But finding the right moment to confess my feelings will have to wait until we’re off this mountain. Besides, we’re surrounded by twenty-five people most of the time.

Two days later, we pack up, ready to say goodbye to both the backpacking and the trip, which ends with a picnic at the inn this afternoon.

I’m itching to say goodbye to this trip. It’s been a good one, but boy, do I want it over right the hell now. I need time with only Mia.

On the hike down the mountain, the day is nearly perfect, with beautiful blue skies lined with only a few clouds. The weather app on my phone predicts a few summer showers for later in the day, but honestly, I’ve never met a summer shower I didn’t like. Bring it on.

We stop for photos, and a particularly scenic vista elicits oohs and aahs from the whole crew. The Sierra Nevada peaks rise majestically in the distance. I suggest a group shot at a large boulder. My phone has been on battery saver mode the whole time, except for morning weather checks, so it still has juice. I turn on the camera and snap a picture. Lisa holds up a finger telling me to wait and grabs a digital camera from her backpack. She’s been shooting photos throughout the trip for the company blog. “Take one with mine, too. I'm old school. I like digital cameras better."

I shoot several, and the smiles on all their faces make it clear how much they’ve enjoyed this adventure tour. They’re more ready than before for their next journey together—one that will take them across the country. Maybe that sounds cheesy. Hell, maybe that is cheesy. But the way I see it, a little cheese never hurt anyone—a company or a person.

Or a sandwich for that matter.

Which reminds me that I need to introduce Mia to my grilled cheese sandwiches once she’s in New York. I have a feeling my hungry jackrabbit will like them.

We wind around switchbacks, cross a small stream, and step over a few fallen branches. When we reach the parking lot, the crew disperses to their vehicles, tossing packs into cars and chatting about showers, picnics, and the move to New York. Lisa closes the trunk then stops in her tracks at the driver’s door. A long ugh bursts from her mouth as she pats her pockets and unzips all the sections on her backpack.

“I think I forgot my camera,” she says, a terribly guilty look on her face.

Mia shakes her head, reassuring her. “No worries. I’ll go back and get it.”

“I’m pretty sure I left it on the rock where we took the last photo after Patrick returned it to me. It’s not a problem for me to go grab it. You don’t have to,” Lisa says, taking a step that way.

Mia shoos her to her car. “Go to the inn. Freshen up. I’ll get it. That was only twenty minutes back up the trail.”

Thirty, to be precise.

Lisa frowns. “You don’t have to, Mia.”

I pipe in, “I’ll go with you, Mia. It’s always better to have two on the trails.”

“Good plan,” she says, then turns to Lisa. “Just save some hot water for me.”

Lisa gives her a thumbs-up. “Deal. And thank you.”

Mia calls out to the group, “The rest of you go on ahead and get started. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

Mia is a chatty bird on the way up, recounting the trip, her favorite moments, and the things her team have said about the tour. She’s singing my company’s praises, and I couldn’t be happier about that, even though I’d rather be talking about us. But she seems to need this, so I do what I sense she most wants—I listen.

A half hour later, I spot a shiny black object gleaming in the dirt next to the boulder. Mia snatches it and clutches it to her chest. “Eureka!”

On the way downhill, Mia skips a few steps, turns around, and says, “Want to know what I’m most looking forward to?”

Since this is pretty much the only time we’ve been alone since she appeared in my tent, I wiggle an eyebrow, and say in a suggestive tone, “What are you most looking forward to?”

I expect her to say something dirty or flirty in return.

Instead, she peers down at her T-shirt, tugging at the neckline, then sniffing it. “A shower.”

I laugh. “I’m sure you smell just fine.”

She turns around and resumes the downhill trek. “I beg to differ. I haven’t had a shower in two days, and I intend to crank up the spray the second we reach the inn. I’d invite you to join me, but then I’d have to fire you.”

“Feel free. For a shower with you, I’d gladly get sacked.”

“Speaking of showers, that’s one thing I’m looking forward to about moving to New York.”

“The showers?”

“The water pressure in my building in San Francisco is a trickle.” She clears her throat, and her tone shifts, as if she’s about to say something serious. “When I look for places in New York, I’m going to have to test the water in every single one.”

Finally.

We’re finally talking about what happens next.

Good, I need some info. I need to know how far along she is. Where her mind is at. I might be ready to go all in, but there’s a difference between putting your heart on the line and putting your heart on the line only to swerve off a bridge and sink to a watery death.

Fine, that’s dramatic, but I still need to test the waters about how much to share, and when. Even if I’ve pushed Eric from the forefront of my mind, I still don’t want to meet his fate. “Have you started the hunt?”

“Yes.” Frustration laces her tone, but it’s chased by sadness. “It’s a nightmare. Nothing feels right, like it could be my home.”

“Where are you looking?”

Before she can answer, a clap of thunder echoes like Zeus himself is tossing bolts across the sky. The god, not my cat. We pick up the pace, walking faster around a bend in the trail. Those white clouds? They’re a wee bit grayer now.

Mia turns to meet my gaze. There’s a new vulnerability in her eyes, something I haven’t seen before. “I’ve been looking in a lot of places. Chelsea. Upper West Side. The Village. Hell’s Kitchen. Washington Heights.” Her voice is odd, but I can’t put my finger on why. It’s almost as if she’s saying these neighborhoods for the first time, as if she’s testing them out as words. Still, there’s no Battery Park City in her list.

Time to throw it out there in the mix. See if she bites. “I hear Battery Park City is nice,” I say with a wink.

She laughs, but it sounds forced as she marches onward. “That is a great area.”

And that response tells me bupkis.

She stuffs her hands in the pockets of her shorts, then takes them out, then jams them back in. “So . . .” Her voice trails off, so I try once more to cast a gentle line and see if she nibbles.

“I like Battery Park City a lot. Do you?”

“Sure.” Her tone is even, and I can’t read it. “I like it a lot. Definitely.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s great,” she says, and my radar is picking up nothing. Zilch.

I reel in the line, and then toss it out once more in a new direction. “Where do you think you’d like to be?”

“Where do you think I should live?” The words tumble out in one fast breath, and I’m not sure where she’s coming from. She knows the city well, so I’ve no clue why she’s asking me where to live.

Maybe I can tease out the truth in the guise of humor. I inhale, exhale, and spit it out. “Well, besides the obvious answer that you should live with me, I’d say you’re an Upper East Side gal.”

She flinches and snaps her gaze at me. Her expression is deadly serious. Her voice is a whisper. “What did you say?”

I’ve never seen her eyes so intense, so quizzical, and all I can think is I’ve crossed a line. I’ve floated a trial balloon that she’s not ready for.

Time to reel it in before I drown. “Upper East Side,” I say, all casual and no-big-deal cool.

She furrows her brow. “That’s what you said?”

I work to sell the cover-up. “Yeah. Sure. That’s the obvious answer. That’s what I was saying. Upper East Side. Obvious answer.”

“Oh.” She shakes her head as if she’s ridding her ears of water. “I thought—”

“No. That’s what I said.” My answer is quick and clear.

“Okay, then.” She resumes her speedy pace.

Silence covers us for a minute, and once I’m sure I can open my mouth without saying something dumb that scares her the fuck away, I try again. “Anyway, you rattled off a ton of neighborhoods. What kind do you like best?”

She shrugs. “I guess it doesn’t matter. I’m even considering Hoboken.”

I scoff. “Hoboken? You can’t live in New Jersey.” Another clap of thunder echoes above us. Her shoulders tense. “We’re almost down.”

“I’m fine. I’m not scared of rain.”

“I know. But it’s still better to be out of the weather.”

“So, tell me about your disdain for Hoboken. Are you allergic to it?”

“It’s just too fucking far,” I say. Screw politeness.

“Too far?” She raises an eyebrow. “Does that mean you won’t come see me in Hoboken?”

I sigh heavily. “Mia, I was ready to fly clear across the country to see you. Obviously, I’d see you in Hoboken.”

“But it’s too far,” she says, imitating me, annoyance coloring her tone.

“It’s not too far. It’s fine. You should live where you want to live.”

“But ideally in a neighborhood more convenient for you?” she says, pointedly, as we round a switchback. I rub the back of my neck, trying to figure out why she’s suddenly so combative.

Frustration curls in my chest. The last thing I want is to argue with her over where she should live. “That’s not what I’m saying at all.”

She narrows her eyes, and in her won’t-back-down stance, I can tell in an instant why Mia runs her own company. She’s sweet and kind and savvy, but she also has a lion in her. Sometimes we all need to call on our inner lion. Looks like she’s dialing hers up right now. “Then what are you saying, Patrick? Because it’s not clear to me at all. It’s not obvious in the least.”

I take a calming breath, marching forward as we argue. I want to stay cool. Hell, I pride myself on being unflappable, but I also want to speak my mind, so I give it one more shot. “I’m saying that I would like you to be closer to me.”

“Oh. Is that where I should live? Closer to you? Is that the obvious answer?” she fires off at me, sketching air quotes as she spins around—

And stumbles on a rock. She wobbles, and I grab her arm, steadying her. Her breath rushes out in a worried stream. “Shit,” she mutters.

“Let’s just focus on getting down to the bottom of the trail before the rain starts,” I say in a cool tone.

We walk in silence along the trail. As the trees clear and we near the bottom, thunder booms again, and this time it’s followed by lightning.

Twenty seconds later, the skies unleash sheets of rain. We’re a hundred feet from the parking lot, and Mia takes off running. I run, too, and when we reach the rental SUV, I yank open her door. She looks like a drowned chipmunk. Her hair is matted to her face, and streaks of dirt run down her arms.

“Give me your pack,” I say, and when she hands it to me, I shut her door, toss the gear into the back as the water pelts me, and get in the car.

I’m soaked, too. All the way to the bone. I look at her. “I’m sorry, Mia.” I take her hand. Squeeze it. “I don’t want to fight with you. Ever.”

She gives a sigh, the relieved kind. “I’m sorry, too. I think I’m just on edge about the move. Which is crazy because I want to do it. Everything feels like it’s happening all at once. The company, the move, needing a new place.” She exhales and speaks softly. “And you. All these changes are coming at me at once.”

Foolishly, I hadn’t really thought about the fact that Mia is changing everything. Where her business is located. Where she lives. And who she’s with—switching from single to involved in the blink of an eye. I should give her the space she needs, rather than crowd her with all these feelings in my heart. “You have a lot on your plate.”

“I do, but I ordered this meal. I’m just trying to balance it all.”

“What can I do to make it easier for you?” Rain lashes the windshield, and I pull out of the lot at the trailhead.

She shoots me a small smile. “How about you take me to the nearest shower?”

“That I can do.”

The rain has other plans. The rain is biblical. The water hurls itself down from the sky. Heavy drops fling at the earth like they’re angry at the ground itself.

I focus on driving, slowly ambling along the winding road that takes us away from the trail, staring straight ahead as buckets of water pound the car, punctuated with the slap-swish of the wipers.

“This is bad,” Mia says. Understatement of the year.

“Yeah, a little more than a summer shower.”

I peer ahead. Water gushes over the road in torrents.

My phone buzzes. I glance quickly at the screen to find a flashing triangle.

Warning: Flash flood. Roads closed in the area.

“There’s no way to get back to the inn right now,” I say heavily. “There’s one road out from this trail, and we’re on it.”

“How long does a flash flood last?”

“Not long, but it usually closes roads for several hours.”

She groans, and shoves her hands in her wet hair. She exhales, trying to calm herself, it seems. “Fine. It’s not the worst thing in the world. We’ll just park and wait it out in your car, right?”

I nearly say yes.

But I don’t.

Because the woman wants a shower.

The woman doesn’t want to wait in a parked car on the side of the road.

And hell if I’m going to be the schmuck who twiddles his thumbs. I’m the guy who gets shit done. Who gets out of jams. Who fixes the flat tire.

This is one hell of a flat tire in our day.

But I’m going to repair it.

I drum my fingers on the steering wheel. “So, I know a guy who has a cabin . . .”