I squeeze Rachel back, then pull away with a sigh. “No. There’s plenty of space on the trail for the two of us. If he can even get a new start date, chances are I’ll never see him.” From the kitchen, my phone alarm goes off from where I left it on the counter. “That’s the jerky,” I say, standing and making my way toward the beeping, Rachel following behind me. I turn off the dehydrator and lift the lid, revealing my latest batch as the delicious scent fills our nostrils.
“It smells incredible,” Rachel exclaims.
“I found the recipe online. Doing it myself will save money, since I need about eighty pounds of it.”
Rachel’s jaw drops. “Eighty pounds?”
After the daiquiri mix had run out, and I had time to sober up, I went to the store for more alcohol and may have gone overboard buying supplies. Maybe this wouldn’t be the best time to mention the bulk-size bags of trail mix ingredients in my room? “I’ll need it. If I don’t consume four thousand calories a day, I’ll look like an anorexic model by the time I reach Canada.”
Rachel looks around our already small apartment, as if she’s trying to imagine where eighty pounds of jerky might go, let alone everything else I’m going to need for my trip. “Sure. We can make this work. How can I help?”
I follow her eyes around the room, taking in the explosion of gear, boxes, and my experiment in beef jerky. What do I need? Perhaps a few more daiquiris and someone to tell me I’m crazy? Except Rachel wouldn’t. She knows what I’m capable of when I set my mind on something. She’s probably already planning a party for when I cross the finish line in British Columbia. “I need to divide the jerky into four-ounce bunches, then vacuum seal them so they’ll stay fresh through September.”
Rachel smiles. “I can do that. Where’s the food scale?”
“Coffee table,” I tell her, swapping the trays in the dehydrator and pressing the on button. “I have to weigh all of my gear to see where I can cut down some weight.”
Rachel wades back toward the living room. “I thought your gear was fine.”
“It was. For two-person trips with Bryce. Now, I’m going to have to carry everything. Shit! Bryce owns the tent.” Panic hits me as I take in the piles of books and gear surrounding me. I’m taking a term and a half of classes to finish my degree before I leave, have a five-month hike to plan, gear to buy, food boxes to assemble, postage to pay for, and now I don’t have anyone to split the costs with.
My knees go weak, and another sob threatens to overtake me. Bryce gave me the trip I’ve always wanted. But because he had to go and shove his dick in another woman, I’m going to have to do this alone. I’ve hiked alone, but not like this. Hell, I’ve never done more than a hundred miles with friends. Can I do twenty-six hundred by myself?
“Am I crazy thinking I can do this?” I stammer, my breathing quickening as I fight against the building anxiety.
Rachel shushes me, running back to wrap me in another hug. “Lizzy, you are a lot of things, most of them brilliant, but never crazy, girl. Not you.”
Her warmth and belief in me helps push back my fears and tears. I can do this. People do this every year. Why not me? This is a rare opportunity. So fuck Bryce. It’s my permit, and I’m going to use it. “Right. Let’s do this.”
Rachel smiles as she lets me go. “I’ve got your back, Lizzy. Just as soon as I change and order some food. You look like you need a cheeseburger with extra fries.”
“God, yes.” I groan loudly. “Why can’t I find a guy like you?”
“How long is your trip? Five to six months?” Rachel grins playfully. “Sounds like a good chance to find one.”
As Rachel disappears down the hall with her suitcase, I settle back into my work, my mind wandering with possibilities as delicious and tempting as my jerky. But seriously, what are the chances?
Day 1:
Campo, California
2,650 Miles To Go
Elizabeth
The first thing I notice when I walk into the dining room of the bed-and-breakfast in Manzanita, a small town about fourteen miles east of where the PCT starts, is the wonderful aroma wafting toward me from the coffeepot on the nearby counter. Mugs are stacked neatly next to the pot, along with a bowl of sugar packets and a small carafe of creamer. Back home, I pretty much live on the stuff, the fuel of late-night cram sessions and term paper deadlines. I grab a cup, knowing it’s my last chance at decent coffee for a while, as my instant coffee packets are no substitute for a good brew. Sure, there are good options out there, but my budget for this trip didn’t allow for them. Next to the coffee sits a pitcher of orange juice, and I pour myself a glass as well. For the next five months, fresh fruit will be as rare as good coffee. With two cups to carry, I wedge the tablet I’m carrying under my armpit and turn to grab a seat.
The second thing I notice is the guy sitting at the center table. His gaze drifts up from the small breakfast menu in his hand and lands on me. He looks me over with deep blue eyes beneath a mop of dirty blond hair. His loose shirt hides his features, but his toned, firm arms speak to someone in peak health. They’re the kind of arms a gal wouldn’t mind being held in. His nice full lips curl up in a relaxed smile, appearing to be pleased with what he sees. The overall effect would spell trouble if I were back home. “Care to join me?” he asks.
Hell, yes, a little voice screams in my head. I recognize it as the same voice who thought Bryce Griffon was a good idea, though, so I tell it to shut up. Still, it’s been a long two months since the worst Valentine’s Day of my life. Breakfast with a cute guy wouldn’t be too bad. Would it? I’ll sip my coffee, make some small talk, and then never see him again.
“Sure,” I say. As I approach, he stands and pulls a chair out for me. “Thanks.” I settle into the chair and take a deep sip of coffee as I try not to stare at him. I can’t help it, though. He’s even better looking up close. I catch a subtle scent of coconut and vanilla. Damn it, he even smells good.
“What brings you to the middle of nowhere?” he asks as I put my mug down.
“Going on a little hike.” He chuckles at my comment. I cock an eyebrow at him. “Something funny about hiking?”
He clears his throat, then grins warmly. “Not at all. I love hiking. But every hiker staying here is heading for the same trail. I doubt any of them would call it little.”
He has a smile I can’t help returning. “No, I suppose not. Are you here to start the PCT, too?”
He flashes me a smile again, and I’m glad I didn’t meet him last night. Between his smile and the sex-starved voice in my head, I’d be walking funny this morning. Would I be satisfied? Yes. But it’s not how I want to start a five-month journey. I gulp down half my orange juice, because the longer he looks at me, the more my mouth is both parched and trying not to drool.
Not the time, Liz. Not the time.
I’m saved by the door to the kitchen swinging open as the middle-aged woman who runs the place steps in. “Good morning. I didn’t know we had anyone up yet. Can I get you something?”
My companion looks up at the woman, and I take the opportunity to tear my eyes away and stare at the menu instead. They offer an array of breakfast items, half of which sound too delicious to pass up, but I need to focus on proteins and carbs. I end up ordering scrambled eggs with bacon, country potatoes, and shredded cheese on the eggs because dairy is another food I’ll have in limited supply.
While my breakfast companion places his order, I turn on my tablet and pull up my itinerary to review the first couple of days. Before coming here, I spent hours compiling notes on where to find water and good campsites. With a little luck, I should reach Canada by mid to late-September so I can get back to grad school. My professors have a position as a student aide in the Geology Department waiting for me, as long as I take plenty of photos for them.
Tall, blond, and dangerous finishes his order and looks back at me. His eyes are a deep blue, like an ocean I wouldn’t mind diving into. If I didn’t have twenty-six hundred miles of walking in front of me. He takes a long, lingering sip of his coffee, drawing my eyes from my tablet to his lips. If the growing smile is any sign, he notices. Maybe it’s not the only thing growing bigger?