“Okay, okay. I’ll be a gentleman, I’ll get out first. But you have to look away.”

Look away? Why? I don’t want to look away.

“Because it’s cold here. I have a lot more to offer than what you’ll see coming out of this glacier water.”

I smile and turn around. “Okay, I promise.”

I hear him rise out of the water and splash on his way to shore. I have every intention of keeping my promise, but then I don’t. I turn around slightly and sneak a peek.

Tristan’s back is to me, but I can see his perfectly toned legs and firm buttocks walking toward the shore.

“Okay, I’m done,” he yells, his voice echoing across the lake.

I turn around. “Okay, don’t look!”

Tristan turns his back and disappears into the woods.

I climb out slowly, suddenly well aware of my body and its various shortcomings. My legs are a little too short, my stomach a bit too big, my breasts a little too small. But as I get closer to shore, I feel a strange kind of confidence building up within me.

I have been hiking in the woods by myself for days, and I have not seen a mirror in close to a week. And yet, looking down at my body, I can see that I am wrong. My stomach is flatter and somewhat defined. My arms are strong and my shoulders powerful. My breasts are firm and small, but pleasant to look at.

Infused with an unfamiliar sensation of confidence, I feel my shoulders straighten out. This is my body, and I am okay with it. In this moment, I want Tristan to look. I hope that he too will break his promise.

I don’t see Tristan on the way to my backpack. Dripping wet, I search my bag for something clean to wear. Finally, I find a thin white dress, which I packed in case it got really hot and I had to wash all of my clothes. It seems perfect for the occasion. I put it on, gather all of my discarded clothes from the path leading to the shore and leave to find him.

I find Tristan around the bend. His tent is already set up, and he’s busy stirring something that smells amazing on a tiny camping stove.

“Annabelle, I’m glad you’re here.”

I nod. I am glad I am here too.

“I was wondering if you will join me for dinner.”

I smile. “Yes, of course. That sounds nice.”

He flashes his beautiful pearly whites at me and brushes his hair out of his face with the back of his hand.

“What are you making?”

“Vegetarian chili. From a pouch. Hope that’s okay.”

“That’s better than what I’ve been having for almost a week now.”

“How’s that?”

I laugh and pull out a handful of energy bars from the top of my backpack.

“Oh, that’s not good. Did you not pack anything more substantial?”

“Yes, I did, actually.” I shrug. I don’t want to get into this. “But I wasn’t really in the mood to cook.”

“Oh, I see. Well, I hope you’re in the mood for this.”

I nod. For the first time in what seems like ages, I am in the mood to eat a hearty and filling meal.

---

As Tristan continues to stir the pot, he tells me about his life. He’s 27-years-old, three years older than I am. In the winters, he works as a ski instructor around California – Tahoe, Mammoth, and even Big Bear, here in Southern California. In the summers, he works as a rafting guide in Colorado.

As we talk, we discover that we both attended the University of Southern California and were there at the same time but majored in different things. He was a Communications and Business double major because his family had wanted him to follow his father and pursue a career in business. But he didn’t feel like that was right for him, so he skies and rafts instead.

I like the way that he stood up to his family, pursuing his dreams and living his life on his own terms.

I like the straightforward way in which he speaks to me. I try to be honest with him as well. As honest as I can be without mentioning anything personal.

I tell him that I graduated a couple of years ago with a degree in English and work as a freelance editor. What I don’t tell him is that I work freelance because I can’t find anything better. I don’t tell him that I have been looking for a full-time position for over a year now, sent out over a hundred resumes and cover letters and have only been asked to come in to interview for five positions. I don’t tell him that no one will hire me for anything and that I am already four months behind on my student loan payments and would be out on the street were it not for my wonderful and generous roommate.

There is a world of things that I don’t tell Tristan, and I feel bad about every single one of them.

“So why vegetarian chili?” I ask. I’m trying to distract myself from all the things that I want to tell this perfect human being.

“Why not?” Tristan’s blue eyes twinkle when he smiles.

“No reason, just wondering,” I say. “I like vegetarian chili better than regular chili, anyway.”

“Well, that’s good,” he says. “Me too. But I also don’t eat meat.”

The words surprise me. My brows furrow in disbelief. I’ve always thought of vegetarians as weak and slight in stature. I’ve never met a guy who was a vegetarian, but I always imagined them to be boring and unattractive.

Tristan is none of these things. He’s powerful and solid and defined, both in personality and body. His arms and hands are strong and capable, and yet he’s supposedly a vegetarian?

“Really? That’s hard to believe.” I smile.

“Why’s that?”

“Because…because vegetarians aren’t…” I can’t think of a word that is both inoffensive and appropriate.

“Aren’t manly?” he fills in the blank.

I nod.

“Well, I am manly, and I’m a vegetarian. I don’t see why someone has to eat animals to be considered a real man.”

His words blow me away. I’ve never given vegetarians much thought except that I’ve always thought of them as a bit too self-obsessed and egomaniacal and weak. But Tristan isn’t that at all.

“Oh, I see.” I nod.

“I didn’t mean to offend you, Annabelle. It’s just something that works for me, and that’s why I do it. It doesn’t mean that I think there’s something wrong with you.”

“I hope not,” I mumble, hating myself for thinking that there is something wrong with him. When there isn’t. He’s the most perfect human that I’ve laid my eyes on. And the fact that he is a vegetarian on top of that, someone who cares about the well-being of those who are weaker than him, makes him even more attractive.

Tristan pours me a bowl of the chili. I grab a spoon and eat more than I’ve eaten in weeks. It tastes so delicious and wonderful that I feel completely powerless in stopping myself. Once I finish one bowl, he pours me another and another. He doesn’t stop me from filling myself, and he doesn’t ask questions as to why I’m so hungry. He simply eats his bowl of food in silence, occasionally looking up at me with an inquisitive look in his eye.

After dinner, we make s’mores. I haven’t had a s’more in a decade. I love peeling off the burned parts of the marshmallow and licking the gooey, stretchy filling. After ravenously consuming two s’mores, I look up at Tristan and catch him staring at me. With the sun setting, his eyes turn a deeper shade of blue but do not lose the innocent and yet mysterious quality that draws me to him.

Suddenly, he reaches out and brushes his fingers along my bottom lip. His fingertips feel rough but soft at the same time. Slowly, he leans in close to me. I can feel his breath on my face, and I lick my lips.

He cradles my face as he buries his fingers in my hair. When I close my eyes, our lips touch.