I tried not to think of my mom and the way she’d died. Would she feel the same way? That it was a good way to go? I know I certainly didn’t feel that way.
“But he was so young. He had so much life ahead of him.” I wasn’t sure I was talking about Tommy anymore.
“I know for a fact that if Tommy had the choice between a short life that he got to live every day to its fullest or a long life of average, he’d choose the short life hands down.”
“Huh,” I said to myself, giving this some thought. I loved how Cole was confident and sure. How he was perfectly fine with living his life on a day to day basis. I loved that about him, but I was nothing like it. I lived by rules and made my decisions based on decades down the road.
“What would you choose?” Cole came closer, waiting for my answer.
I thought about it. I really thought about it. I didn’t have one for him. At least not an honest one. On one hand, living carpe diem each day and every day was appealing to that wild child within on a level that paralyzed me. On the other hand, I had firsthand knowledge of the void felt when someone you loved died young. My mom had barely made it to thirty. What I did remember of her, I do know she was happy, but was it worth it? Would I choose a few days of happy to thousands of so-so?
“I don’t know,” I whispered, gazing at our joined hands. I knew this wasn’t appropriate—holding another man’s hand in a dark room when I had a boyfriend. When my stare went from our hands to his eyes, I almost gasped. The look in his eyes made me shiver. It was far too intimate for what Cole and I were.
We’d just climbed another rung on the inappropriate ladder.
“When you figure that out, let me know, okay?” His voice was low again, almost rough, and the darkness seemed to exaggerate the electricity flowing between us.
I needed to get out of this room and stop touching Cole before I did something I knew I’d regret. At least, I was pretty sure I’d regret.
“Why don’t you give me a tour?” I said, moving towards the hall. My hand went icy cool the moment his left mine.
“What? You’ve never seen the inside of the camp before?” He was smirking at me again.
“Nope. I’ve never had the opportunity to experience a walk of shame from the bunks. Although I hear the bunks themselves are almost creak-free.” I was smarting back at him again, but I was starting to like it. It felt like less of a vice and more of a virtue. I had wit. Deep down, it was there, and I shouldn’t feel the need to hide it.
I’d kept it buried for too long.
“You’ve heard right,” he said, coming up behind me. “You want to give them a test drive? You know, so you can have first-hand experience when the topic comes up on girls’ night again?”
I felt a flush run all the way down my face, down into my neck. I could tell from Cole’s tone he was only teasing; it wasn’t him or his words that unsettled me.
It was my answer to his said-in-jest question. I was smart enough to not verbalize it.
“I think we can skip the bunk room,” I said, thankful the hall was dark. If he saw the way he’d unsettled me, he’d never let me forget it. “I’ve been to camp before and I doubt it’s much different.”
“It isn’t,” he said, with a smile that suggested all the ways it was. “And it is.”
Now that his smile had given me something to think about, I’m sure the smokejumper bunk house dominated mainly by young, single, impulsive men was vastly different from the bunkhouses I’d shared for a week in the summer with a bunch of girls at 4-H camp.
“So you don’t want to see the bunks, you’ve already seen the kitchen, and I wouldn’t let my worst enemy go into the communal bathroom the night before its weekly cleaning . . .” He tapped his temple as we continued down the hall. “What will I show you?”
I almost had to clap my hands over my mouth to keep from blurting out my immediate answer—anything.
He quirked a brow at me at the same time an easy smile slid into position. I was starting to believe he actually knew what I was thinking.
That idea was horrifying on so many levels.
“Okay,” he said like he was answering my silent response. “I’ve got just the place.” Without another word, he continued down the dark hall, and the only thing more disturbing than following a semi-stranger down a black hallway in an unfamiliar building was how willingly I did. I didn’t feel threatened around Cole. I felt the opposite. It was irrational and I could have the survival instincts of a dodo bird, but I felt protected.
Cole did strange things to me. Made me feel even stranger things.
“So . . . what schools did you apply to?”
I came to a halt and, though I couldn’t really see him, I knew Cole stopped too when I couldn’t hear his footsteps anymore.
“What?” was my brilliant reply.
“Colleges? Universities?” I could hear that smirky smile in his voice. “Which ones did you send applications in to?”
“Who says I sent any in?” I said, crossing my arms, calculating what number this was on our uncomfortable conversations scale. I was pretty sure it was somewhere between fifty and one hundred.
“You said you sent some in,” he said.
“No, I didn’t say that. You did.” I narrowed my eyes at him until I realized he couldn’t see me.
“You might not have admitted it, Elle, but I know you well enough by now to say with absolute confidence that you applied to a good handful of schools. You do a good job of covering up that part of you you’re ashamed of or scared of or whatever the hell it is, but you haven’t let it die. I’m glad you’re still fighting.” He paused and I could both hear and feel him move closer. When he exhaled his next breath, I could feel it breaking across my face. “I’ll repeat my question. What schools did you apply to?”