Page 31 of Aim for Love

I would be checking on Mollie either way, and this tells me something about her. She’ll tough it out even when she knows better.

Even more reason for me to keep our relationship—or whatever it is—light. I don’t want her to feel trapped in a relationship she’s only in for the sake of her friends. I don’t want her to make bad decisions while suffering in silence.

Scott is leading, so I do a count and check on the stragglers at the back of the group. Nora and Sophie, surprisingly strong hikers, are keeping up with Scott. The boys still trying to impress them are marching along at the front of the group, too. A mom and one of the teenagers are at the back. I offer them some encouragement and offer to take something out of their bags to lighten the load. They both refuse.

Bringing up the rear of the party, I spend some time thinking about how to get some alone time with Mollie that isn’t irresponsible.

Everyone forgets about their complaints, at least for a moment, when we get to the lake. It glows blue from the glacier melt and the sun hitting it perfectly in the late afternoon.

“Can we set up camp here?” asks the mom. Someone always wants to know this at this point in the trip.

Some of the guys start taking off their bags.

“We can’t camp here,” I warn. “It’s too exposed and no one can poop this close to the lake.”

“Eww,” a chorus responds.

Scott laughs and I shrug. “That’s the reality.” I glance at Mollie to see if she finds my earthy topics gross, but she’s simply listening. She hasn’t taken her backpack off.

One of the other women has an expression like something horrible has dawned on her. “Are there bathrooms where we’re camping?” Apparently, someone didn’t read the literature we gave them. Valentine has another video on this topic I should have showed them.

Smirking, Scott just his chin at me to answer. “There are no bathrooms out here. And we need to pack it out, so we have wag bags and a shovel.”

Several people groan.

“We really are on an adventure,” Mollie murmurs. I like her even more in this moment.

We eventually make it to our planned camp site and start setting up. Some of the guys need help setting up their tents or pounding in stakes, but don’t ask for it, which is why Scott and I carry extra stakes to use once participants have bent theirs beyond use. We let them work out their frustration for a while and help people who will accept it. People like Mollie, whoquietly asks me whether she needs her rain fly or can keep it off, so she can look out at the stars once it gets dark.

“I recommend you put it on.” My mouth drags down. “We might get a shower and it helps with insulation. Also…” I lower my voice and peer around to make sure nobody is listening. “This way, if you sneak out of your tent in the middle of the night and come to mine, nobody will be able to tell you’re not in there.”

She smiles. And puts on the rain fly.

We cook soup for dinner and pass around crusty bread. It’s one of the easier meals to make and carry on a short, one-night trip that’s still warm and comforting. A couple of people brought their own freeze-dried meals that they abandon in favor of real food. A few people complain about the lack of a campfire, even though we’ve told them over and over that there’s a drought.

After, I give them all the spiel—again—about locking upallthe food and changing into different clothes to sleep in. I know a few of them are freaked out by the thought of bears entering our camp in the dark, and I let them worry about the unlikely event. Better than being too casual about putting food away.

I try to give Mollie a conspiratorial look before she climbs into her tent, and it’s ruined by the headlamps we’re both wearing. I end up shining my light into her eyes, which she ducks away from. “Sorry,” I whisper, wincing.

Before climbing into my own tent, I check in with Scott. He walked the perimeter of the camp site and double checked the bear can. We counted everyone getting into their tents for the night. Everything’s safe enough for us to close our eyes.

“Noticed you set up your tent pretty close to Mollie’s,” he comments wryly as we look up at the sky, darker and more full of stars than the one over town.

“Coincidence,” I shrug.

“Sure,” he says, a smirk in his voice, before he leaves me to turn in.

Slipping into my tent, at first I hesitate over zipping the flaps closed. My phone has no service out here, so I can’t text to ask Mollie whether she’s coming. I climb into my sleeping bag and listen. The camp is quiet, still.

It’s a little chilly with the tent open to the elements, so I reach to close it right as I hear the sound of a tent nearby unzipping. It’s hard to tell whether it’s coming from the direction of Mollie’s. It could easily be someone else, already needing a pee.

A minute later, someone pulls at the flap of my tent. My heart stops for a second, the darkness and all the talk of bears getting to me. Then, against the gentle starlight, I make out the outline of Mollie. She throws her sleeping bag in, squeezes into the tent beside me, and zips it up behind her.

“Hi,” she whispers, so soft I almost can’t hear her even though her face is right next to mine.

“Hi.” I match her quietness.

“Is this still OK?” she asks, pausing with her hand still on the zipper. “I can try to leave before anyone else gets up. Do you think you’ll wake up first?”

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