Page 2 of Wild About You

There are weirder first words to say to another person, probably. I don’t know what they are, but I’m sure they exist.

“You—you what?” His tone only seems to grow more aggravated as his face scrunches up in confusion.

I throw my hands up as if he’s the one being ridiculous here. “I thought you were a bear! You still might be some kind of freaky, woodsy serial killer. Lord knows angry white men are the scariest predators out there. But I have acid in my bag and plenty of people who’d be out to avenge me if anything happened, so watch yourself.”

The guy pinches the bridge of his nose as if he might have a migraine coming on. “I’m not a serial killer, or—or an angry white man.”

“Says the white man angrily,” I retort, crossing my arms over my chest.

He sighs. “I’m…mildly irritated at most. And why do you have aci— You know what? Never mind. Are you lost or something?”

It’s then when I notice it. The GoPro secured to the top of his backpack, just visible over his shoulder. It feels like the extra layer of anxiety-sweat brought on by running into a stranger in the middle of nowhere dries up immediately.

“You’re a Co-EdVenturer!” I cry.

He takes a step back at my sudden volume increase and frowns. “That name is embarrassing.”

“But you are, aren’t you? I’m one too! Oh, thank god. Now I know you’re at least able to pass a criminal background check.” I clap my hands and give a little jump. “Oh, and that means we’re going to the same place!”

He sighs again. I’m tempted to stick a balloon in front of his face, see how long it takes him to fill it up with hot air and exasperation. “Yeah, and do you know where that place is yet?”

I put a hand to my cocked hip. “If I did, would I still be standing here talking to you?”

“Guess not.” He reaches into one of his many pants pockets and pulls out a paper folded into a tiny square. He unfolds it carefully and steps closer again, holding it out toward me. “What’s your map look like?”

I slide mine out of the slim thigh pocket on my new sport leggings and try not to cringe at the dampness. Comparing the two drawings side by side, it’s clear how we both ended up here—though we were dropped off in different spots, the shape of the paths drawn out on each of our maps becomes identical as it nears the X marking the first checkpoint location. We have to be really close now.

“Okay, so if we’re right here,” I point to the place where our two paths should meet on both maps, “we should just need to go a bit farther….” I spin in a slow circle to orient myself. “This way!”

His brows knit together as he studies the drawings. “Are you sure it’s not a little more”—his gaze flits up and he points a smidge to the right of where I’ve indicated, making a little clicking sound with his mouth—“this way?”

I shrug. “I haven’t been sure of anything since I filled in my brows this morning and got them juuust the same shape. But I don’t feel overly unsure about it either.”

“I have no idea what to do with that,” he mutters. He eyes me up and down slowly, but it isn’t in any kind of interested or checking-me-out way. Rather, he just continues to look put off by everything about me, from the neon pink laces in my new hiking boots, to the leggings I picked out in my favorite shade of purple, to my gray workout tank with cutouts that show glimpses of my sports bra. He doesn’t focus long on my melting face before clocking the single purple streak running through my brown hair, then returning to the forest beyond me with an eye roll so subtle I almost miss it. But I don’t. I’m about to snap something at him—I don’t know what—when he deflates and starts walking. In the direction I chose.

“Okay, let’s try it,” he grumbles as he brushes past me.

“What a marvelous idea!” I coo, turning to march behind him. “By the way, I’m Natalie. And you are?”

“Hoping I won’t regret this.”

“Charming!” I shoot my winningest smile at the back of his head. “Clearly you’re not from my neck of the woods.”

There’s a pause, as if he’s considering letting the conversation die there, but curiosity must get the better of him. “What makes you say that?”

“Manners are kind of a thing in the South. I’m from Kentucky, not far from these parts. Spent a lot of time in Tennessee growing up, actually. Do I get to know where you’re from? Is that less personal than a name?”

Impressive that his sigh is so audible back here. I picture the imaginary balloon inflating.

“My name is Finn, and I’m from Vermont.”

He pushes past a thin branch without holding it back for me, so it ricochets and whips me across the chest. I suck in a sharp breath and try to rein in my growing irritation. At the sound, Finn glances back, seemingly oblivious to how he’s just switch-slapped me.

“What is it, another bear?” he snarks.

I ignore that. “I thought Ben and Jerry’s countrymen were supposed to be friendlier. Is Cherry Garcia some kind of false promise about the quality of all Vermont exports?”

He faces forward again, maneuvering around a few trees in our path. I take careful steps as I follow, still getting used to this backwoods hiking thing.

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