Wrong for You (Before You #3)(10)
She took a couple steps toward him and cocked one of her delicate hips to the side. “I’ll give you four hints—backpack, water bottles, hiking boots, and huckleberry season. Does that jog your memory?”
“Ah. Hiking,” he answered, feeling a smile stretch the corners of his lips. Without even trying, Violet knew how to make him smile.
She laughed, a light, musical sound that complimented her lighthearted, caring personality perfectly. “Yes, hiking.” Her eyes swept his body, starting with his black faded t-shirt, his dark jeans, his black, silver-studded belt, and his heavy leather boots. “I’d ask you to join me, but I don’t think you have the right wardrobe.”
Without thinking, he tugged lightly on the end of her ponytail. Over the past week, he’d been inventing reasons to touch her. He loved the silkiness of her hair and the softness of her baby-skin. “How do you know I don’t have hiking gear?”
She tapped her finger against her mouth; a habit of hers that never failed to draw all of his attention to the sweep of her beautifully sculpted upper lip. “Just a wild guess.”
She was absolutely right. Beyond his standard issue jeans and dark t-shirts, he didn’t have many other clothes with him. He forgot to have his manager send any workout clothes, which made him even more claustrophobic and angst-ridden than usual. In LA, he ran nearly every day. He loved the feeling of the endorphins flooding his veins at the exact moment that he didn’t think he could take one more stride. Peace—that was the only word he could use to describe the feeling. Except when he played the drums, running was the only other time his mind was free from the toxic thoughts constantly circulating like a broken record through his mind. Even on tour, he never missed his daily run. “Well, you’d be right. Do you think I could hike in this?” Right now, he craved exercise, and while he wasn’t the most social guy in the world, moving like a ghost between the Foundation and Violet’s basement apartment made him feel like a hamster going in circles.
She shook her head. “No, but you’re about my brother’s size. I think I can find something that will fit you.”
“Are you sure?”
“He’ll never miss it. He has more hiking shorts and shoes than a small sporting goods store. Let me grab a pair of shorts. I think your boots and t-shirt will work.”
“I don’t know.” He didn’t feel right borrowing a stranger’s clothes, but being outside under the warm Montana sun sounded like the escape he needed from his repetitive days. Even though he grew up in Montana, he had never picked huckleberries. That was way too functional for his family.
She poked a finger into the center of his chest. “Don’t make me go hiking by myself. What if I got lost or encountered a bear or two? I don’t want something like that weighing on your conscience.”
It would just be one of many, he thought cynically. “All right. I wouldn’t want to find out you became bear food.”
Thirty minutes later, Alec found himself outside of Missoula walking along a dirt trail, listening to the rustling of the wind through the trees and branches snapping under the weight of his feet. Part of him missed the sound of the cars buzzing by as he ran through the streets of his neighborhood outside of LA. It drowned out all the thoughts taunting him, but he had to admit it definitely smelled better here.
“Do you come here a lot?” he asked, glancing briefly at Violet.
“In the summer. My mom used to take my brother and me hiking here every Saturday morning in the summer when we were kids. It’s become a habit for my brother and me. He’s not in town very often, so I end up going by myself a lot. My best friend, Annette, hates hiking.”
Alec nodded, looking away. His gut twisted. As a kid, he would have done anything for a moment of normalcy. Even before the car crash, his parents didn’t have the most functional relationship. It was a rollercoaster of highs and lows marked by a lot of drama, crying, and yelling, but all of that paled in comparison to the shit that happened afterwards.
“So where do you find the huckleberries?”
Violet stopped walking. “Tell me you aren’t serious.”
“What?” he said, holding his hands, palm up, in front of his body.
“You haven’t picked huckleberries before. Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”
“Honestly, I haven’t.” He chuckled. “My family didn’t do the outdoor thing.”
“What did your family do?”
He sucked his lip ring into his mouth. “Nothing functional, and by functional, I mean family outings, hiking, trips, or family dinners.” He started walking again, hoping that she’d stop questioning him about his family. After a minute, he heard her footsteps crunching against the gravel on the trail behind him and he exhaled, knowing her questioning had ended.
“There’s a steep incline along the side of the trail just around the next turn. The huckleberry bushes will be there.”
He looked at her over his shoulder. “Do you have something to put them in?”
“No. Most of the time, I just pick what I can eat.” She laughed. “My brother and I ate so many one time when we were kids, we got sick and could hardly make it back to the car. My parents were so mad. While they ate lunch near a waterfall, we wandered down the trail and ate as many as we could in an hour. When they found us, our hands and faces were stained purple and sticky. Twenty minutes into the hike back to the car, we could hardly walk because our stomachs were cramping.”