Fable of Happiness (Fable 1)

I woke to a viral sensation.

And the rest was history.

Now, at twenty-six, I’d hit over three million subscribers, had a nest egg that my bank manager looked at enviously, and got to do what I loved for a living.

I was blessed.

In everything but love.

With a sigh, I scanned the profile I’d just filled in for a dating site. Active Souls promised to match like-minded sporty individuals with other successful athletes.

I’d tried dating the old-fashioned way. I’d been on a few blind dates set up by friends. I’d agreed to a few drinks with men I’d met at the gym. I’d even had dinner with a man who’d done a double take at the gas station as I fed fuel to my sand-colored Jeep Wrangler.

He’d asked if it was my boyfriend’s car, eyeing up my off-road tires, well-earned dents, and light bar. He’d been dubious when I said she was mine, followed by instant sexual interest.

I needed such a car.

My work, my videos, required me to explore backroads in search of boulders that no one had climbed yet, of waterfalls too tricky for others to attempt. I wasn’t afraid of crawling over riverbeds or creeping up hillsides with my Wrangler for the perfect video that would hit a million views in just a few days.

The guy at the gas station—who’d been intrigued instead of intimidated—had asked for my number. He’d seemed sane enough, so I’d given it to him. We’d gone out. He’d said all the right things.

I hadn’t been with anyone in years, so, feeling reckless, I invited him back to my home, and we slept together. The sex had been okay. I got more thrills from climbing a piece of sandstone, if I was honest, but it was nice to have company.

However, the next morning, he announced he and his wife had seen my channel, and he found me hot. Hot enough to cheat on his wife and turn me off men altogether.

Who would have thought that at twenty-six, the majority of single people came with such heavy baggage already? Most had a child, sometimes two. Some were still living at home with their parents. Some were embroiled in a messy divorce. Some openly sought affairs. And the majority? The majority were overweight, didn’t exercise, and their personal ambition was drinking on the weekend with their workmates.

Why are you doing this?

I rolled my eyes at my profile again.

Because I’m stupid, that’s why.

Name: Gemma Ashcroft

Age: Twenty-six

Appearance: Blonde, hazel eyes, curvy but athletic

Ethnicity: Half American, half Norwegian.

Looking for: A man who loves the outdoors. Single. Loves to travel. Doesn’t mind camping and exploring off the beaten track. Trustworthy. Kind. Passionate. Intelligent—

“Ugh.” I deleted it all. “Just give up, Gem. Get a dog that you can drag around the backcountry and accept that you’re successful in business, but in romance...you suck.”

Nodding at my wisdom, I went to close out of the site, but a rush of rebellion shot down my fingers, and I typed:

Looking for: A man who’s dominant and dangerous but not afraid of a woman who’s probably far more successful than he is. A man who knows how to grant pleasure without thinking he’s some gift to womankind. A man who knows how to cook and clean without needing a girlfriend for a maid. A man who doesn’t have fifteen exes, two kids, a beer belly, and can’t use a screwdriver. A man who...is a man. An old-fashioned man who is prickly but sweet. Who is gruff but kind. A man who will sweep me off my feet but allow me to fly free, all while he makes me come alive beneath his tongue.

“You are such an idiot.” I laughed under my breath as I deleted the entire thing, closed the window, and went to shut down my laptop. “No more daydreaming of fantastical men who don’t exist.”

A flashing notification caught my eye, alerting me to a new post in Climbers Anon. I opened my screen again. I’d stalked that online group for a few years. The group’s tagline promised virgin routes, secret boulders, and untried mountains.

In the years I’d followed them, they hadn’t posted a single adventure that I hadn’t already done or heard about.

Until now.

As I scanned the link and the hazy photo of a boulder cluster covered in weeds and debris, my heart rate picked up.

Kentucky Khaleesi

Found two days ago deep within Mammoth Cave National Park. Overgrown. Hidden in a ravine that seems impassable. I’ve marked the trail to get there with yellow ribbon. Didn’t climb down as had no gear. 4WD required, followed by steep descent on foot. Whoever gets there first can name the route. Climbing grade? I’d say fucking hard.

My heart pumped faster as I glanced at my dirty, well-used backpack where I’d tossed it by the front door. I hadn’t found an exciting climb in a few months. Regardless, I kept my bag packed with food and camping necessities, and carried around a permanent tent and bedroll in the back of my Jeep, along with all my ropes, gear, and filming equipment.