Page 9 of Wild About the Mountain Guide
“I’m just kidding,” I say with a wink.
“I hope so. If it collapses on me during the night, I’ll make a victim out of you in my next thriller.”
“Is that a threat or a promise?”
She shrugs. “Depends on how loud you snore.”
“Well, I do snore. So you’re planning revenge for that already, huh?”
“Looks like it.”
I laugh as I walk away to gather firewood. By the time everyone’s tent is up, the sun is starting to dip behind the peaks, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink that no camera ever quite captures right. I start a fire and heat water for dinner while the group settles into camp chairs.
“This is incredible,” Peyton says, staring up at the mountains. “I mean, I’ve seen the brochure pictures, but this is something else entirely.”
“Pictures don’t do it justice,” I agree, adding dehydrated chili to the pot. “Wait until you see the stars tonight. No light pollution up here.”
“That sounds amazing. There’s always light pollution in the city,” she says. “Anyway, can I help with anything?”
“You could hand me some of those medium-sized sticks,” I say, pointing to the pile of firewood I gathered earlier. “We’ll need to keep feeding the fire if we want it to last.”
She crouches next to me, and I catch a whiff of her shampoo mixed with pine needles and wood smoke. It’s enough to have my thoughts short-circuit for a moment. I don’t know what it is, but every time I’m around Peyton, my heart rate seems to increase. It’s not just attraction. It’s more than that. Like I want to impress her. Like I want her to see me for who I really am. Like I never want this week to end.
“Thanks for being patient with me today. I know I’m probably not your typical client,” she says as she hands me another stick.
“What’s a typical client?”
She snorts. “Someone who doesn’t need a pep talk to cross a stream?”
“You’d be surprised. Last month, I had a guy who brought a hair dryer. To the mountains. He was convinced there’d be electrical outlets at the campsites.”
“You’re making that up.”
“Scout’s honor. He also packed dress shoes for hiking because he wanted to look ‘put-together’ in his Instagram photos.”
She’s laughing loudly now, the sound mixing with the crackle of the fire and the distant call of an owl, and my heart skips another beat.
“Okay, so maybe I’m not the worst client you’ve had,” she says.
I grin. “Not even close.”
Dinner is surprisingly successful. The chili tastes good, and nobody complains about eating from camping bowls.
Once everyone has had second helpings, they do the dishes and talk and laugh like they’ve known each other for ages. This group is honestly starting to grow on me. It’s the best one I’ve been assigned in a long time.
After the clean dishes are packed away, I call them all to the campfire, and Christine immediately suggests telling some stories.
“I’ve got some great hiking stories,” Brandon offers, pulling out a thick notebook. “Did you know that the Appalachian Trail has over three thousand documented cases of—”
“How about something spookier?” Christine interrupts. “We’re sitting around a campfire in the middle of nowhere. Seems like the perfect time for ghost stories instead of historical facts. No offense, Brandon.”
“Oh, I love ghost stories!” Harmony claps her hands. “They’re so spiritually cleansing. All that release of negative energy is exciting.”
“I’m not sure that’s how ghost stories work,” Alexandra says, looking terrified already. “Those kinds of stories can haunt your dreams if you’re not careful.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got you, Sugarplum,” Alex says, pulling his girlfriend closer to him.
“Anyone got a good one?” I ask.
