On the Way to You Read online

  I flushed again, and Emery grinned at me, clearly finding joy in my discomfort. “What do you think, honey? You down for a little camping?”

  I murdered him twelve times with my eyes in that moment, but smiled nonetheless. “As long as you keep me warm by the fire, sweetie.”

  “It’s settled then!” Glen said, clapping his hands together with a wide smile. “Let’s get down those stairs and we’ll take you guys to our site. I think we could all use some dry clothes and a good dinner.”

  “And a stiff drink,” Nora added.

  We all laughed at that.

  Glen and Nora turned out to be the best hosts ever. They not only invited us into their campsite for dinner, but they had an extra tent for us, one Glen and Emery popped up in no time once Nora had convinced us to just stay with them instead of driving back into town to find lodging. It turned out Nora had sort of a thing for strays, which we learned after being introduced to the three cats traveling the country in their camper with them.

  “Makes no damn sense,” Glen said, petting the white one behind the ear as it curled against his leg where he was seated by the fire. That one was named Valentine, after the town in Arizona where they’d found him. “Traveling with a bunch of cats. Thank God, we finally trained them to do business outside. You don’t want to know what it was like having a litter box inside that thing,” he said, nodding toward their camper.

  Emery and I shared a smile, one that warmed my cheeks more than the fire.

  “They needed a home, and we had one to give. It’s just that simple,” Nora argued, her eyes on the other two cats who were curled up on the mat below the camper steps. They were both tabbies, striped with different shades of gray and black, and one of them had a bite mark shaped piece missing from its left ear. That one was named Toledo, and the other was Faith. I loved that they each got their names from where they came from, like those places were still a piece of who they were, no matter where they traveled. As much as I never wanted to set food in Mobile ever again, I knew the same was true for me.

  “I just can’t say no to her,” Glen explained, eyes catching Nora’s affectionately. “Never could.”

  “That’s why I married you,” she said, reaching out to squeeze his hand with her own. “That and your dashing good looks, of course.”

  We were all gathered around their fire pit, each of us indulging in a large bowl of the amazing chili Nora had whipped up that made me feel like I was really experiencing fall for the first time in my life — a real fall. In a strange way, they felt like home, those two strangers. They were kind and gracious and entertaining.

  They were also hilarious.

  Emery and I learned quickly that Nora was a little eccentric, and Glen kept her grounded. The way the two of them played into each other was adorable, and I couldn’t help but ask them about every aspect of their lives. I wanted to know how they met, when they got married, how many kids they had, when they retired, why they decided to travel — everything. And they loved to tell the stories.

  “So, that was it,” Nora said after dinner, finishing the last of her chili and handing her little bowl to Glen. “There we were, about six months retired and watching Netflix all day every day because our darling daughter had showed us how to work it on our television, and I just saw our lives slipping away. I hated it. So, we bought this old camper, made it our project to fix her up, and as soon as she was good to go, we made our first trip.”

  “That was three years ago,” Glen said, taking both mine and Emery’s bowls, too. He even picked up Kalo’s, who was spoiled with the scraps that evening. “We’ve seen a lot of the country and even some of Canada since then.”

  “See what happens when you listen to me?” Nora teased.

  “Forty-two years together and I’m still learning, dear.”

  “You’re lucky I’m patient.”

  They shared a loving glance, Glen winking at her before disappearing inside the camper with our dishes. It was a small, pull-behind one with a full bed they shared and a low-key kitchen. Nora told us they still carried the tent they were letting us sleep in just in case they camped somewhere where they’d want to be outside, like the time they slept right on the edge of a cliff in Canada and overlooked a crystal blue lagoon.

  “What about you two?” Nora asked when it was just the three of us around the fire. Kalo was by her feet, already sleeping, her belly full. Nora rubbed her fur with a content smile as she waited for our answer. “Have you made a list of your hopes and dreams for your life yet?”

  Emery and I glanced at each other, my eyes wide and his amused as ever as he reached forward and folded his hand over mine. His was warm, mine like ice, and chills sprang from his touch all the way down to my toes.

  “We’re still figuring a lot out, but our first stop is Seattle. Cooper here is going to Bastyr in the spring.”

  If I get in, I thought, but I just smiled.

  “She was telling me a little about that on our hike back up,” Nora said just as Glen rejoined us. He handed Nora another Michelob Ultra before taking the seat next to her. “And what are your plans, Emery? Your dreams?”

  I looked at him just as intently as Nora, wondering the same thing myself, but when I saw the discomfort on his face, I squeezed his fingertips draped over mine, letting him know I was there.

  And he squeezed back.

  “My dad wants me to take over his business. Well, he wants me to be his partner first, but eventually take over.”

  “What business is that?” Glen asked.

  “We create start-up companies and then sell them, so kind of like flipping houses, except flipping businesses. He’s been successful at it his entire life, and I’ve found out in the past few years that I’m pretty good at it, too.”

  “Well, that’s wonderful,” Nora said, but I was still watching Emery, because something in his eyes told me it didn’t matter if he was good at it. Something told me it wasn’t all he wanted. “So, you’ve got the job parts figured out, but that’s such a small part of it. What else? What’s on your list?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Oh, Nora loves lists,” Glen said with a smirk. “To-do lists, goal lists, pros and cons lists.”

  “They’re practical and help keep your brain centered,” Nora defended. “I made Glen sit down with me and make one when we were first married, all of our hopes and dreams. Kids, house, travels, etc. We still have it in a scrapbook at home.”

  “That’s so sweet,” I said, leaning a chin on my palm as I sat forward. “Did they all come true?”

  Nora grinned, cheersing her beer with her husband’s. “They did, in their own way, but we’ll never check the whole list off. That’s not the point. In fact, we add new items to the list every year.”

  “It’s about growing together. Changing. And figuring life out along the way,” Glen agreed, and I smiled.

  I liked them.

  “You guys should make a list,” Nora said. “We can start it right now.”

  “Great idea! And I have just the thing to get the creative juices flowing.” Glen pulled a long, cigar-looking thing from his pocket, waggling his eyebrows as Nora chuckled.

  “What is that?”

  “It’s a joint,” Emery answered, and now he was watching me with that same amused smile, as if he was curious as hell over what I’d say next.

  “Oh.”

  Nora and Glen’s faces dropped.

  “I’m sorry, dear, are you okay with it? We don’t want to offend you. It’s legal here, of course, but we know some people still have opinions about it.”

  “No, no,” I assured Nora. “It’s fine, honestly. I’ve just never… I don’t really drink. By choice. And I’ve never really been around… this before.” I gestured to the joint in Glen’s hand.

  “Weed,” Emery said. “It’s just weed, Cooper.”

  Glen lit the joint after making sure several times that I was okay with it, and I watched in fascination as he smoked it before handin
g it to Nora, who took two hits herself. Then she leaned up in her seat, passing it around the fire to Emery, and his eyes caught mine before he put the end of the joint to his lips and sucked in a breath.

  I’d never been into guys who smoked cigarettes, but seeing Emery’s lips around the paper, the smooth way the smoke left them when he exhaled, the cool, confident manner he had as he took another hit like an expert — it sent a warm rush over me, and I swallowed, adjusting my position in the folding chair.

  He went to pass it back to Glen but I stopped him, my hand finding his forearm. “Wait.”

  Emery paused, smoke still seeping through his lips as his eyes connected with mine.

  Listening to Nora and Glen share their stories had me looking at my own life up until that point, the twenty years I’d had on Earth and all I’d experienced — or rather, the lack thereof. Something about that night, that fire, or maybe those people had me wishing for more. I wanted stories of my own to tell, and I knew that wouldn’t happen if I didn’t step out of the box I’d lived in so comfortably my whole life.

  My hand was a little shaky where it rested on Emery’s arm, and when the next words left my lips, my voice followed suit. But I was more sure in that moment than I had been at any point up until then.

  “Can I… can I try it?”

  I couldn’t stop giggling.

  It didn’t matter what happened, or what anyone said, because I was stuck in my own thoughts, and everything was funny. And when I tried to explain why it was funny, I just laughed harder, and barely got a word out.

  “You are so high,” Emery whispered into my ear, his elbow leaning on my chair’s armrest.

  “I am,” I agreed, and then another fit of giggling started. “I’m so hot, too. Is it hot to you?”

  I knew I sounded ridiculous, since it was in the forties that night, but the fire was warm and so was my sweater. I picked at the neck of it, searching Emery’s low, red eyes. He was watching me with a soft smirk, his hair mussed as always, his eyes curious.

  “Want to take a walk to cool off?”

  I nodded, and before I knew it, he was standing and pulling me up with him. He told Glen and Nora we’d be back, making sure it was okay to leave Kalo with them, and then we were walking by the light of the flashlight on his phone. I tripped on a rock, nearly falling as I laughed loudly, catching my balance with a firm grip on Emery’s arm.

  “Hold onto me so you don’t fall,” he said, chuckling, too. “Are you okay? Do you feel okay?”

  “I feel amazing.”

  He laughed again, and I threaded my arm through his, leaning into him. He smelled like fire and citrus.

  The farther we got from the fire, the more settled I felt. I was cooler, my skin tingling with the transition from the warmth of the fire to the icy night air, and the urge to laugh seemed to be left behind at the campsite, especially once we reached the edge of a small cliff at the end of the park. The moon and stars were bright, illuminating the edges of the mountains in the distance, and Emery clicked the light off on his phone, letting the night surround us.

  The sky almost seemed sea blue instead of black, and I watched our breath float up in front of us in little puffs of white. It didn’t feel real, standing there with Emery, knowing I wasn’t in Alabama anymore, that I never would be again. I’d already seen more in the past four days than in my entire life before, and I knew it was just the beginning.

  “That was fun,” I finally said, nodding back toward the campsite. “Making that list with them. They’re funny.”

  “Everything’s funny to you right now.”

  I nudged him. “Don’t make fun of me! Are you high, too?”

  Emery looked down the bridge of his nose at me, one side of his face shrouded in the darkness, the other illuminated by the moon. “I am.”

  “It’s a weird feeling.”

  “It is. I remember my first time, too. It doesn’t affect me the same way anymore, though.”

  I frowned. “What do you mean?”

  A loud, long breath left his chest as he turned his eyes back toward the mountains. “I used to laugh like you, and now I just get…” He faded off, mouth flattening like he didn’t know if he should say anything more, like he wasn’t sure he could trust me.

  I squeezed his arm, letting him know he could.

  “I get in my head,” he finished after a moment. “And that’s a dangerous place to be.”

  Suddenly, I felt sober, though I knew I wasn’t yet. His words struck that chord inside me, the one that warned me, that buzzed to life when something was a threat. I didn’t want him inside his head, not if it was the same dark mind that almost took his life.

  “Maybe it’s only dangerous because you’re the only one there. You could…” My voice faded along with my confidence. “I’m here, if you want to talk.”

  Emery smiled, though it fell quickly, and he tucked his hands into his pockets. My own hand was still wrapped around his bicep.

  “It’s nothing specific, honestly. I just get to thinking… like tonight, making that ‘list of hopes and dreams’ with them. You were so happy making it, laughing and listing things off. And it made me… sad.”

  “Why?” I whispered.

  He shrugged. “That’s the kicker. I’m not sure.”

  My thoughts were fuzzy in my head, and I suddenly wished I could come down from my high, that I could be sober and present. I fought through the cloud, trying to find the right words to say.

  “Do you think it’s because making a list like that takes something as grand as life and simplifies it? Makes it so… small?”

  Emery turned to me then, his brows pulled together, my favorite lines forming between them. “Kind of,” he admitted, as if it surprised him that I understood. “It was also hard for me, to even come up with those few that we did to start the list.”

  “You think you don’t have any real hopes and dreams.”

  “I don’t.”

  I shook my head. “Yes, you do. You’re just figuring it out. It’s not easy for everyone.”

  “It was for you.”

  I laughed then, but not because I was high — because the thought of anything in my life being easy was hilarious.

  “Nothing in my life has been easy, Emery. Sure, I know that I want to go into natural medicine, but that’s only one part of life. A tiny part of it. Maybe it was easy to make my list because life hasn’t disappointed me yet. I’m still lusting after things you’ve already experienced and been let down by.”

  “Like love,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. It was a statement, one he punctuated with a turn in my direction, with a stare down into my eyes that felt like a piercing needle.

  “Yes,” I whispered. “Like love.”

  Emery wouldn’t take his eyes off me, not even when I blushed and looked away, or when I found his unwavering gaze once more, my breath suddenly hard to catch.

  “It’s such a shame,” he finally said, voice as smooth and calm as the sky above us. “That you’ve never been really kissed.”

  “It is?” I breathed.

  His Adam’s apple bobbed once in his throat as he nodded, stepping closer to me, and the hands that were in his pockets had somehow found their way to my neck. They crawled up, framing my face, his thumbs by my ears as his fingers curled into my hair. My mind rushed like the waterfalls we’d seen earlier, my heart racing along with it, our breaths meeting between us in a mixture of white puffs.

  I expected him to ask, or to maybe change his mind halfway through, but Emery was steady and sure as he leaned down, his eyes not leaving mine until our mouths connected.

  And in that moment, with that kiss, everything changed.

  We both inhaled the moment our lips touched, and I stepped into him, my arms wrapping around his middle. I pushed up onto my toes, desperate to get closer, to get more — of his lips, of his breath, of his warmth, of him. When I opened my mouth, his tongue swept inside, and I didn’t even try to fight the moan that came next. That mo
an made Emery grip my hair, tugging it lightly, just enough to tilt my head back and allow him better access.

  He wanted more, too.

  My first kiss wasn’t anything like I thought it’d be. I didn’t see fireworks or feel butterflies in my stomach. No, I saw the stars, and the mountains, and the rushing water. I saw messy script writing and a wet t-shirt stuck to muscular arms. And I felt fire, hot and burning in my core, my breath more like steam than just an exhale into a cold night. I felt warm hands and cool lips, thick sweaters and thin inhibitions, and when he finally pulled back, his forehead pressed to mine, I felt empty and elated all at once.

  “Wow,” I breathed, my hands still fisted in his sweater. “Was that… is kissing always like that?”

  Emery swallowed, the muscle over his jaw flexing as he shook his head slightly. “Never.”

  We were both quiet a moment, my thoughts still going faster than I could keep up with. I wasn’t sure if it was the high or the kiss anymore. When Emery pulled all the way back, his hands brushing down the sides of my arms before he hooked his hands with mine, I asked the only question that was clear above the rest of the noise.

  “Can we do it again?”

  So, we did, all night long. Emery wrapped us up together in the same sleeping bag, our bodies hot and slick as he kissed me like it was his job, like it was number one on his hopes and dreams list. He didn’t lift my shirt, or sneak a hand down my sweat pants, or thrust his hard on against me, though I knew it was there. I could feel it even when he tried to hide it from me.

  He kissed me like it was a privilege, like he didn’t want to rush, like we had forever.

  I think I knew even then that we didn’t.

  I woke up alone in the sleeping bag the next morning, rubbing my eyes with a slight ache behind them. I felt around on the floor of the tent until I found my glasses, and when I pushed them into place, every moment from last night rushed back all at once.