Page 24 of Aim for Love

Everyone in the room makes a face as we all recognize a potential sore spot. Tom was “seeing” someone long-distance when I first moved in. He never talks about her anymore and she never visited, so I assume that went in opposite directions the way very separate lives tend to do.

“It’s temporary,” I say. “I know that.” Even I hear the way my voice sounds uncertain. Tom’s gaze on me is steady. Concerned.Shit.

“Hey!” Scott turns back around and grabs his controller and I use the distraction to get up and leave the living room with my book.

Tom follows me into the kitchen.

“Scott’s rough around the edges, but he means well.”

“I know,” I reply. I’m surprised Tom is bothering to follow up on this conversation. Much like Scott, Tom tends to be rough around the edges. He cares about us, I’m sure, and he’d rather stay out of our lives. I’ve heard him say “live and let live” more than once in my time staying and working here—once referring to Scott’s heat-addled decision to sleep naked on the back porch. “You don’t need to worry. I’m only giving her some private lessons. And having a little fun.” I add the last part out of a personal obligation to be honest. It’s the most true I can be without melting into a puddle of uncertainty. Hanging out with Mollie, if nothing else,isfun.

It’s also more than that.

He nods. He gets a beer out of the fridge and, thankfully, turns to leave. Then he pauses at the doorway. “Make sureyou stop when it stops being fun, Hunter. Emotional pain is a warning just like your body hurting.” He coughs, like he’s embarrassed he said something so profound. “Wish I’d learned that at your age, that’s all.”

Then he leaves me alone to contemplate what I’ve gotten myself into.

I catch Mollie, Sophie, and Nora leaving Dorothy’s coffee shop the next morning when I go to grab the usual coffee box we offer the tour guests. They all have cups in their hands that I bet are something more fancy than drip.

They don’t see me coming because they’ve turned the other way down the street. The morning air has a nip to it and they’re all wearing jackets. Mollie is even wearing a cute cap, her short hair poking out from beneath it in tufts.

Pausing at the coffee shop door as a few other people are coming out, I’m about to call out a greeting when Nora’s words float back to me—making me an unwilling eavesdropper, yet again.

“You have to sleep with him,” she’s saying. “If you want a happy hour story that will last you a few years, at least.”

“One you can go back to when you’re old and gray,” Sophie laughs. “The adventure guide whotaughtyou memorable lessons that one hot summer.”

“Or cold summer,” Nora adds, and they keep walking so I can’t hear anything else. I’m standing frozen on the sidewalk, and out of the corner of my eye I catch a movement that turns out to be Dorothy waving at me to come into her shop.

Pain. Is this the warning sign Tom told me to watch for? My reaction to Mollie’s friends is mild—of course they’re going tojoke about us; didn’t my own friends?—but it’s uncomfortable. I’m not sure how many warnings I get before it’s too late, yet I’m not nearly ready to back away. Watching Mollie walk down the street away from me, I want to give her my scarf and tuck her close to keep her warm.

It’s fine. We’re having a little fun.So long as I keep it at the kissing level, it isn’t going to hurt too much when she leaves.

I walk into the coffee shop and wave at Tyler, having breakfast with his girl Zoe. Dorothy is in a tizzy over gossip that Mark Wadson, the newspaper’s editor, plans to retire. “Hasn’t he said that every year for the last…” I try to remember. “Forever?”

“Rumor has it,” she says in an undertone the entire coffee shop can hear, “he might be doing it for a woman.” She raises her eyebrows at me, then pauses, like I might be able to identify the woman in question. I have no idea. I mostly stay out of town gossip, and try not to be a source or a subject.

“Unless she frequents the bookstore, I have no idea, Dorothy.” I smile though, and then ask if my order is ready.

Carrying the coffee back to the adventure center, I get morose. Am I just going to keep reading about life for the rest of mine? That’s what Scott and Tom expect. But I want to live, too. So what if that comes with a little pain? So do most of my hobbies. Right now, I have a jagged wound down one knee from mountain biking.

Because the truth is, I don’t want to stay at the kissing level with Mollie. Maybe I need to do a little research about ethical flings.How to Win Sex and Influence Strangers? No, that’s Scott’s bible. I need something more likeThe Subtle Art of Not Giving Your Heart.

Hell, I’ve always wanted to write a book. Maybe this is my chance.

On our hike that day, I give Mollie and her friends a wide berth. It’s not that I don’t want to hang out with Mollie, it’s that her friends are a lot. Scott doesn’t mind; he picks up the slack and flirts with Nora all morning.

I can’t help watching as Mollie listens closely—and follows—the lesson on staying on the trail. And then the basic lesson on orienteering. It’s her turn to try to read the map after we break for lunch, and I watch her study the contour lines. She gets their meaning completely wrong, underestimating the elevation gain we’re about to walk up—which gets some grumbles from the rest of the group—then she tries again and I see the moment the lesson clicks for her. That’s my favorite moment in any class, and Mollie makes it even more special. I want to reward her for trying so badly my mouth purses, but I don’t want to provide more fodder for her friends to joke about.

“This backpack is killing my neck,” Nora tells Scott. I’m about to check whether it’s properly fitted; Scott is quicker on the uptake.

“I’ll give you a shoulder massage when we get back.”

“Oh yeah? You good at that?”

“I don’t have these strong hands for nothing.” Scott flexes said hands as they walk, and I roll my eyes. He catches it out of the corner of his eye.

“Of course, I don’t have a license, like Hunter, here.”

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