The Birthday List(69)

“Look at that.” He pointed to the glaciers cutting their way through the valleys of the high peaks. “Incredible.”

I was too fixed on his profile to take in the scenery. “You carried me.”

Cole’s eyes broke away from the view. “I’ll carry you back down too.”

“But why? Why didn’t you just turn back?”

He shrugged. “You said you needed to do this. Now you have.”

This man took my breath away.

“Cole, I . . .” As much as I wanted to thank him, to say anything, none of the words in my head were enough to convey how much this meant.

When I hadn’t been strong enough to do something myself—when the pain had been too much—he’d done it for me.

“It’s okay, Poppy.” He turned back to the view. “Just enjoy it.”

“All right.” I turned and let my eyes take in everything before us. And as I studied the lake and the glaciers and the mountain, I realized something.

Maybe I didn’t have to be strong enough to banish the pain away all by myself.

Maybe being strong meant learning to lean on those who would take some of the pain away.

Like the man at my side.




By the time we made it back to the lodge, the sun had begun to set. Cole had carried me all the way down the mountain—he’d endured over four miles with me on his back. When we’d gotten to the easier part of the trail, I’d offered to walk in my socks but he’d refused to set me down no matter how much I had pleaded.

Finally, my feet hit the ground when we reached a bench outside the lodge.

“Do you want to go up to the room or would you like to grab dinner first?”

He ran a hand over his face. “I need a shower, but I’d really like to eat first so I can crash after I get cleaned up. I’m wiped.”

“Dinner it is. Just let me go grab the flip-flops I left in the truck.”

“I’ll go get them.”

“Cole, sit and take a break.” I pointed to the bench. “I can walk across a paved parking lot in my bare feet.”

He relented, digging his truck keys out of his pocket.

I took them and hustled toward the parking lot, looking over my shoulder to see him slouched on the bench. He looked more exhausted than I’d ever seen before.

All because of me.

I walked faster, my pace matching the speed of my racing thoughts.

Was I taking too much from Cole? He’d offered his help freely, but was I taking advantage? First, he’d taken on Jamie’s murder case at work. Then the birthday list and everything that came along with it. The truck. The weekend activities. The hike.

I didn’t want him to resent me by the time we’d finished the list. I didn’t want him to think that all I wanted from him was his help.

My worries were put on hold as I reached his truck. I slipped on the flip-flops I’d tossed in the backseat just in case, then hurried back so we could get Cole some much-needed calories and a well-deserved beer.

An hour later, Cole patted his stomach, having just polished off a plate of home fries and an enormous rib eye. “That was good. Not as good as your food, but still. It hit the spot.”

“Thank you.” I smiled. “Too bad there isn’t a way to serve steak in a jar.”

He chuckled. “If anyone could figure it out though, my money is on you.”

“I think I’ll just save the steak recipes for home. I’ll dig them out when I come over to break in your kitchen.”

His hand covered mine on the bar between us. “I’d like that.”

“Me too.” I turned over my hand to thread my fingers in his.

We hadn’t discussed the kiss we’d shared in his kitchen and we hadn’t had another since. I just hoped he knew that the tears that had followed were not because I’d regretted that moment.

I could never regret that kiss.

“I hope you—”

“Do you want another beer?” The bartender, a young woman with spiked black hair, interrupted.

Cole let go of my hand and reached into his pocket for his wallet. “No. Just the check. Thanks.”

“You got it.” She tapped a cardboard coaster on the bar and walked to the register.

“Here.” He handed me a stack of twenties. “I’ll be right back.”

He stood from his stool, leaning down to kiss my forehead, then walked toward the restrooms. His footsteps were slow and heavy. His broad shoulders stretched the white cotton of his T-shirt as he hunched forward. And the way he was rolling his neck, he must be getting one of his headaches.

“Here you go.” The bartender leaned her arms on the bar after setting down our ticket. “Your husband looks like he had a rough day.”

“Oh, um,” I fumbled the cash as I handed it over, “he’s not my husband.”

Her eyes darted to my left hand, zeroing in on my wedding rings. “Oh-kay.” She pushed off the bar and held up her hands. “No judgment here. Just assumed.”

“No!” My hands flailed as I did my best to explain I wasn’t having an affair. “It’s not like that. I’m . . . I’m not married. My husband passed away and I just haven’t taken off my rings.”

“Sorry.” Her face softened before she spun around and went to the register to make change.