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The van goes silent.
She pops out of her seat. Surveys the group with a feline-like smile. “You all ready to fucking roll?”
At the wordfuck, his mother makes a tiny squeak of protest in the back of her throat.
Nathaniel laughs, his earlier annoyance at the ridiculousness of his family chased away.
Ash’s gray-green eyes meet his.
His chest tightens. All because of her.
After disembarking the van at Diamond Head, Nathaniel zips his pack. Ready to go, he scans the parking lot. Early morning, the lot’s crowded with tourists and guides. The breeze is warm, and birds chatter overhead.
Ash fumbles with her own pack. The wind whips her dark hair, like a feral mane swirling around the crown of her head. With a growl, she settles her backpack on her feet like she’s a penguin ready to nest and arranges her things.
“Hey,” Tate says to Ash, holding out his black North Face pack. “Same pack.” He holds out a fist to bump.
She obliges. “Twinsies,” she says with a grin.
Nathaniel rolls his eyes.
And then she slips her hoodie off.
Instantly, his brain scrambles.
She’s in a tiny crop top. That combined with the Lara Croft–type shorts and the colorful tattoos snaking her thighs, does something warm and unwelcome to his stomach.
After cramming her hoodie into her pack, she stands tall, dips her head back, and stares up into the sun. “Great,” she mutters, shielding her eyes. “No shade.”
Nathaniel smirks. “Good thing you brought your big, dumb floppy hat.”
She scowls. “Good thing I did.” With exaggeration and gusto, she plops the straw hat on her head.
Frowning, Nathaniel assesses her attire. The shoes are a complete walking hazard, her hair defies the laws of physics, and the floppy hat obscures her vision. Great. It makes him itch. Makes him want to get down on his knees and tie those fucking laces. And maybe get a closer look at those tattoos.
“Watch your boots,” he growls. “I have enough to worry about with my grandfather.”
Ash plucks her pack from the ground and shrugs into thestraps. The look she gives him is pure venom—eyes narrowed to slits, nostrils flaring. She checks her blood sugar, swiping her phone against her sensor. It makes a ping, and she takes in the reading.
“You have sugar?” Christ. Why is his tone suddenly soft? Why does he feel the need to check on her? “I don’t want to get to the top and have to carry you down.”
After what he swears is a low growl, she pulls herself up straighter. “I am perfectly capable of surviving on my own, fuck you very much.”
With that, the hike begins. It’s an out and back trail, so they keep to the right of the crater as they ascend up the winding paved road.
Don looks at Tate, his expression full of challenge. “Bet you I beat your best time up there.”
Tate hoots and mimes the Running Man. “You’re on.”
Nathaniel holds back an eye roll as his brother and father peel away from the group.
“So much for family togetherness,” Ash mutters beside him.
“Tell me if you get tired, Dad,” Claire says.
“Should we tell a story?” Augustus suggests. “While we hike?”
Ash bobs her chin. “If you have the lung capacity for it, absolutely.”
