Page 45 of Worth the Rush
“Do you want anything to drink? I have beer or wine or…water. Yeah, that’s pretty much it.” Maybe I should have spent a little longer at the store this afternoon.
“Water is fine. I’ve been trying to drink more, and today I’ve had more coffee than I should have,” she admits, and I grin while I grab two glasses from the cabinet by the sink and then the pitcher of water from the fridge.
“I think I'll join you in that endeavor,” I tell her.
After getting our drinks, I plate the food before sitting down next to her at the island. I don’t mean to stare at her, but I watch as she takes the first bite of her meal. The one I’ve cooked for her. I realize in this moment that I've never cooked for anyone but my family. That’s not surprising when I really think about it. I haven’t wanted anything long-term, and I don’t bring women here. I guess it’s just that Ivy has me thinking about it. She has me thinking about a lot of things lately.
“Oh my gah…” Ivy moans while chewing. “That’s really good,” she says.
“Thank you.”Thank you, Knox. I owe you.
We eat in companionable silence for a while, Ivy enjoying her food and me enjoying watchingherenjoy it.
“So, how often are you actually in a helicopter?” she asks me while I scrape our plates and rinse them.
“Hmm…it really depends. For my job? This year, I’ve been involved in fourteen aerial rescues.”
“Are they all in the mountains?”
“No, most of them are, but some of them are water rescues in the rivers and lakes,” I say, placing our plates in the dishwasher and turning to lean back against the kitchen counter. Her eyes move over my forearms, where I’ve rolled up my flannel, before they flick up to meet mine. I don’t mind being objectified. Not by Ivy. I smile, letting her know that I know she’s checking me out before speaking again. “A lot of searches are on foot. Mostly hikers who have gotten lost. Fortunately, I’ve never been on a call where I lost anyone, but there have definitely been some injuries,” I tell her.
Her eyes spark at that. “You know, I just saw a documentary pop up that’s all about hikers getting lost in national parks.”
“I think I saw that, too, but it looked more like a serial killer angle than people just getting lost.”
“Yes. That’s the one,” she confirms. “I think it’s called…” she trails off, thinking.
“Mary Is Missing,” I supply.
“Yes! That’s the one!” she shouts excitedly. Her excitement catches me a little off guard, and a small laugh escapes me. I round the island and walk into my living room, grabbing the remote for the TV off the side table. A quick search has me pulling up the documentary.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“What does it look like?”
“Well, it looks like you’re turning on Mary Is Missing.”
“Looks can be deceiving, but in this case, they are not. That is what I’m doing. You said you wanted to watch it, and I aim to please, princess,” I tell her, sinking back into my plush couch. I hear her slide off the stool and softly pad toward me. She’s close when she speaks again.
“You’re just going to turn it on?”
“Mmhmm,” I hum. “And you’re going to watch it with me,” I tell her.
“Just like that?”
“Yes, Ivy. Come sit down by me and watch this probably very disturbing docuseries about people going missing in national parks and the connection it could have to a serial killer,” I command, then add, “Please.” I don’t give her a chance to turn me down before clicking the button on the remote. It starts to play, and I catch her looking up at the screen. Sighing, she walks around the couch and sits down on the far end like she’s afraid I’m going to maul her. That’s…a good call on her part.
After the second episode of the six-part docuseries, Ivy is now close enough for me to feel her body heat. We made popcorn after the first episode and because I didn’t have any of the candy she likes, I got a crash course in sour candy to always have on hand.
“Sour belts. Lemon drops. Sour Patch Kids,” she recites. I nod and grab a pen and paper to make a list. I look up to see her grinning at me.
“What?” I ask, grinning back at her.
“You. Making another list,” she answers and then shocks me by yelling, “Hey!” And pointing at my hand.Oh, that.
“Is that my pen?”
“I don’t know. It might be,” I say with a shrug.
