Page 297 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet
And honestly, right this second, I don’t want to know.
A few minutes later, we’re dried off and standing in the kitchen where I’m making hot cocoa on the stove. I’m dressed in a pair of dark gray gym shorts and no shirt as I stir the milk and cocoa in a pot on a medium flame. River’s in blue flannel pajama pants, hanging low on his hips, giving me a fantastic view of his chest and arms as he dips his hand into the popcorn bag, picking up where we left off during the game.
Snacking and talking.
As I whisk the milk gently, River tips his forehead to the pot. “You’re like a hot cocoa master, and I don’t normally let other people make drinks.”
“Little-known fact. I have an official license to make hot cocoa, so I can understand why you’d hand me the keys,” I deadpan. “Also, I’ve been making it since I was five.”
River scoots up on the counter, swings his feet as he chews on more popcorn, then asks, “Is it from all the skiing you did? And do?”
“Hot cocoa is definitely a staple of the ski lodge. And yeah, I made it on our family ski trips.”
He dips his hand into the bag again. “What was your most memorable trip as a kid?”
I scrunch up my brow. “Besides skiing? Because that was kind of all we did.”
River’s hand freezes midway to his mouth, popcorn in his fist. “What? You didn’t do family trips?”
Gliding the whisk through the warming milk, I shake my head. “Not really, beyond Tahoe. My parents worked all the time. They were hardly around. And any time we went on a trip, Grace and I had to bring friends because our parents didn’t want to spend time with us,” I say matter-of-factly.
“That sucks,” he says, a note of sadness in his voice. He takes another handful of popcorn.
I shrug with a sigh. “Sure, but it is what it is.”
“Do you wish it had been different?”
“Maybe? But I think I turned out okay. I just don’t want that for my life,” I say, cracking open another admission about myself. Today’s the day for that it seems. Maybe this is part of the recon—laying bare what I want in front of him.
“In what way?”
“I don’t want to work all the time. Or be unhappy. Or have a partner who resents me or vice versa. I want to take trips, and explore the city on weekends, and do the immersive art in Santa Fe, and see the burning earth in Turkmenistan. I want to have a good time, and work hard, but play hard too. Know what I mean?”
River’s warm eyes flicker with understanding. “I love getting away from work. When I was a kid, I craved family trips. I crossed off the days on the calendar till our summer vacations. Camping and the beach and RV trips to Yellowstone. That’s where I fell in love with hiking,” River says, a soft smile on his face, and a faraway look in his irises. The memories of those days must be playing on a reel in his head, making him happy. “I remember the first few times my dad took me for a hike in the woods, and all I could think was it felt like how an amusement park must feel to other kids. Everything about wandering around in nature was such a rush for me. A ladybug here, a tree there, a stream in the woods,” he says, and the enchantment in his voice is so infectious. He sets down the popcorn, hops offthe counter. He draws a deep breath, like he’s gearing up to say something hard, or something big. “You should go hiking with me sometime.”
I arch a brow, wildly curious what he’s getting at since hiking isn’t something we do together. “I should?”
“Well, you never go.”
I laugh lightly. “Because you always go with Delilah or your hiking club. It’s your thing and that’s cool,” I say, then add, “You don’t go to the gym with me.”
“Do you want me to?”
My brow knits in confusion. “The gym is just functional. I like working out. I like being in shape. But it’s not my passion like hiking is for you.”
“Exactly! Hiking isn’t functional for me. It’s fun.” River squares his shoulders, then declares, “We should do it together.”
But there’s that word again, and it bristles me.
Fun.
That seems to be the word of the night.
Empirically,funis a good word.
A good thing.
This is fun.Weare fun.