Lumbersexual (Novella) (7 page)

“Thanks.  I’d appreciate it.”  I also appreciated how he was acting more like a friend than the constant come-ons from before.  “Yosemite is the size of Rhode Island.  Some of it is just right off the road, but other parts, judging by what’s on the map, you have to hike in ten or twenty miles to see.”

“Those are the best parts, though.”

Soon, we’d made dinner and ate around the communal table.  While Matt and Emma washed up, I went outside with Yazmin and Katie to sit on the patio and listen to the river.

And wait for Court.

The sliding glass door opened, and Matt came out carrying a plastic tub of wet laundry, which he proceeded to hang up on the clothesline.  His colored socks and underwear flapped on the line like flags in the forest.  He finished and went inside the house.  Then the sliding glass door opened again, but it was Ian this time.

“Court’s here for you, Maggie.”

Ian raised an eyebrow at me as I walked past him to go to the front door.

Court leaned on the door frame, thermal shirt riding up to show a hint of his tan, toned belly, shorts riding low on his hips.  Hint of muscles making a V on his abdomen.

Hot as fuck.

Eyes up, Maggie.

“Ready?”

For anything.  

I grabbed my jacket and my bag.  “I’ll be back later,” I called to my roommates, “I’m going to see the Valley!  Woo-hoo!”

“So cool!” said Emma.

Ian made a rude gesture involving his finger on one hand and a circle with his thumb and middle finger on the other.  I flipped him off and blew kisses to the others.

 
We took off for the Valley.

“Ohmigod, that’s a digger pine!”  I pointed.  “They only grow at lower elevations.  I studied them in school.”

“You’re good.”  He caught my eye, but watched the road.

“You know plants too?”

“Five years in the park.  You learn stuff.”

I loved that he knew plants.  “What was your degree?”

“Recreation Administration.”

I nodded.  “Makes sense for what you’re doing now.”  But then I teased.  “How good are you at Latin?”

He pulled out a pack of Big Red chewing gum and offered me a piece, but I didn’t take any.  He popped one in his mouth.  “Plant names?”

“Yep.”

He shrugged.  “Know some.”

“Time for a quiz.  Manzanita?”

“Arctostaphylos
.”

My eyes widened.  “That’s an easy one, though.”  We pulled to a stop near the Glacier Point Road.  I pointed to a cluster of small plants that I couldn’t identify without a key, which were growing at the only stop sign we’d seen for miles.  “What’s that?”

“LBJ’s.”

“LBJ’s?”

“Little brown jobs.”  

I snorted.  “I’d say that there are deficiencies in your botany education.”

“Yep.  Better fix it for me.”  He smiled, scratched his beard, and kept driving.

This trip was another example of life on paper not matching the experience.  While Yosemite on the map appeared small, it took forever to get anywhere on these long, winding roads full of trees.  You’d think you could see all of it in a day, but not even close.

Finally, almost an hour later, I saw the bright yellow sign indicating that we were approaching a tunnel.  He reached over, grabbed my hand, and looked at me.

“This is it.”

We drove through the tunnel in the mountains, Court holding my hand the entire time.

And when we exited, my heart stopped and my body started shaking.

Heights.

Cliffs.

Terror.

But the view.

I’d never seen anything like the view.  I’d heard that the Mona Lisa in person was small and underwhelming, and the crown of the Holy Roman Emperor was crude and clunky.  But this view?

It was the most grandiose thing I’d ever seen.   

He parked in a small parking lot, almost full with people milling about and taking pictures.

“This is the famous view of the Valley through Wawona tunnel,” he said.  “C’mon.”  Giving me a devilish look, he said, “Nothing like your first time.”

“Court, I’m scared of heights.  I didn’t realize it would be this high up.”

“I’ll hold your hand.”  And something about his comforting presence took me out of my head and into my body, and I walked with him toward the edge, not getting too close.

Standing at a low wall overlooking a precipice, I saw Yosemite as has been recorded in hundreds of millions of photographs, paintings, etchings, works of art, and memories.

But the view of it, at this second in time?

This was mine.

Even if I didn’t have a camera to take a picture of it.  It would be my memory.

The tall rectangular peak of El Capitan rose to our left, framing the view, with Half Dome in the back and a three-peaked mountain on the right.  The late evening light warmed the cool granite peaks and the lush green of the leafy oak trees.

It was astonishingly beautiful.  Like you took the loveliest thing you ever saw and the most meaningful thing you ever experienced and put them together as one.  It reminded me of that moment when a movie begins.  Of fireflies and magic.  Of getting a present you always wanted.  Of all the good things at once.

Court moved closer to me, and I realized he was studying my face.  

“Yeah,” I whispered, answering his unanswered question.  “It’s unbelievable.  I wish I had a camera.  I turned off my phone for the summer—no service—but here you need something better than that.”

He ran a finger down my cheek.  “We can stay here as long as you like, but I want to take you down into the Valley floor so you can see the waterfalls.  Drought years they’ll dry up earlier than others, but this time of year they’re flowing.”

Even though activity buzzed around us—tour buses, cars, people, cameras—it still felt special.  All ours.

Overcome with feeling, I gave him a quick hug.  “Thank you for taking me.”

I think I surprised him because he held back for a moment before returning the hug—awkwardly at first—then gripped me tight.

“You’re welcome,” he muttered into my hair as he held me, and I smelled his clean woodsy smell and felt the way my cheek pressed against his muscular pec.  I heard his heartbeat through the waffle pattern of his shirt and felt the heat of his body.

God,
yum
.

His biceps curled around me.  He gave me one last squeeze, and we broke apart.  I wasn’t sure who let go first.  It didn’t matter.  I felt strange—anchored and balanced while standing at the edge of a cliff.

We headed back to the truck.

Then down, down, down in elevation we went, until we hit the Valley floor.  He pointed out the names of landmarks, some of which I knew or had heard of, some of which were new to me.  We passed the roaring Merced River, the meadows I’d be working in later this summer, and the jutting granite peaks ringing the Valley.  The sun was going down and the colors were getting muted, but we unrolled the windows and let the mountain breeze waft into the old truck.  

Paying attention to my reactions, he drove slowly in a loop around the Valley, letting me gawk out the window, stopping on the side of the road to look when I squealed excitedly.  Let the memory develop so I could keep it forever.

Then he pulled over and parked. “C’mon.  Let’s go see the falls before it gets dark.  It’s just a mile up.”

Walking along a groomed, handicapped-accessible path, we passed dozens of people going the other way, back out.  Time to close up for the day.

As we hiked, he loped, a country stride that covered long distances quickly.  I had to take two steps to his one to keep up, unlike his leisurely pace as tour guide in the giant sequoias earlier.  

When we got to a bridge to cross over a bustling brook, a huge family pushed us to the side.  He grabbed my hand and pulled me to the railing and we waited for the family to pass before continuing.

But once we set off again, he didn’t drop my hand.

I could feel callouses.  His grip felt firm, strong.  

He slowed his stride down.  We turned a corner on the path, past a boulder as big as a building, and heard the rushing blast sound of water.

Yosemite Falls crashed down before us.  A few people gathered, watching.  I looked up, up, stretching my neck high, because the waterfall was a scary free fall, a straight drop of water, no rocks in the way.  Eons of erosion had stained the granite gray, brown, and red.  This waterfall was dizzying—and terrifying.  The way the water had nowhere else to go but off of a cliff.  I stared, taking in the roar of the water, the white foam, the speed of the river falling off of a sheer mountain, so high.  So glad I wasn’t at the top.  I tried to eye a single drop in the water and trace how long it took the journey from the top to where we stood at the bottom.  I guess the water couldn’t get hurt, so it was okay for it to fall.

Court had his beardy half smile, but fully deep voice.  “What do you think, Maggie?”

“It’s breathtaking.”

He looked at me.  “It sure is.”  And I got the feeling that he wasn’t talking about the waterfall.

The sky started to darken, the twilight time of day.  The short mile hike wouldn’t take long to get back to the car—only fifteen minutes or so, less if we ran.  But as the sparse crowd cleared, he held my hand.  The mist from the waterfall covered my arms and face.  I leaned into him, putting my head against his shoulder.

“Sorry,” I said.  “I’m a hugger.”

Without saying anything, he leaned back, breaking us apart, and looked into my face.  His index finger traced my skin from my temple to my jaw.  Maybe . . .

“You a kisser, too?”

My eyes widened.  My lower lip dropped and my body warmed.  My fingers and feet and other parts tingled.

“Yeah,” I whispered.

Blue-green eyes assessed me, then closed and leaned in, and he gently brushed his soft lips against mine.  My eyes closed, the waterfall pouring past us, cool mist on our warm bodies, he wrapped his arms low around my waist and pulled me to him.  And I had to, I just had to reach up and feel his rough, scratchy beardy beard.  He parted his lips and gently slid his tongue into my mouth, deepening the kiss, and he tasted like cinnamon and oh-god-yes fun.

So damn delicious.

I ran my hands through his hair, feeling the shaved parts on the side and messing up the long part on top and fuck yes, our kiss got a little bit wilder, reckless like the water rushing over the boulders, heaving over rocks and splashing, and I lost the world and this magnificent place.  I felt all kinds of turned on.

The waterfall kept rushing, but we broke apart, both of us out of breath.  He ran a hand through his beard, stroking it thoughtfully.  “Damn,” he muttered, almost to himself.

“What?”

He shook his head.  “Now that I know what you taste like, I’m not gonna want to stop with that.”  

“Me neither,” I whispered.  

I’d decided.  I was going for it.
 

“Didn’t want to do this.”

Oh no.  What?

“Why not?” I managed.

“Because you have to leave at the end of summer.”

“It’s okay for right now though,” I said, knowing that I sounded desperate.

The look he gave me was confusing.  He didn’t look happy about that, but I thought he would.  I mean, wasn’t he the resident fuckboy?

He looked at his watch.  “Gotta head back before it gets too late and too dark.  We missed the alpenglow, but the stars are starting to come out.”  And yes, in the still-light sky, I could see the little pops of light starting to appear.

Through the quieting forest, we made our way back to the truck, hustling because night was falling.  When we got there, we looked back.

“Check it out,” he said, pointing.  “The Big Dipper is pouring into Yosemite Falls.”

“Wow.”  The stars had aligned, searing the memory of this night into me.  The views, the waterfall, the mountains, this man.  I still felt sensitive from our kiss, breathless from our walk, and aroused by the hottie in hiking boots right next to me.

I got into the truck, and he reached around and put my seatbelt on for me.  “I can do that,” I offered, reaching for his hand.

“I know you can.  But it’s an excuse to do this.”

And he kissed me again, insistent but sweet, tongue tasting me, giving me a tour.  Arms around me, pulling me to him, even though I was seatbelted, his cinnamon breath welcome and hot.

Fuck.

Yes.

Loosening his arms, he pulled back and squeezed my hand.  Then he looked me in the eyes and this expression I could read.  The twitch under his eyes meant he wanted more.  So did I.

He closed the door, walking around to his side of the truck and got in.  

“So I guess I’m not friend-zoned,” I blurted, and then I immediately wished that I could take it back, put the fucking toothpaste back in the tube.

He studied me intently.  Then he reached over, squeezed my bare thigh, and turned the key.