Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 147540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
But I raced away.
Straight to the bathroom.
I didn’t have to use the bathroom.
I had to give myself a pep talk.
Because this was Rix, finally, Rix and me talking, flirting, and I couldn’t muck this up like I did practically every interaction I’d had with him.
And we worked together at River Rain Outdoor stores, before Hale Wheeler swept in and offered Trail Blazer, new titles and pay raises. At River Rain, Rix and me were not in the same department, but now we were on the exact same team. So not only would I see him every day, I’d be working side by side with him…every day.
I was in luck, when, upon a panicked check, I saw the bathroom was empty. Therefore, as I tried to instill myself with some courage, I wouldn’t have an audience of some pretty, mountain-fresh, tanned, boho goddess washing her hands or using the facilities (which would, as every shy girl knew, have the opposite result when it came to courage).
It was just me in the restroom.
Me and my insecurities.
I stared at my hazel eyes in the mirror (a tortoiseshell brown around the pupil, leading to a marbled green that filled out the rest of the iris, not the violet of my sister and mother, not the green of my father, just plain-Jane hazel (as my sister described it)).
Then I took in the big, fat, dark pigtails that contained my thick hair and fell either side of my neck, down my chest.
Prescott, Arizona, where we all lived, was not a bustling metropolis.
I’d been here a while.
So had Rix.
This meant I not only worked with him, but I saw him out and about.
He was who he was, how he was. Those wide shoulders. That dark hair, short at the sides, longer but spiky at the top, most of the time messy and sexy, but sometimes sleek (and sexy). The square jaw. Those thick eyebrows that traveled to the corners of his eyes.
And the brown eyes that said he had a thousand stories to tell, some you wouldn’t like, others that would leave you breathless.
Being all he was, he was never out alone.
What I meant was, unless he was with his buds, he was always with a woman.
He had a type.
Tall. Slender. Leggy. Athletic.
I was not tall.
I hiked. I paddleboarded. I kayaked.
I also ate.
So I did not have a svelte bod.
And those women I saw him with, they might all be mountain-fresh, tanned, boho goddesses who could keep up with him on a trail run (something he still did, even after he tragically lost both legs below the knees while fighting a wildfire in his previous occupation as a firefighter—see? totally the coolest guy I knew). But they also wore flowy dresses or Daisy Dukes and billowy blouses with flat sandals with tons of straps and mascara and maybe a winged eyeliner if they were feeling feisty, accompanying all of this with funky-chic wide-brimmed felt fedoras.
I’d look like a moron in a fedora.
I could just imagine what my sister would say if she saw me in a boho fedora.
As I was wont to do, the instant a thought that included my sister hit my brain, I shoved it aside.
But when I did, I was stuck with me.
Staring at my round face with its rounder cheekbones which was, indeed, tan, I tried to see myself with broad, tanner, muscled Rix, and I couldn’t even conjure the image.
“What am I thinking? I work with this guy,” I mumbled to my reflection.
I had no business flirting with a co-worker.
That was stupid. Crazy.
Embarrassing.
Maybe I was wrong.
Maybe it wasn’t even flirting.
(Though I didn’t have a ton of experience, I did have some, and it felt like flirting, not to mention, Chloe knew I was crushing on him, and she’d winked at me.)
“But this is Rix,” I kept mumbling.
And it was.
Rix.
My perfect man.
He camped. He hiked. He kayaked. He came to work in the morning after a trail run or a ride on his handcycle. He headed out to parts unknown on his days off with his tent in his truck, coming back to work practically shimmering with the rapture of spending time in nature.
I did not trail run or ride, but I definitely came in from the outdoors shimmering after spending time in nature (at least, I felt like I did).
I’d never asked, I’d been too shy, but I’d bet actual, real money Rix had often fallen asleep under the stars, and not just in a glass glamping dome among the Joshua trees.
I bet he knew how to cook an entire meal under the earth.
I bet he knew what an impending thunderstorm smelled like, that certain snakes were threats (if you’re caught by surprise…or being stupid), but bats and coyotes and bears were usually not (unless you caught them by surprise, or you’re being stupid), and that you never, ever drank water from nature unless you went through the process of treating it.