Page 30 of Rough and Rugged
My foolish heart feels like it’s skipping around my chest, and I nod. “Next Saturday.”
“Thank God! I’m picking out your outfit since you’re hopeless.”
I laugh, feeling lighter than I have in years. “Deal. And just because he’s wearing a flannel shirt and standing in the forest doesn’t make him a lumberjack.”
Her eyebrow arches. “So, what does he do for a living?”
“He’s a hunting guide.” He’s sent me pictures of the little cabin he lives in. It’s near the Flathead River and Lolo National Forest.
“And does he know how to use an axe?” Sophie’s got that gleeful glint in her eyes again.
“I should tell Alan about this obsession of yours.”
“Oooo. You definitely should. Maybe suggest somesituationsI could stumble upon.” Her eyebrows waggle in suggestion. “But you’re avoiding my question. Does he know how to use an axe?”
A sigh escapes me. When she wants to, Sophie can be stubborn as an ox. “Yes, he knows how to use an axe, but he doesn’t chop down trees for a living. He just lives in a cabin and likes to go camping.”
“So he’s at least a lumbersnack?”
Fits of giggles erupt from both of us, and I gasp for air. “I’m never going to be able to look him in the eye.”
Chapter Two
Noah
I’mathirty-four-year-oldmanwho owns his own business. I shouldn’t be this nervous about meeting a woman. This stupid dating app wasn’t my idea. A couple of my buddies got lucky and found wives on it and they wouldn’t stop hounding me until I made an account.
For three months, I half-heartedly scrolled through profiles but never found a connection that made me want to risk the inevitable stilted small talk. Then, one night while I was lying in bed, struggling to fall asleep, Alex’s profile popped up. My finger froze over the dismiss button, my gut screaming, “No! Give this one a shot.”
With more care than I’d given any other profile, I read over every word of her scant bio twice. Instead of sending a “Hey. How are you?” I needed to come up with a semi-intelligent introductory message so she’d give me a shot. In the end, I’d wound up asking her questions about her work, and it just kept rolling from there.
Now I’m trying to figure out what to talk about on our date. My friends thought it would be better if I had some prepped questions and topics so I wouldn’t gape at her like the fish I helped my clients catch.
The pressure to do something romantic pushed me out of my comfort zone, and I suggested we hike up to the “M” and have a picnic. I wanted to do something in Missoula since that’s where she lives and it’s our first time meeting. She’s told me a little bit about her background, so more than anything, I want her to feel comfortable and safe.
At first, my idea sounded like the perfect blend of memorable and reassuring since there are plenty of other people who’ll be making the hike too. It’s public, well-known, and near her work.
But what if the weather goes bad? The insects have been nasty this year. And what do I wear?
It’s a date, so I want to look nice, but the hike is going to be at least an hour, so I also need to be comfortable. Collared shirts are always a good option, and I have a serviceable pair of khaki-colored pants that I very rarely wear.
I have to make a good first impression, and I’m well aware of the assumptions people make before they get to know me. As someone who is nearly six and a half feet tall, full of muscle, and proudly sporting a beard and bad attitude, I can come off as intimidating. That’s the last thing I want to do with Alex.
Before I start trying to tame my beard and get dressed, I text the kid I hired to help set everything up. As strong as I am, I didn’t want pit stains from lugging up a laundry basket full of food and a blanket. A local college kid was only too eager to make an extra forty bucks helping me out.
You need to relax. You’ve taken care of everything. This is going to be okay.
With more care than I’ve taken for some business meetings, I put on my clothes, take a quick damp towel to my boots, and try to find my least sweat-stained hat. At least I don’t have to worry about cleaning up my place. It’s at least a forty-five-minute drive down to Missoula, so there’s no chance we’ll come back here anytime soon.
Not that I plan on rushing things. This is about getting to know each other and finally meeting in person. It’s strange to think of this as our first meeting. Alex and I have talked for hours, and I know her better than some friends I’ve known for years.
I grab my keys, wallet, and phone before heading for my truck. It’s only four o’clock, we’re not meeting until five thirty, but I’m not willing to risk being late. Plus, if I have a few extra minutes, I’m hoping I can give the truck a wash and vacuum.
The drive passes too quickly. When I pull up at the car wash, my fingers are shaking so badly that I almost drop the coins when I try to feed them into the machine. Not wanting to get myself covered in soap and water, I opt for the auto wash and drum my fingers against the steering wheel while the sprayers do the work for me.
Driving around town to kill time is a waste of gas so I head for the parking area near the trail, hoping I’ll find a spot where she can see me when she arrives.
It’s barely five o’clock and the parking lot is about two-thirds full, but there’s a space near the front. I pull the truck in, hop out, and circle around to the back. With a tug, I lower the tailgate so I can sit on it.