I lead him to the alley at the side of the café. Mine’s one of only two cars in the parking lot. The hand-me-down BMW sedan looks small next to the SUV parked beside it, the child seat in the back; it must be Bianca’s “mom” van. We hop in my car, and I pull out of the alley and onto the street, heading toward the mountains.

As I navigate the early-afternoon traffic, I’m acutely aware of my every movement. I’m close to him—so close. The confined space has increased that sense of intimacy.

“Water?” Elio asks, handing me a bottle.

“Please.” Eagerly, I remove my hand from the wheel and take the bottle. I gulp some down, desperate to have something else to concentrate on aside from how unsexy my lingerie is.

“So, how long have you lived in Colorado Springs?” Elio eventually asks, breaking the silence between us.

“All my life. My parents have had the same grand old house ever since I was born, right on the outskirts of town. I used to love spending time in the yard, a gorgeous view of the mountains in the distance . . .” I smile, thinking of days spent playing with Kenna, taking turns to be the princess trapped in the treehouse tower. “When I was a kid, I used to imagine that a white knight would come riding down those mountains and whisk me away.”

“Why did you need saving?”

“Oh—” I shoot him a quick glance, but his face is curious, not judging. “I didn’t, really. I think it was just this whole fairy-tale fascination I’ve always had. I used to love Disney movies, princess stories—anything with a happily ever after.”

His eyes crinkle in the corners as he rewards me with a soft smile. “What was your favorite?”

“Sleeping Beauty,” I answer without hesitation.

“Someday my prince will come,” Elio singsongs.

My jaw drops. “How do you—”

“Coco.” He grins in return. “And I gotta be honest, Bianca used to love that stuff when we were kids too. I’ve watched enough Disney to earn the title of an honorary princess.”

“Wow. I never would have picked you for a closet Disney fan.” I shake my head.

“Hey! It was in the past,” he protests, laughing. “Do you think that’s why you went into weddings? The whole fairy-tale romance concept?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, isn’t that what every woman wants: to be a princess for a day? Girls grow up on Disney, find their true love, and ride off into the sunset. It’s the basic ending to every Disney film ever made,” Elio says, with just a hint of bitterness in his voice.

“I’ve never thought about it like that.” Maybe my fascination with finding happily ever after does stem from princes who likely have hero complexes and princesses who are skilled at keeping house for the vertically challenged.

Then again, maybe it’s just because my parents pressure me daily to put a ring on it.

“Do you have a favorite Disney movie?” I ask as we turn onto I-25.

“Probably The Lion King.”

“Aha. No dresses.” I nod, and Elio laughs, but this actually makes a lot of sense. Simba was all about that single life until he learned that his family was in danger. Everything I’ve discovered about Elio so far leads me to believe he’d do anything for the ones he loves. “And since you’ve psychoanalyzed me based on my choice of Disney, I’m going to go out on a limb and say it’s because of your love of family.” I chance a quick glance at him, taking my eyes off the road for one second.

“Hmm.”

“Uh-oh. That does not sound like a happy hmm.”

“So along with nibbling cheese and reading classic literature, I’m also painfully predictable, am I?”

“Some people like predictable,” I mutter, uncertain I really want him to hear me. “Some people like it a lot.”

Elio doesn’t say anything, but he smiles, and it’s glorious. I should call him predictable more often.

We chat for the rest of the drive, and soon I forget all about the awkwardness between us, the stolen moments at Bittersweet, and the almost kisses. Talking to him here, away from his work and my work and real life, feels easy. Natural. Perhaps we really could be more than we are now, swapping pleasantries for kisses that linger longer than they should, and heated glances that promise more, so much more.

I pull into the main lot at the Garden of the Gods, one of the more popular sections of Pikes Peak. Only a few other vehicles remain, no doubt thanks to the late-afternoon hour and the clouds that loom overhead, threatening to open up at any minute.

Elio follows my gaze to the gray covering the sky. “You think she’ll still be here if it rains?”

I shrug. “She’s a weather girl.” If anyone should be ahead of the forecast, it’s her.

We get out of the car and cross the road, heading for the trail entrance.

Soon, we’re navigating the dusty red trail. Muted green scrub sprouts from the earth on either side of us, with majestic orange crags jutting into the sky like toppers on nature’s cake.

I keep a brisk pace, wanting to stay on schedule. Kenna’s broadcast starts at five, and while she no doubt has a special pass allowing her to stay in the park when visiting hours are over, I’m not so sure the rangers will be as accommodating for Elio and me.

Heat builds in my body, this time having nothing to do with the sexy man beside me and more with the pressure of hiking in early autumn, or perhaps hiking in general. My breathing gets heavy, heavier still. Quickly, I glance at Elio.

The man looks like a god—a hiking god with the body of an Adonis and the freakishly inhuman ability to breathe normally under duress. How is that even possible?

“Want some water?” He hands me a bottle, and I nod, grasping it and drinking half down in one long gulp before handing it back.

“Thanks,” I pant, and I want to make more conversation, but it’s impossible to talk.

Finally, we turn a corner. The foliage gives way to an incredible view of the central garden. Different shades of green are flecked throughout the landscape. Rock formations reach their long fingers into the sky. My breath catches. It’s perfect. The sort of beauty you can’t recreate.

“That view . . .” Elio shakes his head in wonder.

“There’s nothing quite like it,” I say simply.

Elio takes another sip from his water bottle, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. My mouth waters, and not just for the drink in his hand. “So where do you think she’s going to make her announcement?” he asks.

“I thought around here. Her last tweet just mentioned this trail.” I shrug. We’ve seen a few other hikers so far, but no weather reporter along the way.

“We’re bound to run into her sooner or later. Water?” Elio hands me his bottle again.

I shake my head. “No, thanks.”

“Are you sure?” Concern lingers in Elio’s chocolate eyes.

He should rip his shirt off, then empty that water bottle over his head. I press my eyes shut for just a second, imagining the moment in all its porn-filled glory. He’d toss that gorgeous hair from side to side, and the sunset would highlight his no doubt chiseled chest, the six-pack and the delicious V disappearing into his pants. “Romy,” he’d say, a sexy husk in his voice. “Come cool down with me.”

“Romy? Are you okay?”

I blink my eyes open. He stands right in front of me, only a few inches separating our bodies. My heart speeds up again, this time for an entirely different reason.

“Romy?”

“I’m fine,” I breathe. Kiss me. Please, kiss me. I lean in, and he leans in, and this is it! It’s finally happening! And—

“I need to pee.”

Oh, God.

Did I just—

Heat flushes my cheeks.

Why? Why did I just say that?

“Oh.” Elio chuckles, a deep sexy chuckle, and steps back. “Well, I’m sure you could just . . .” He gestures to the bushes on either side of us.

I turn my head to look, because seriously, the more I think about walking farther to try to find Kenna, then trekking back down the mountain with gravity not on my bladder’s side, the worse the idea seems. Maybe I could just . . . squat. I shudder.

“It’s okay.” Elio’s laugh is gentle, and he places a hand on my shoulder. “Honestly. You’ve drunk a lot of water in a short period of time. Hell, I could go myself.”

What? “We are not going together!”

“No!” His eyes widen in alarm. “I just wanted to make you feel comfortable with it. That’s all.”

It’s weird. Peeing in public, with the man I’m crushing on so very close by is strange, no matter which way you look at it. I bet Kenna never had to pee on her first date with Matthew. She probably doesn’t pee at all.

“Okay. Wait here?” I ask, although where else he’d go is beyond me.

“Of course.” He nods, and I walk off the main path, following a small trail through the trees.

Before long I can’t see the main path anymore. Pines tower above me and yuccas scratch at my feet as I head as far as I dare into the wilderness, mindful to keep walking in a straight line.

Finally, I feel far enough away that not only will Elio not be able to see, he won’t be able to hear, and I pop the button on my fly, thanking the lord that I always carry tissues in my purse for potential emergencies. Although then, what do I do with the used tissue?

“Harder. Yes!”

I freeze.

What on earth . . .?

“We should be quiet. What if the cameras . . .?”

“Fuck the cameras! I need you. I need this,” a woman pants.

I look to the left, where the noise is coming from.

The leaves dance in the wind. Through the gaps, I glimpse a clearing just a few short feet away. Oh, God. Is that . . . is that Kenna and Matthew?

She’s pushed up against a tree. He’s taking her from behind, pumping into her with such force that her whole body shudders with each movement. The round globes of his ass are tanned and toned as he thrusts and thrusts and thrusts.

Kenna and Matthew are having sex in the woods.

And I’m bearing witness.

He pulls at her hair, laying kisses down her neck. She cries out in pleasure, clutching the tree as if it’s the only thing holding her upright, as if the ecstasy she’s feeling is too intense to be contained. It’s so wrong, watching them like this, but I can’t peel my eyes away. Something about it—these two perfect people having such lascivious, dirty sex—is hot. Too hot.

“Gonna come, baby. I’m gonna come inside your tight pussy,” Matthew calls, his voice hoarse with want. With need.

I press my legs closer together. I want Elio to take me like that, in the woods, pressed up against a tree. I want him to bend me over the counter in his kitchen, decorate my chest with whipped cream and feast until we’re both exhausted by pleasure, our bodies entirely sated. I want him to kiss my neck, to make love to me, to fuck me with the kind of urgency that can’t wait for private rooms and closed doors, that has to be done now, now, now.

“Yes!” Kenna screams.

“Romy?”

I spin around.

Elio stands there, his cheeks red. “Sorry. I thought you were—you’ve been gone a while, and I’ve been calling, but I guess the wind must have . . .”

“What the hell?” Kenna screeches.

“Who’s there, you filthy pervert? Come out,” Matthew shouts. Both of them stare in our direction, their bodies still joined at the hip.

They can’t see us—we’re mostly out of sight. I’m sure of it.

But I don’t want to stick around to find out.

Elio’s eyes just about bug out of his head. “Is that—”

“Come on!” I grab his hand. “Let’s go.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. We race from the clearing, bolting through the bush.

“Wait! You better not have that on film,” Matthew’s voice follows us.

“Hurry!” I call desperately, brushing past trees, bushes, leaves. A branch scratches my face, but I don’t care because we need to get out of here, now. Elio’s footsteps thunder behind me, his grip tight on my hand.

“Stop!” Matthew calls, and now Kenna’s voice shrieks too. “Please! I’ll pay you whatever you want. Just stop!”

“Should we—”

I whirl on Elio as we reach the main path. “Just. Keep. Running.”

“Got it.” He takes the lead.

We careen down the trail. My side tightens with a stitch, but I push through it, push past the pain. All the while, the desperate screams of Kenna and the angry cries of her lover echo down the mountain.

When we’re near the trail’s end, a group of six men in black, all carrying various bags and pieces of equipment, block the path.

“Excuse me,” Elio says, darting left around one. I follow him, my hips knocking the tiny guy with the big camera, and he stumbles.

“Hey!”

“Sorry!” I call as we race out of sight.

We reach the parking lot, and I fumble in my bag for my keys, clicking the damn button until finally, the lights flash. Doors open. Doors slam. Seat belts click and the engine coughs into life before I gun it out of the parking lot, the wheels spinning over the dirt. In the rearview, I spot a few members of the camera crew as they run after us into the clearing.

I try to brush the hair away from my clammy forehead, but it sticks. My top is plastered to my chest, drenched in sweat. My eyes sting, the kind of pain caused by expensive eye cream running into them, thanks to excess sweat.

I don’t need the mirror to check.

I’m a disaster.

“Well, that . . .” Elio pauses. His voice sounds a little strained, as if perhaps I’m not the only one suffering after our cross-country marathon. “That could have gone better.”

Five.

They’re only five small words, but somehow, in this ridiculous moment, this afternoon that once held so much promise—the promise of a work exclusive, the promise of moving on, the promise of kisses, and sex-appropriate lingerie—they seem so fitting.

I laugh. I laugh long and loud, and Elio laughs with me, his grin splitting his face.

This doesn’t feel like the end of a disaster.

It feels like something’s just beginning.