Page 88 of The Roads We Follow

“I need you, too.”

When he moves in close and brings his hands up to my face, I’m as overwhelmed by the rightness of his touch as I am by a familiarity I can’t explain. Logic says I hardly know him, and yet I’ve had a knowing sense about him since the moment we met. As his thumbs graze my jaw and his fingers push into my hair, I lean in to his caress.

“You’re so, so beautiful,” he breathes. “Every part of you.”

And then his lips are on mine, soft and coaxing, confident and secure. We couldn’t possibly be more exposed to our environment, locked in an intimate embrace in the middle of a high desert. As birds caw overhead and bushes rustle with unseen life, the two of us are the only thing that exists in the world. He cradles my face to take our kiss deeper, and I follow his lead willingly. His chest is solid beneath my fingertips, sending a flush of heat throughout my body along with the realization that this,thisis what a kiss should feel like.

When we break apart, Micah tips his forehead down to mine, and for a moment, neither of us moves nor speaks. My lips feel as blissfully swollen as my heart, and then Micah slides his fingers down my arm and captures my hand in his. “I think I’m in deep trouble with you, Raegan Farrow.”

I don’t even try to fight the smile that overtakes my face as he threads our fingers together and looks at the trail before us and then back at the gear he abandoned on the ground.

“What can I carry for you?” I break away to move toward the gear.

He collects his fly rod and the basket thing from the ground. “You want to come fishing with me?”

“That depends.”

He spins around. “Oh? On what?”

“If you’re planning to kiss me like that again before the day’s over.”

And then everything he’s collected is back in the dirt, and his arms are around me, and his lips are on mine, and I’m smiling andlaughing and wishing I had the ability to stretch this moment into forever.

“See?” he says, when he finally pulls back. “You’re trouble. We’re nowhere near the water yet, and I promised trout for dinner.”

“Alright, so no more kissing until after we catch some fish. Deal?”

I reach for the net, but Micah doesn’t move. When I glance over my shoulder, he simply says, “I’m trying to decide if that deal is worth it or not.”

“Come on,” I laugh, bumping his arm playfully. “Rewards are meant to be motivating. Let’s go.”

For the first time on the trail, I take in the mountains hemming us in. Though most of the foliage is lower to the ground, there are groves of pine and juniper trees dotting the edge of the trail leading us to the lake. The air is dry, and the sun is high and hot, but surprisingly, Micah hasn’t complained about it once. “So tell me what it is you enjoy most about this high-desert mountain paradise.”

He strokes his thumb across the back of my hand. “Right now? You. Definitely you.” He winks. “But the fishing and hiking are pretty phenomenal, too. The only thing that compares are the trails near Camp Selkirk close to where I live.” He looks down at my Vans. “I’m glad to see you changed out of your sandals first, but those are a sad excuse for hiking boots.”

“How much of a deal-breaker will it be if I admit I’ve never owned a pair of hiking boots?”

He makes a sound like I’ve just knocked the wind out of him. “That hurts, Raegan. But compared to other issues we’re facing, that’s a fairly easy problem to solve.” He squeezes my hand, and I squeeze back.

I watch him out of the corner of my eye, noting his contentedness. “So you’re a big nature guy.”

“Guilty as charged.” His laugh is weak when he says, “My mom used to say my dad passed his love on to me. Guess she was speaking figuratively.”

“The truth is out there somewhere, Micah. We’ll find it.”

When he falls quiet, I decide not to push him anymore on that topic for now. It’s far too nuanced of a conversation for flippant sentimentalities or false promises. Instead, I begin to think about another conversation he put off last week.

“Watch yourself. These stickers are a beast if they get into your skin.” He moves to stamp down a gnarly piece of brush on the trail with the bottom of his boot. “Also, the trail is going to get a bit steeper in the next half mile or so. Kent cut in some steps down to the brook, but I have no idea what shape they’ll be in now.”

“Got it. Thanks.”

I press my lips together and hum as I allow my mind to wander into a territory I’ve yet to explore with him until now. “So were you the guy who left an egg-salad sandwich in the breakroom fridge to spoil? Or maybe you got caught making too many inspirational quote printouts at the copy machine? Or maybe you used the school bus for your personal recreation and that was an automatic pink slip.”

“What are you doing?” He gives me his classic side-eye. “If this is what heatstroke looks like on you, I am not medically trained for it.”

“Brainstorming possibilities of why you’re unemployed.”

“Ah, then please continue. Your storytelling is better than mine.”

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