On the Mountain (Follow your Bliss #5) (10 page)

After the librarian kindly
reminded her a couple books were overdue, Baskia discovered the romance novel
featuring the Trace look-a-like and the internet how-to guide at the bottom of
the wicker basket where she kept the loans.

Baskia looked out the window. The
wind blew the colorful leaves from the trees scattering them across the grass.
She wasn’t any closer to figuring out what she wanted, not even after reading a
series of self-help books. The internet would be necessary if she was going to
be alone on the mountain through the long months ahead. At least her social
media accounts would keep her company. Most of the apps on her cell phone were
useless without reliable service.

In a drawer in the kitchen, she
found an old telephone book and flipped to a number to call. “Um, yeah, but I’d
need a phone to do that.” Plus, the pristine phone book was at least fifteen
years old. Did phone books still exist? Just then, a vehicle rumbled into the
driveway. Her stomach leaped. She shook her head as if the pieces of Trace she
held onto would tumble out. She was done with guys. She’d used up all her
passes for booty-calls and one-nighters. By the time she’d extracted herself
from the couch, the brown UPS van pulled away.

Her eyes lit up when she saw the
package, hoping her mother sent her some essentials from the City. The name on
the label read Wes Carter.

She punched the address on the
box into the GPS in the car, but it wouldn’t pick up the signal. “Stupid thing.
Ugh. It’s like progress has been forgotten up here.”

Cruising along the forested road,
Baskia looked for Upper Hemlock Way. They’d passed on the road a few times, so
she assumed he lived nearby. Before turning off the main route to go back to
the cabin, she spotted a rusty sign, the turnoff for Upper Hemlock. He lived
relatively close.

His blue pickup sat in the driveway.
Chilly, Baskia realized she only wore a pair of stretch pants, a slim tee, and
no bra, once again making her feel self-conscious. The log cabin sat amongst
sturdy oaks and pines, only letting in a ring of sunlight. She stepped onto the
porch ready to knock, but Wes appeared, from the side of the house, shirtless
and sweating, with an axe in his hand.

“Hey,” he said with a shy smile,
leaning the axe against the truck.

“What’s up?” she asked stupidly.

“Just splitting wood. Have to get
ready for winter, yanno?” He sighed, putting his hands in his pockets. “I
didn’t realize you were still around.”

Baskia tried to suppress her
interest in the manly figure, glistening before her. “I wanted to thank you
again for helping me with my car, and also this was delivered to me, by
mistake.” She passed him the box.

“Thanks. Books,” he said. “Must
be a different delivery guy.”

“You don’t use the library?”

“Texts, had to order online,” he
said.

“I don’t have internet. Could I
actually use your phone? My cell service up here is so bad. I want to call to
see if I can have the phone company install—”

“Internet? You have to get
satellite up here,” he said, pointing to the dish fixed to the side of the
house.

“Oh. Really? Cool. Do you have
the number?”

“Uh. I have to head out soon, but
I can call for you.”

Baskia shrugged. “It’s fine. I
can do it.”

“Really, it’s no problem. I’m
happy to help,” he said, insisting and then wiping his forehead.

“Great then. Thanks. I really owe
you,” she said, confused, but flattered by his generosity.

“I’ll stop by to let you know
when they’re coming out to install it.”

Baskia stepped back to her car.

Wes called, “Actually, um. Do you
want to, uh. There’s a Harvest Fest on Saturday. Do you want to go?” he asked,
a slight blush rising to his cheeks.

Chapter Ten

It had been a long time since a
boy had asked Baskia out. She corrected herself; Wes was twenty-one, putting
him in adult category. That also probably meant he had some experience under
his belt, her main complaint about guys her age. They only wanted one thing or
at least the drinks and pills made them believe that. 

Occasionally, thoughts of Trace
would find their way into her thoughts, daydreams, and nighttime fantasies:
when she made coffee, did laundry, laid alone in bed. He managed to wiggle his
way into her mind, and stubbornly stayed there even though it’d been well over
a month since he’d left. Somehow, he still occupied the cabin. She was red hot
over him, equal parts mad and humid, like that summer night they spent together.
He’d seemed really into her, at least after the beer and tequila. It was lame
that he’d left without a goodbye; usually that was her role. Then again, maybe
it amounted to another night of meaningless sex, and she should leave it at
that.

Instead, she distracted herself
with thoughts of being with Wes, looking forward to their date on Saturday, if
going to a harvest festival counted as a date. He acted reserved and at times
distracted, as if something sloshed around in his mind and threatened to sweep
him away if he stopped focusing on it. Then again, Trace carried a burden too.
Baskia wished she had something to devote her attention to, instead of
defaulting to guys. There was the vast openness of what to do with her life. No
amount of pondering provided her with any insight except the constant knowing
of exactly what she didn’t want: the scripted existence her mother outlined for
her. 

On Thursday afternoon, she went
for a hike, collecting a bouquet of colorful leaves to photograph. When she
returned, a note, penned in blue, was stuck in the front door.

Satellite coming Fri between 10
and 2. If you still want to go to the Harvest Fest, I’ll be over on Sat at six.
Dress warm. –Wes

The instructions for the washing
machine were somehow more romantic. Baskia shook her head. Firstly, tangling up
with men was no bueno. Secondly, if she was, Trace was the worst possible
candidate, he practically told her that himself, and he had just up and left.
Third, Wes seemed reliable and strong, like someone she could count on. He was
also gentlemanly and kind. He’d arranged for her to get internet. That was
sweet. But it wasn’t dinner, skinny-dipping, and sex. She wasn’t up there to
get involved with anyone. Except herself. Period. As a gust of wind sent the
colorful leaves fluttering to the ground, she let these thoughts settle, hoping
they’d stick.

On Friday night, Baskia stayed up
until nearly three a.m. online, catching up on gossip, updating her social
media accounts, and buying, buying, buying. She ordered warm socks, durable
winter boots, and a pair of knee-high black boots, just because. Then she
stumbled upon a designer flash sale and got three handbags each in a different
color. She also ordered a coffee maker with little pods, because she couldn’t
be bothered measuring. She hadn’t yet made a cup of coffee that equaled the one
Trace had prepared.

The velvet night persuaded her to
type Tracey Wolfe into the search bar, hoping for a Facebook match, or
anything. In point forty seconds it came up with zero exact matches. He was
nowhere to be found. Gone, never to be seen again. And good thing too, she
tried to convince himself; he was nothing but trouble.

The only thing that pulled her
from the internet the next day was getting ready to go out with Wes. She sported
her favorite pair of jeans and brown ankle booties with a zipper up the side.
She did her hair and then went back online to wait for Wes’s arrival.

At five after six, butterflies
danced in Baskia’s belly. She tried to ignore the unfamiliar nervousness. Back
in the city, she was in demand and in command; she never got antsy before going
out. At quarter past, she landed on an article about the ten hottest cocktails
for the fall. Thanks to her parents’ stocked liquor cabinet, she began
concocting, if only to settle her nerves.

At six-thirty, she’d sipped
three-quarters of a cranberry gimlet, and heard the distinct sound of an
approaching vehicle up the gravel drive. Moments later, Wes knocked on the
door.

“Hi. Nice place you’ve got here,”
he said, looking around at the polished wood, the enormous fieldstone
fireplace, and blend of luxurious décor and comfortable furnishings. “Rustic,
yet modern. I, uh, studied architecture. I like the exposed beams.”

“It’s my parents’ place. But,
thanks to you, I’ve upgraded to the twenty-first century. I have internet.
Before we go, do you want a drink? I made a cranberry gim—”

“Thanks, but uh, I don’t drink,” Wes
interrupted.

“Oh, okay. Sorry. Ready?”

Feeling bubbly from the cocktail
and realizing Wes was a guy of few words or just nervous, Baskia chattered most
of the way down the mountain. He chimed in when she mentioned her modeling
career, travels, and current conundrum with school, but otherwise didn’t offer
up conversation.

When the colorful lights of the
spinning Ferris wheel came into view, he pulled off onto someone’s lawn and
paid five-dollars to park.

“So, have you ever been to a
small town fair before?” he asked, slightly more talkative out from behind the
steering wheel.

“I’m a fair-virgin,” she said, jokingly,
the cocktail playing with her words. In the light of the ticket counter, she
thought she saw him blush.

Once inside the gate, they
strolled past prize tables for biggest pumpkin, best apple pie, and tastiest
preserves. They went on the zipper, in the fun house, and watched a bad country
band for a few polite minutes. While they stood there, Wes shyly took Baskia’s
hand, transporting her to seventh grade, when the boys were still cautious
around girls and she had greasy skin and pimples.

“Want to get something to eat?
There’s a stall over there that has really good cheesy fries, and there’s apple
cider, fried dough, caramel apples, cotton candy…”

“Not only am I a fair-virgin, but
I’ve never had any of that, oh, except cheesy fries. Once in Milan, it was like
three a.m. and there was nothing open, so we found this little dive place
with-quote-un-quote American food. That was the first and only time I’ve eaten
a fry with cheese.”

“These will blow your mind,
promise.” Wes led the way to the concession stands, while people waved at him
and said hello. It looked like the entire county was there, and they all knew Wes
Carter. He didn’t stop long enough to introduce Baskia, thankfully. Anne might
criticize her friends and girls like London, but at least she had all her teeth
and didn’t look trapped in 1995, unless of course it was intentional.

After agreeing that those were
the best fries she’d ever eaten, Wes bought her a cup of warm apple cider.

“Cinnamon. Mmm. I’m not sure
which is better,” Baskia said, taking a sip.

“So do you like it here so far?”
he asked.

“I’m not really here to like
anything. I mean, I just needed to get away, yanno?”

“I meant the fair. But are you
staying through the winter?”

“Oh, right. It’s great, Thanks
for inviting me.” She looked around. It wasn’t terrible, but not her first
choice either. She drew a deep breath. “Yeah, I’m sticking around,” Baskia
said, affirming her vow to figure out what she wanted before she could leave
the rural refuge.

“I can get you some wood, if you
want. It’s going to get cold soon.”

“So I keep hearing.”

“Yeah, it’s about all anyone
talks about this time of year. Then when winter comes, all everyone does is
complain. Then spring, the mud and bugs—”

“Don’t make it sound so
appealing.” Baskia said, laughing. “But that would be great. I’ll need a
tutorial though. I uh, don’t know the first thing about fireplaces. Wouldn’t
want to burn the cabin down or anything.”

“Is there a woodstove in the
basement too?”

“Uh. Maybe? So, what will you do
all winter to keep warm?” Baskia asked, edging closer.

Wes looked up at the sky, as red,
white, and blue fireworks blossomed in the darkness. Another shot up into the
night and another. From the crowd surrounding them came
oohs
and
ahhs.
Baskia felt Wes’s arm stretch tentatively around her shoulder, like he
waited for her permission or wasn’t sure what he wanted. It was endearing, but
she was used to guys being unable to resist her and just going for it. She
leaned toward him as if to say, yes. The tenderness and tentativeness threw her
off. Wes was sweet and at times, quiet, as if his mind was somewhere else
entirely, but certainly not on her.

When the fireworks were over,
Baskia decided she’d had a good enough time, but small town festivals, weren’t
her thing. Her mind swam toward the bottle of vodka, sitting on the counter in
the cabin, some online shopping, and maybe some FB sexting with one of the
innumerable guys she’d hooked up with back in the City. Then there was Wes,
looking handsome in the half-light of the fair. Maybe he could make the night
more interesting.

When they arrived back at the
cabin, Baskia asked if he wanted to come in.

“I probably shouldn’t.”

“Come on, it’s still early.”

“It’s ten-thirty,” he countered.

She gave him a pitiful look, and
he followed her in.

“You sure you don’t want a
drink?” she asked while she shook the metal shaker back and forth.

“I’m good. So what do you like to
read?” he asked, thumbing through the books on the coffee table.  

“I’ve covered nearly half the
library in town, so I guess you could say everything. Now that I can go online
though, I can order whatever I want. I’m sure the UPS guy and I will get to
know each other well.”

“Oh, he’d probably love that.” Wes
said, laughing.

“You?” Baskia asked.

“Mostly books about architecture
and some Hemmingway, Faulkner...”

She suddenly wondered if they had
anything in common. “So, you said if I stuck around long enough, I’d find some
fun.”

“Did you have a good time
tonight?”

She nodded. “What else do you do
around here besides read, chop wood, help out damsels in distress when they’re
stranded without wheels or modern day conveniences?” She slid down next to him
on the couch.

Wes sat there blankly. “I, uh...”

She leaned closer.

“I go running. Um. I knit.”

Baskia nearly choked on her
drink. “Are you serious?”

For a moment, he looked offended.
“It’s not like it’s all I do—”

“No, I think that’s so cool.
You’ll have to teach me.”

Wes shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah,
sure. Anytime.”

“But, I’ve been thinking—” Baskia
paused. The liquid tipsiness from the drink made the wood and stone soften
along with the edges of sobriety. “I owe you. You’ve done so much for me. How
can I pay you back?”

Wes cleared his throat. “You
really don’t have to.”

“But I want to,” she said, taking
the last sip and putting her hand on his leg. “Just tell me what you want.”

For a moment, he looked pained.
Like there was something he wanted more than anything else in the world, but
couldn’t say it. “How about dinner. Next weekend?”

Baskia smiled, her eyes slightly
heavy. “Not if you want to go to that diner in town.”

“Din’s? No.” Wes laughed, the
discomfort leaving him, once again on safe and familiar ground. “Across the
border in New Hampshire, by Dartmouth, there are some great restaurants.
Italian, Chinese, American. Whatever you want.”

“Sounds good,” she said, leaning
closer to him. She was used to people telling her they’d do or give her
whatever she wanted. There were things she wanted, of course, but didn’t want
to have to ask. The memory of Trace nudged at her, but she swatted it away,
eager for Wes’s hand to move from his lap to hers.

A shadow of something painful,
maybe regret or denial crossed his face. “I’ll pick you up at five,” he said.

“Okay, but first—” She hadn’t had
to come on to a guy in, like, well, never. But being in the wilderness for so
long had made her lonely, plus Wes was unquestionably hot. She knew he didn’t
have a girlfriend if he’d asked her to the festival, not that it mattered. Her
thinking got gummy as she leaned closer. The light in the room faded as her
eyes closed. She felt Wes’s lips softly on hers, but he quickly shifted away.

“I should really get back. I had
a good time. Thanks,” he said, moving to the door.

In any other circumstance Baskia
would have cared, but the heavy food from the fair, the vodka, and the cool
night air that gusted in when Wes exited, made her want to crawl under a
blanket and sleep, only to be woken by her prince charming.