Page 30 of Make Mine Sweet
He glares at me like I’ve stumbled into a funeral procession.Here lies Tess, crushed to death by shame.
“But, Mama,” August says behind me. “What about Ian’s leg?”
I shush him before he can mention I also called Ian avikingand keep walking. I just need a second to compose my thoughts, and I can’t think straight with half-naked Ian staring at me like this. I need an escape, and the only one possible is the trail.
Or, you know, I could launch myself off the side of the mountain, but I’m not in the habit of abandoning my child. My dignity? Yes, obviously.
Dutch whines, but eventually their footsteps start up again behind us. I don’t turn around. I’ll either see the muscular back of my dreams or the scowl of my nightmares, and either one would absolutely ruin me.
Once we make it past the switchback and I’m sure Ian’s out of sight, I finally slow down.
“Mama, you’re holding my hand too tight.”
I shake out of my mental spiral, releasing August’s hand. “I’m sorry, baby.”
“Why can’t we talk to Ian? I want to know about his leg.”
“I don’t know if Ian wants to talk about that.” Given his habit of wearing sweatpants in summer, probably not.
He definitely didn’t want to talk tomejust now. But if I’d come across a man who’d stared at me open mouthed and drooling all over himself, I wouldn’t have stopped to chat, either. Might as well have wolf-whistled at him and completed the look.
“But it’s like my super shields.”
I sigh. My son said Ian has a “super leg.” He called him a pirate to his face. And I stared like he wasn’t even real. I am the worst.
“Is it gross?” August asks in a small voice.
“What?”
His shoulders sag, his eyes on the dirt at his feet. “Like when Lily said my monitor and pump are gross.”
My breath holds until my lungs hurt. Maybe it’s my heart aching in there. I stop in the middle of the trail, glancing back even though I can’t see Ian anymore. Is that how he took my fumbled attempts at conversation—that I was thrown off by his leg? Sure, I was surprised, but that wasn’t what had me tripping over my tongue.
Attraction to him knocked me flat and backed over me for good measure. But from his vantage it probably felt more like someone trying to get a better look at a car accident. For all my intentions to be a thoughtful, conscientious human, I really blew it today. I had all the tact of August’s rude Kindergarten classmate.
“No, his leg isn’t gross.” I squat down in front of August. “And your monitors aren’t gross. They’re just different.”
He smiles, knowing this conversation by heart. “And different is okay.”
“Absolutely.”
“So we can still be his friend.”
If he’ll let us.
“Definitely.”
We stand and start walking again, more slowly than before. I need to make this right with Ian. Part of me wants to rush down the hillside this minute, but it’d be smarter to take some time to compose myself.
And compose a proper apology.
TEN
IAN
News flash:a thick burger and salty fries don’t numb the senses nearly as well as a few shots of whiskey would.
My first impulse after running into Tess on the trail was to head to the nearest dive bar and drown myself in a bottle of bourbon. But I indulged in that too often in the first year after my accident. Drinking the day away never brought back my mountaineering career or the clients who once sought me out to guide them to new heights.
