t take me long to spot her. Sitting near the middle of the room is Charlotte Monroe, my old rival, with her hair pulled back, small wisps framing her face and an olive green shirt that compliments her skin tone.

The v-neck of the shirt dives lower than I’ve ever seen her wear in the past and I make sure I don’t linger on that spot for too long.

My parents may not have been the best people, but I do know how to respect women and ogling them isn’t a way to be respectful.

Especially when I am just meeting her again for the first time.

But damn, she is fucking gorgeous.

She looks up from her hands laced together on the table and when she spots me, her face breaks into a wide smile. One that rivals the one I had plastered on my face on the way here. The one that’s still on my face.

She stands as I make my way to her and surprisingly neither of us hesitate to embrace each other. Which isn’t something we ever did before, but now, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

We both pull back at the same time, but don’t let go just yet. My hands are touching the skin on her arms and I feel like I might combust. “You look absolutely—”

“Different? I know. Once we graduated, I decided I wanted to go to college and be a little different than high school, you know, find myself a little bit more. I was always so scared to try new outfits because I thought everyone would have made fun of me, which they probably would have.”

“I was going to say beautiful.” She blushes. Her words come out in a bit of a jumble and I’m happy to see that part of her hasn’t changed. “I wouldn’t have made fun of you,” I say, going back to her garbled words.

“Your friends would have,” she says quietly as if recalling a memory. This quickly took a detour down a road that is destined for a sinkhole.

I gesture to her vacated chair. “Have you ordered anything yet? What can I get you?”

“I haven’t. I was debating on coffee and whatever pastries they have. Since we were coming here, I knew they didn’t have a large food selection so I ate with my parents.”

“Do you want an extra espresso shot? And a blueberry scone?” She opens her mouth and then closes it, instead staring at me in surprise.

“You’d always have something blueberry in the cafeteria.

The tips of your fingers were usually stained after lunch.

And you were always studying with coffee.

I just assumed it was extra caffeinated to help stay awake because you most likely stayed up the night before doing the same thing I was doing.

” Part of me starts to panic for a second wondering if I should have let on that I was that observant of her in high school. I sound like a stalker.

“Not that I watched you or anything. I just, uh, noticed.”

“Mmm, sure.” She laces her hands together on top of the table. “Coffee and a scone would be great.”

Nodding, I head to the line and try to get myself to take a few deep breaths. So far, we’ve hit on the fact that my friends were bullies and that I was basically a stalker all within the first ten minutes of the date.

I’d say it’s going swell.

When I come back to the table with our orders—I ended up getting the same thing—I come with a few extra items. I knew surprising her with this was going to be a complete long shot and it all depended on her not looking at local events, but by the look of confusion on her face, she definitely doesn’t look for events around town.

She also must not have seen the signs out front that tonight is the coffee shop’s monthly trivia night.

And it just so happens to be a Jeopardy themed trivia night.

She looks at me skeptically. “What is this?” she asks as I hand her our team sheet.

“It’s trivia night and we are a team of two.”

“What?”

“Clearly you should take up my stalker abilities and be more observant.” At my words, she looks around and finally notices the groups of people with the papers in their hands and when her eyes roam the front of the shop, she spots a chalkboard sign about the themed night.

“What made you choose trivia as a first date exactly?”

I shrug. “I figured our rivalry was all in the past and we should work together on the same team for once.”

She smiles at me and I want to drown in it.

“Alright, Hayes, let’s kick their asses.” She nods to the table next to us full with six people who all look determined to win. One man dressed in slacks and a blazer, has a notebook in hand, pen at the ready and he’s filling everyone else in on their strategy.

“Oh we’re definitely beating them.”

One of the women hears me and she turns around fully in her seat, legs crossed, her dark hair in a tight bun at the base of her neck.

Strands of it snaking down her neck reminding me of Medusa.

Her eyes rove over me for a brief moment.

“There’s no way you’re beating us,” she says as if by judging my appearance, she knows exactly how smart I am.

What she doesn’t know is I’m so used to that, I’d actually feel better if she insulted my clothing outright.

I’m used to being automatically judged. People assume that since I’m really good at soccer, that I couldn’t possibly have any thought behind my eyes.

They only think I know how to run fast and score goals, even though soccer is much more than that.

But to most people, jock automatically equals stupidity.

What this woman doesn’t realize is, I graduated at the top of my class, I just finished my freshman year of college with straight A’s, and while I’m not an avid reader, Alan certainly is. And I ask a lot of questions.

I open my mouth to say something snarky, but to my surprise, Charlotte beats me to it.

“Look lady. We were here just to have fun, but you decided to challenge us. And we never back away from a challenge. So I suggest you turn around and try not to think about the fact that there’s probably something missing in your life if you’re this concerned about winning a trivia night. ”

She throws us another nasty look before finally turning around. One of her other friends tries to mouth “sorry” to us, but I turn away, focusing on the only person I care about right now.

“Was that mean?” Charlotte asks.

“Even if it was a little mean, she did start it,” I defend. She just shrugs and shifts her eyes to the coffee cup in front of her.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Before I second guess myself, I reach across the table and take her hand. Squeezing it, I give her a soft smile.

“Now, let’s give them hell.”

Her smile spreads as does the warmth in my chest and I feel as if I’ll never be cold again.