Page 1 of Off Trail Love
CHAPTER ONE
maggie
I grewup by the ocean, but my favorite place to be in the summer is in the mountains. Surrounded by nature, listening to the leaves move as the breeze flutters through,birds singing in the distance. The mountains have always felt more like home than the beach. Plus, there’s too much sand on the beach.
Unfortunately, I’m sitting in a cramped seat, flying through the sky in a giant metal tube. Maybe now would be a good time to mention that while I love the mountains, I don’t like flying. I still can’t fathom why someone thought it would be an excellent idea to hurtle through the sky at light speed when there are other ways to travel. But I’m on this death trap because I didn’t have time to drive to Colorado for this hike. Fiona, a good friend from college, reached out two days ago and told me that her sister bailed on a hiking trip. She asked if I wanted the spot. Since I’d just lost my job, I thought, why not? I booked a plane ticket, and now I’m trying not to think about the fact that I hate flying.
Look at me, twenty-four and genuinely thriving. Jobless, carless, and by the end of the summer, I’ll be homeless—well, that’s not true. I can live in my parents’ basement, but I don’t want to do that.
“Are you heading somewhere special?” The older woman in the seat next to me breaks up my spiraling thoughts. I’m fine; it’s all going to be okay. If anything, this hike is going to change everything for me.
“I’m going on a hike,” I say. “You?” Mom would kill me if she heard me ask a question like that, as a single word. But I don’t care about being super formal right now. I’m in my threadbare sweats that I’ve had for nearly seven years and a ratty T-shirt I stole from a roommate in college. So yeah, today, I am not the epitome of class.
“Heading home.” The older woman sighs as if this is the worst thing in the world. “I was in California to spend time with my daughter, but now I’m going home.” Her voice is a little rough around the edges. I wonder what type of life she’s lived. “Where are you hiking? I’m not much of a hiker myself.”
“Longs Peak.” My chest grows warm at the thought. Though nothing about this summer is going the way I hoped it would, at least I finally get to hike the one mountain, I always said I’d hike back when I was in college. I went to University of Colorado where I majored in real estate. But my favorite part about living in Colorado was being in the mountains. In five-ish hours, I’ll be in the mountains again. Tomorrow, I’ll be hiking.
“Maybe you’ll meet a nice boy,” the woman beside me mutters. I glance at her, and she’s blatantly staring at my bare left hand. I tuck it under my thigh.
“I’m happily single,” I tell her. While I miss the feeling of being someone’s future—and being so sure about it—I genuinely am happily single.
She snorts. “Sure you are.”
I gape at her. Who does this woman think she is? She’s probably in her early seventies, but what right does that give her to tell me that I’m not, in fact, happy with my relationship status?
“How about that one?” She points to a man sitting two rows ahead of us and across the aisle. He’s typing furiously on his laptop as if something will combust if he doesn’t get the words out. It makes me miss work, but I will not think about it now. This trip will give me the clarity and distance I need after getting fired for something I didn’t do.
I stare at the man a moment longer. He’s wearing shorts, a fitted black T-shirt, and a baseball cap. There’s something about him that feels oddly familiar. I squirm and look away. “No, thank you. I’m not looking for any relationship right now. I just want to go and enjoy my hike.” The words spilling out of my mouth feel ironic because when I went hiking as a teenager, my family loved to travel to the mountains, and there was always one boy on my mind who I’d daydream about—specifically, how he and I would hike together, flirting and holding hands. But that’s in the past. I don’t need a guy right now; my life is too much of a mess.
The woman clucks her tongue at me. “You young people think you have it all figured out. You need each other.”
I don’t know how to respond, so I don’t.
“I could get that man’s attention—maybe you’ll change your mind once you see his face.”
“Please don’t.”
Before she can do something that will absolutely embarrass me, a flight attendant walks down the aisle, distracting her. The flight attendant passes, and the man we were looking at shifts slightly. My heart stops as I take in his profile.
I’d know that slightly crooked nose anywhere.
I try to swallow, but instead, I breathe in my spit and start coughing like I’m about to lose a lung. I duck down, reaching for my water bottle. My eyes tear up as I continue to choke. I take a tiny sip of water, which brings minimal relief. I sit back up, blinking away the tears in my eyes, and take another sip of water.
“You all right, dear?”
“Fine,” I tell my seat companion, but my voice is high-pitched and raspy. I offer her a reassuring smile since she’s staring at me like she’s afraid I’m about to drop dead, which I would like to do. Who chokes on their own spit? I clear my throat. “I need to work on my phone, if you’ll excuse me.”
I put my water bottle in the seat pocket in front of me and pull out my phone with trembling fingers. I already paid the ten dollars to have in-flight texting, and now I’m grateful I did. I shift in my seat so the woman next to me can’t see what I’m doing, and type out a text to my girls. My best friends.
We may not see each other all the time like we used to when we lived together in college, but they’ve kept me sane since I lost my job last week.
Me
HELP. CODE RED. DEFCON 1 (or is it 5?) EITHER WAY RED ALERT!!
I flip my phone over and close my eyes, willing my heart rate to slow. Why am I having this reaction? It might not even be him. Right? I glance at the man ahead of me again; his laptop is gone and he’s got a book out. His forearm flexes, and I watch as he turns the page. Who knew that watching someone read could be so…sexy?
“Maggie,” I whisper to myself. I have got to get a grip. I need to confirm whether or not he is actually who I think he is. I stretch a little to see his right hand; I need him to turn it to see if he has a scar on his thumb. Someone in the universe must be on my side because he turns his hand, and I can see the back clear as day. And just as clearly, the one-inch-long scar near his thumb stares back at me. “Crap.”
