Completely (New York 3)

“Yep.”

“Would you like to come in for a moment?”

“I’m good.” He was enjoying the way she looked framed in the doorway, one hand on her hip, her hair falling in blond waves over her shoulders, fingers still fussing with her earlobe. Off her pins. There was unexpected pleasure in rattling this woman’s composure to see what would knock loose. “Hey, Rosemary?” He said her name slow, savoring it, and took a step c

loser until he was crowding her personal space. She was only an inch or two shorter than him. She looked taller when she lifted her chin like that. Heat radiated off her, and Kal wondered what he was doing and why it felt so good.

“Yes?”

Her voice was the opposite of breathless, because she was like that: steely and brazen in the face of a challenge. She’d worn that same steely look when she rushed headlong out of her tent in the middle of the night at the cracking sound of the avalanche and he’d sent her right back in.

Kal had always had a weak spot for people who rose to the occasion.

He shifted until his cheek rubbed against hers. She held still, trembling. He kissed a spot beside her ear and whispered, “Any chance you’d like to spot me a few bucks for a decent cup of coffee?”

—

Rosemary sipped cinnamon-flavored iced latte through a fat green straw. She lifted the straw up, stabbed it back through the whipped cream topping, and sucked hard.

Heavenly.

Through the window beside their table, she watched a chain of porters guiding laden yaks down a narrow lane. The sun was out over the Himalayas, the sky a clear blue, the temperature about fifty degrees, though it felt warmer in the beam of sunlight that cut through the glass.

She remembered this view from her arrival in March. How close Everest had felt, how excited she’d been.

Now it seemed impossibly distant. Impossibly cold and terrible.

The village of Lukla was a blip on the map, a collection of dirt lanes crowded with blue-roofed stone lodges and restaurants, porters and yaks, a stream of Everest trekkers disgorged from the airport at regular intervals. The guidebooks recommended passing right on through in favor of more enticing destinations ahead.

The last of the yaks disappeared around a bend, the line of loaded animals heading toward the trail to the next village and on into the Khumbu. Everything in the region had to be carried in by human or beast. There were no roads. Lukla’s airport was the only one, its airstrip so short and the weather at this altitude so dicey that it held the dubious distinction of being the most dangerous in the world.

In recent memory, she’d found that information exciting.

But there were bodies on the slopes of the mountain—bodies that would have to be dug out of the snow, encased in plastic, carried down to Lukla on the backs of yaks.

Kal appeared with both hands wrapped around a steaming white paper cup. He took a sip, closing his eyes with pleasure. “I’ve been dreaming about this Starbucks for weeks. Thanks for spotting me the cash.”

She waved a hand at him and took a deep drag on her cold latte. She wanted the caffeine to travel straight into her veins and restore her sense of purpose.

After Kal left her room, she’d taken a shower. Beneath the spray, she started bleeding from a scratch on her biceps that she’d acquired at Base Camp weeks ago. She’d thought it healed, but flesh mended slowly at altitude. Rosemary stood under the tepid spray, water mixing with a runnel of fresh blood dripping to the plastic floor of the shower, unable to remember how to stanch it.

It wasn’t her fault there’d been an avalanche. No one could blame her for that, or for needing a bit of time to recuperate, a day or two to visit her daughter before she dove back into the fray.

Setbacks were setbacks because they set one back. It was only natural she’d feel blue under the circumstances. It was to be expected that she’d find it difficult to concentrate, and to locate her enthusiasm for the plan she’d spent two years putting in motion.

She’d had a setback. She would regroup.

Rosemary drank cold coffee through her straw until the sucking noise brought her out of her fog. When she looked up, Kal sat across from her, still and calm.

“We need to talk about your situation,” she said.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got people I can call.”

“How?”

“There’s a phone at a place down the road I can call home with and get my mom to wire money to Kathmandu for a plane ticket.”

“How would you get to Kathmandu?”