In six months, Gwen Johnston turns thirty, and when she does, she vows she'll have her life together. She'll no longer be jumping from one job to another, from one relationship to the next. A new, more mature, Gwen will have emerged. She's giving he...
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We spend the rest of the hour at the hot springs pretending we don't know each other, which is weird, but also basically what I asked for, so it's hard to be upset. He's honoring my rules, even if I don't like it. Which is precisely why I have to be okay with it.
My desire to have him around, keep him close, is already a bit strange. I've never been a clingy anything—friend or girlfriend. Flighty independence is my default, but there's something appealing about his solid dependability.
Outside the hot springs, Blake has his pack slung over his shoulders, and he's got his shirt back on. His shorts don't seem as wet as I thought they'd be. They had a bathing suit dryer in the women's changeroom, and maybe there was one in the men's too?
In any event, I'm glad his muscles are covered up. Of course I knew he'd be fit under his clothes—everything about him screams it. His toned biceps poking out under his T-shirt or on display in a tank top have been enough to make me swoon, but the whole physical package is one hundred percent my type.
He runs his hand through his overly long hair as I sidle up to him. "Ready?" he asks.
"Totally."
We head down the path toward the base of the trail, and neither of us seems to have much to say. The quiet between us should be strained, and it surprises me that it isn't. Considering we ignored each other over the last hour, I thought it might be odd to walk next to him again, but it's like that hour didn't even happen. I've never liked silence, but with him, it's not so bad. Maybe even nice sometimes. Comfortable.
Ahead, just off the path, something burly with rusty brown fur rises, nose in the air.
"Blake," I say in a hushed voice, skidding to a stop, and I grip his forearm.
"Fuck me," Blake says, "I see it."
Not even a hundred feet from us, a grizzly stands on its back legs, and it turns slightly toward us, still sniffing the air. I knew bears were tall, but I didn't expect quite the hulking presence over the foliage. On the other side of the path, another one emerges, just as imposing.
"Oh, my God," I whisper. "Oh, shit. Two of them? What do we do?"
"Back up," Blake says, voice even, no hesitation. "Keep facing them. Back up slowly. SLOW-LY."
I start shuffling backward, and I keep my hands raised, as though the two large grizzlies are bank robbers intent on stealing my cash rather than mauling me to death.
"Get the bear spray out—in your hand," Blake says, "just in case. But keep walking. Stay behind me."
The spray is in my side pocket, and I keep my steps even as we continue to retreat. Once it's in my hand, I breathe a slight sigh of relief.
"Do you know how to use it?" Blake asks, his voice calm and measured.
"Not without reading the instructions," I admit. There's some sort of safety clip on it, and I don't know if I take it off now or at the last minute. Should have practiced this or at least had some idea of what to do with the can. Having Blake kidnap me taught me nothing.
