Wander and Roam (Wander #1) (10 page)

Sage walks in front of me. I insisted, so he wouldn’t see my hesitation at each new step and my death grip on the railings. Every few minutes, he turns around to smile, point out something far below, or wave. Thinking about how ridiculous we look in our matching full-body, gray-and-blue regulation jumpsuits helps keep a grin on my face. I don’t want Sage to waste his climb worrying about me. Besides, I sort of enjoy the new adventurous persona. Maybe I’ll even grow into it.

We’re nearing another set of stairs. While my logical brain knows they would never send hundreds of tourists a day onto a rickety, faulty structure, my anxiety-fueled thoughts cannot wrap around how the see-through mesh steps can actually be sturdy. I glimpse down at the waves kicked up by a boat’s wake and press my lips together.

The upward progression stops, and group members pause for photos as they reach the apex one by one. This leaves me stuck on the stairs. I glance at my tether, locked into a steel cable that runs alongside the catwalks and stairs. Supposedly, the tethers should keep us safe, but I struggle with how this skinnier-than-my-finger rope is supposed to fight the powerful force of gravity.

“Coming?” Sage holds out his hand. He’s next in line to step onto the highest catwalk.

My white knuckles firmly grasp the side. The warm metal provides mild reassurance. As long as I don’t let go, I shouldn’t fall. I’m unsure if a person can ever provide the same promise of safety. Maybe that’s my problem.
If I refuse to trust anyone again, how will I ever move on?
Slowly, I release the rail then reach for the security of his fingers. Hand-in-hand, we take the final steps to the top.

Our group walks down the long catwalk, posing for perfect photos in front of the Opera House. The guide moves from family to couple to solo traveler, snapping memories of their bravery. A wind gust catches me off guard, and I grip even tighter.

“Ouch!” Sage says, but he smiles at me. When I try to release his hand, he pulls me to him and holds me securely.

When he wraps his arms around me, my hesitation and fear fade away. Up here, it’s Sage and I and our sky-high adrenaline. My ground-level worries don’t even register. Sage’s embrace is so comforting, all I can think about it how I want
more
.

“Adventurous must be the new sexy,” he says as his lips caress mine.

“Don’t stop,” I plead.

We kiss—frantically at first, then slowly and sweetly. I barely notice the three wire cords digging into my back, the people around us, or the growing breeze. My attention’s entirely on Sage’s muscular arm, so firm beneath my hand, his warm body so snug against mine. His distracting lips, which haven’t stopped moving.

A bright flash of light interrupts our moment. “That will be a great photo. They’ll be available for purchase at the base for only $19.99.”

I open my eyes to find myself pressed against the side of the catwalk, between thin cords and Sage’s strong body.

“You can’t get more ‘now’ than that,” Sage whispers in my ear. “Abandoning your fears to the pleasures of the moment? Wicked hot.”

I carefully step to the middle of the catwalk, about a half-inch of movement. “So you weren’t afraid at all?”

“I had to learn to manage my fear a while ago.” Sage’s smile fades, and his entire face darkens. “Imagined fears are nothing compared to that.”

Before I can ask him what he means, Sage gestures to the departing group and hurries after them. I begin my slow, careful descent from the bridge.
Imagined fears.
Thinking about it that way, the journey down isn’t nearly so hard.

When we reach the bottom of the bridge, I spot a restroom and sigh with relief. “Bathroom break?”

Sage nods. “I need to do something. Can you wait for me right here?”

After using the bathroom, I take an extra minute to peek in the mirror, run a brush through my windswept hair, and reapply lip gloss. I’ve probably looked in a mirror twice as often these last few weeks. Before I can agonize over whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing, I head out to find Sage.

He still isn’t back. After settling on a nearby bench, I pull the guidebook out of my backpack. Flipping through the pages, I scan activity after activity.

“My turn.” Sage closes the book and tucks it away. “I know exactly what we’re doing next. Are you ready?”

I follow him along the waterfront. “Do I get a hint?”

“Nope.” He grins. “Thinking about what’s to come takes you out of the moment.”

We’re approaching the Opera House again, and its white sail-like roof mimics the boats that soar by in the water. What a beautiful city. Sydney is vibrant, alive, and so different from the Midwest’s dying cities. The sun beats down from the bluest of skies, warming everything around me. Between Sage’s intense stare and his sexy smile, my inside temperature soon matches the outside.

He reaches for my hand. It’s so tempting, but the rush of adrenaline is gone and the bridge’s magic has faded. My step to the side of the walkway was meant to be subtle but comes off as blatantly obvious.

Sage pulls his hand back and sighs. “I wish I knew who hurt you.”

“It wasn’t intentional.” I keep walking, hoping he won’t notice how I’ve stiffened.

“If… if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here,” Sage says.

I can’t. I not ready. I’m not strong enough to talk about Robbie. Maybe I’ll never be strong enough.

Sage waits for my answer. I simply nod.

I glance back at the Harbour Bridge. Somehow, being up so high, away from all of life’s realities, made it easy to give in to temptation. Back on the ground, thoughts of Robbie rush back to haunt me.

W
E’RE STANDING
in front of a large sign that reads, “Welcome to the Royal Botanical Gardens. Please walk on the grass. We also invite you to smell the roses, hug the trees, talk to the birds, and picnic on the lawns.”

The Australians are certainly more easy-going than folks back home. The signs in Ohio’s metro parks are all of the “don’t” variety: “Don’t step off the trail, don’t feed the wildlife, don’t enter the water.”

My self-imposed restrictions aren’t so different, but it’s refreshing to be in a land of “do’s.” Maybe I should try to be freer while I’m here.

“Are you ready?” Sage reaches for my hand but changes his gesture mid-motion and turns awkwardly toward the entrance. If I’m going to work at freeing myself, I might as well start now. I take his hand in mine.

“Are you sure? You don’t have—”

“Let’s go.” I squeeze his warm palm gently as we step into the gardens.

Odd-shaped trees dot the grass, flowers bloom in clusters, and unusual plants grow all around us. Art decorates the gardens as well; all sorts of sculptures are placed strategically around the grounds. Sage leads me down a trail but pauses in front of a bronze goddess. Flower petals have been woven into a necklace and head wreath, while more petals and decorative leaves cover the base of the sculpture.

“Look at all the offerings. We should leave one, too.” Sage heads to a nearby flowerbed. He searches the soil until he locates a fallen petal. Returning to the goddess, he places the petal on her outstretched hands.

“I thought you believed in the Buddha.”

“I’ve found many of the Buddhist concepts… comforting,” Sage says. “But I’m pretty open religiously.”

I want to ask about the comforting comment, but something makes me think he’s not ready to share more. “Open? How does that work?”

“Remember the first day we met, when I said I’m an explorer? Well, that goes for religions, too.” He looks at the sky. “How can you know what you believe unless you explore each path?”

“I don’t believe in anything,” I admit.

“Makes sense. You’re a runner, after all.”

Sage had me pegged from that first conversation. He pulls a blanket from his backpack and spreads it on the ground. He reaches in his pack again and grabs a brown paper bag.

“We’re going to have a picnic?” My stomach rumbles. The bridge climb took so long, we totally missed lunch. By the position of the sun, I would guess it’s dinner time already.

“I figured we’d be starving by now, so I grabbed some food.”

“When?” I’m still not used to someone being so thoughtful.

“While you were in the bathroom.” He unpacks the contents. Two different cream-colored mushy things, pita sandwiches, and more pita bread. “Hope you like Mediterranean.”

I’ve always been more of a meat and potatoes girl. I examine the mush. “What is it?”

“Hummus and baba ganoush.” He gestures to the sandwiches. “I got some falafel, too.”

I take a piece of pita, which I recognize, but I can’t decide which mush is the safest one to try. “Your mom must be a health food nut.”

“No, we ate pretty normal growing up.” He lowers my hand to the hummus. “Try this one.”

I dip my bread so only the top corner is covered before tentatively tasting it. Not bad. Not great, but not bad. “If you weren’t raised vegetarian, how did you get into the healthy eating thing?”

Sage stops mid-bite then awkwardly swallows. “Let’s just say, I had… motivation.”

Motivation? What kind of answer is that? He’s in excellent shape. Maybe he was an athlete at some point. I know they can have odd eating habits. Or maybe it was more ethical-related motivation. I could totally see Sage being a card-carrying member of PETA.

“What kind of—?”

“This must be one of the prettiest views in all of Sydney.” Sage stares across the gardens at the view of the harbor and the Opera House.

His attempt to change the subject isn’t lost on me, but having been there myself so many times, I’m not going to pry. “Definitely the best picnic view I’ve ever had. Is that why you chose the gardens?”

He glances at the sky, which is just starting to take on the pink hues of dusk. “Nope, it was just an added bonus. Hurry up so we’re not late.”

I finish my sandwich, which wasn’t nearly as bad as I feared, then help Sage pack all our trash back into the brown bag. He takes my hand without hesitation this time, consults his map, and leads me to the left.

“Late for what?” Why all the mystery?

“You’ll see.” Sage stops underneath a grove of trees.

When I secluded myself in the dorms, I grew used to things being repetitive and predictable. Boring, but safe. Lately, I can’t anticipate what’s going to happen next. After arranging his blanket, Sage lies face-up and pats the empty space next to him.

“What are we doing? It looks like you’re getting ready for a nap.” I sit on the blanket, but Sage guides me down until we lay shoulder-to-shoulder.

Before I came to Australia, it had been six months since I lay next to a boy. Six lonely, lonely months. Not that the months before were much more bearable. Somehow, I’ve lain next to Sage twice since arriving.

I’m aware of everything. How his arm grazes me, the warmth of his leg pressed against mine, his gentle breaths on my cheek. “Are you comfortable?” he asks.

Comfortable is not how I’d describe it. My body’s hypersensitive, and my mind’s a mess. One half fights not to run away, and the other itches to get even closer.

“Look!” He points to the sky. A dark shape swoops out of the closest tree and glides through the air.

“Bats?” Another swoops down, then a third. Their huge black shadows contrast with the rosy-hued sky. Hundreds more hang upside down from the trees all around, releasing themselves one by one into the approaching night.