An Ex-citing Proposition E-Book

Kelly Ohlert

• Herausgeber: WS
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: Date My Ex
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 440

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Two friends form a pact to date each other's exes in this adventurous ride for fans of Sarah Adams, brought to you by a mother daughter author duo.
Moxie moved to Colorado armed with a healthy distrust of others and seeking no-strings-attached adventure, but finds herself in a rut. Her job feels repetitive, she lacks close friends, and even one-night-stands aren’t exciting anymore. That is, until a boring night gets interrupted when one of her coworkers comes in, distraught over a breakup. Moxie reluctantly comforts Hannah, but they soon realize they break up with men for opposite reasons. Soon, a pact to date each other’s exes is born. After some waffling, Hannah convinces Moxie to go first, and try dating her ex, Wyatt.

Wyatt co-owns an adventure tourism company with his best friend. He and Moxie hit it off, but her distrust is quickly activated when she realizes that in an attempt to multi-task, Hannah has dragged her into a scheme to end a neighborhood feud, at the center of which are Hannah and Wyatt’s parents. Wyatt must convince the new love of his life that his feelings are real, before he loses her, and the business that is everything he ever dreamed of. Moxie must open herself up to love in all its forms, before she alienates the only friends and partner she's ever had, and digs herself so deep into her rut, she'll never find her way out.

If readers loved the mountain backdrop and zany fun of Sarah Morgenthaler's Moose Springs Series, they'll love this journey, featuring all the beauty and majesty that a Colorado setting has to offer, goat yoga gone wrong, and a group of gossiping retirees who have no respect for boundaries.

Leseprobe

An Ex-citing Proposition

A Date My Ex Novel

Kelly Ohlert

Linda Floyd

Copyright © 2024 by Kelly Ohlert

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Any resemblance to real or actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. 

All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Beryllium Sphere Press is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

Cover Illustration by Ali Shearer

Published in the United States by Beryllium Sphere Press LLC.

ISBN (paperback): 979-8-9918973-1-0

ISBN (ebook): 979-8-9918973-0-3 

Printed in the United States. 

www.kellyohlert.com

For Judy and Pete,

Who paved the way for us and taught us that can’t never did anything.

Contents

Also by Kelly Ohlert

1. Moxie

2. Wyatt

3. Moxie

4. Wyatt

5. Moxie

6. Wyatt

7. Moxie

8. Wyatt

9. Moxie

10. Wyatt

11. Moxie

12. Wyatt

13. Moxie

14. Wyatt

15. Moxie

16. Wyatt

17. Moxie

18. Moxie

19. Wyatt

20. Moxie

21. Wyatt

22. Moxie

23. Wyatt

24. Moxie

25. Wyatt

26. Moxie

27. Wyatt

28. Moxie

29. Wyatt

30. Wyatt

31. Moxie

32. Wyatt

Epilogue

Hannah’s Story

Acknowledgments

Also by Kelly Ohlert

To Get to the Other Side

Let’s Get Quizzical

Chapter1

Moxie

Zombies. At least, they might as well be. The dude at the far end of the bar is close to passing out and drowning in his drink. The other men are ashen and unappealing, though the general darkness of the room doesn’t help. The lurkers on the dance floor are like a herd of corpses milling aimlessly, waiting for fresh flesh to appear. My booze goggles appear to be malfunctioning.

“Hey Murray, what’s with the crowd tonight?” I ask the middle-aged bartender. The hole-in-the-wall is a frequent haunt of mine. It’s usually a good place for picking up men, but tonight’s options are lacking. The atmosphere feels stale in a way that makes my muscles twitch. The sameness weighs down on me, and I suck in a deep breath to fight the sudden claustrophobia squeezing me.

“Same old stuff,” Murray replies, rolling his eyes like, Don’t give me shit today, Moxie.

Maybe I need to change things up. I mostly follow a one-and-done policy. Getting close with someone leads to a natural entwining of lives and a reliance that makes my skin crawl. Dependency is not my jam; thanks, dear old Mom and Dad.

“Hook me up with some tequila,” I say. If the vodka didn’t do the trick, tequila definitely will. Heck, enough rounds with my buddy Jose Cuervo, and I’ll probably forget the men entirely and start dancing on the pool tables.

A woman bursts through the door and throws herself at the bar a few stools down. Physically, she’s my complete opposite. Her wavy, sandy-blonde hair is a sharp contrast to my own jet-black pixie cut with blue highlights. She wears a white skirt and pink sweater on her thin frame, while I'm rocking jeans and a black tank top over my curves. Tears stream down her blotchy face.

This is not a silent suffering kind of cry. This girl is in shirt-drenching, snot-producing, ugly cry mode—and I know her.

“Lady, are you okay?” Murray asks.

“May I please have some alcohol?” she asks between sniffles.

Murray stares at her dumbfounded and looks at me like I’ll have a solution for him.

Hannah doesn’t wait for a response, just throws her head into her arms and shakes with the violent heaves of her sobs. Damn it.

I need to find a bar further away from work. I bump into an acquaintance too often. Each time, I vow to frequent a new bar, but Murray’s is in easy stumbling distance from my apartment. I have a feeling I’m going to regret my laziness tonight.

Hannah is the self-appointed welcoming committee at the casino and is always kind to me. She’s quick to offer help to everyone. We aren’t close, but she regularly waves to me from her post at the customer service desk. Her smile is always bright, and she has Donkey-from-Shrek kind of energy.

Meanwhile, I deal out cards and shoot the shit with my players. It sounded like such a fun job. I’ve worked my way to the best tables, but the players blend together. Instead of the hitting-the-jackpot high I sought, I'm stuck on a losing streak with not much chance of the cards turning.

Hannah hiccups loudly and Murray stands with his hands frozen helplessly on an empty glass. Doesn’t he know bartenders are supposed to be every drunk’s sounding board? The last thing I want is to spend my night off consoling a coworker. The girl clearly needs someone to talk to, but we don’t talk. I deal cards, she signs up new members. Acknowledging each other in passing doesn’t qualify me to break out a notepad and leather sofa and talk about her feelings. Tonight was apparently a bad night. She’ll have “some alcohol” and wake up tomorrow ready for her Miss America act, all without any needed intervention from me.

When Murray doesn’t make a move to play therapist or bartender, Hannah’s bleary eyes search the room like a player down to their last chips frantically scanning the table for the winning card that will be their salvation. We lock eyes and my stomach twists. Her lips tremble, and her eyes widen and glisten in an absurd puppy dog stare.

This is a lost cause. I blame you Cuervo. I toss it back before trudging over to Hannah.

“Get her a chocolate cake shot,” I say, and Murray nods, relieved to have direction. “And I’ll have another Cuervo.”

“Moxie?” she asks.

I do some unenthusiastic jazz hands. “That’s me.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Drinking.” It’s truthful and sounds better than prowling for a hookup.

“Shots come in cake form?” Hannah asks. She pulls a fresh tissue from her purse and cleans up the swamp on her face.

“Yep. There isn’t any chocolate in it, but somehow it still tastes exactly like chocolate cake.”

Alcohol is a topic I can handle. Her eyes light up behind the glaze of tears. “I love chocolate. And cake.”

“I had a feeling,” I say.

We wait in silence for Murray to pour our drinks, and she trembles with the effort of composing herself. We’ve reached the splotchy aftermath stage: tissues, uneven breaths, and the occasional whimper.

Murray delivers our shots, and I nod to her. We clink glasses. “Bottoms up,” I say, and we toss them back.

She bites the lemon and studies the empty glass, her doe eyes wide with astonishment. “It does taste like chocolate cake.”

Just like that, I'm out of conversation topics. I tap a finger on the bar along with the beat emanating from the tinny speakers.

“Do you... want me to pick out another drink?”

“No. It’s okay. I’m alright.”

She’s not. She’s going to fall apart and tell me the whole story any minute now. She attempts a discreet eye blot with a tissue. I sip my water and wait her out. Three. Two. One—

“I’m never going to find love!” she wails.

Ah, love. A topic I’m oh-so-qualified to advise her on. I spare my old stool a longing glance. Best not to dwell on the past. First things first, I need to confirm the severity of the situation.

“Are you physically okay? Did someone hurt you?” I ask.

“Only my heart!” She sobs.

I nearly choke but hasten to stifle my laughter. If we were at the casino, I'd be putting my money on Hannah being a drama kid in high school.

“Alright, who was it, and what did they do?”

“It was supposed to be a rebound date. The guy was a freaking sword swallower for Renaissance Faires. He has a flair for the unusual, and I couldn’t see myself doing anything with him.”

Ever a sucker for the wild ones, I perk up but remind myself that we’re focusing on her issues right now. Tonight’s mission: get Hannah’s smile back.

“And... you’re upset you’re not getting a second date?”

“No. It’s history repeating itself. My boyfriend of a whole year broke up with me because he said I was too predictable. I don’t want to be boring, but how am I supposed to keep up with that?”

I can’t help but laugh. Neither one of us can find the right person, but our reasons are reversed. “You’re not alone. I can’t find a good one either, although I’m just looking for an interesting guy to date occasionally. All the ones I go out with bore me to tears. The last guy I dated had a routine he refused to deviate from, including a weekly game night.” A shiver runs down my spine, remembering how he’d wanted to slot me in like a cog in his perfectly-planned life.

“What’s wrong with game night?” Hannah’s head jerks up, jaw dropping and brows furrowing as if my criticism is a personal affront to her.

“Nothing!” There really isn’t. They could be fun. My ex’s game night was the same game with the same people every week, and it was a box I couldn’t stand being placed in. Something in his ideal system would inevitably break. “It was all too scheduled for me.”

Hannah’s nose crinkles at this and I laugh. “What’s that look for?”

“Schedules are awesome.” She’s no longer crying. I smile to myself as phase one of the Hannah Project—put a stop to the sobbing— is complete. “Don’t you feel lost without one?”

I work on a schedule, and that’s enough for me. I prefer to go out and not know where or with whom the night will take me. Anything else makes me feel like the world is quicksand swallowing me whole.

“Nope. I find it freeing.” I signal to Murray for two waters.

“I love schedules. And spreadsheets. I live for spreadsheets, but I can’t seem to find anyone else who agrees.” 

Murray delivers our waters, and I blink at Hannah. “You love spreadsheets?”

“Oh yes, they’re wonderful.” There’s not even a hint of exaggeration. She’s talking about spreadsheets like she watched them save a litter of kittens from a burning building. “I would love routine dates and someone I could rely on.”

“Mind numbing.” I shudder. No one can be relied on, but she’s so innocent and sweet, I don’t want to be the bearer of that bad news.

She absently stirs the ice around the glass of water. “You sound just like my exes. Maybe you should date them.” She laughs.

“Ha, yeah.” 

Since Hannah’s ceased her hysterics, we’re no longer the center of attention. The disheveled suits around the bar return to ESPN or their existential crisis fueled staring contests with the bottoms of their bottles. I tune out the clanking sounds of Murray filling drinks and the crackle of the same old songs funneling through the speakers. Hannah’s hand stills, and she spins to face me. Her grin widens in a way that makes the hair on the back of my neck rise with dread.

“Hear me out,” she begins.

I cringe. That can’t be good.

“We should date each other’s exes!”

“Yeah, okay.” I laugh and look away.

“I’m serious! It makes sense. Think about it.” Her eyes are wide with hope. “I need someone who moves more at my speed, and you break up with guys because they’re too boring. We do a little switcheroo, and voilà! A perfect match.”

“I don’t know…” I shift in my seat and crane my neck in search of Murray. I’ve got an urgent need to cash out. “It makes sense in theory, but we don’t know each other that well. We can’t possibly know if our exes are a good fit.”

“Not knowing each other is why this works. It’d be too weird to date your ex if I’d known you two together, but I didn’t, and you never saw me with any of mine.”

Seriously, where the hell did Murray go? “Fair, but I’m not looking for a relationship.”

“Please?” she asks, giving me that glossy-eyed, pleading look.

No. Not falling for that. I grimace. “They’re not my thing and I don’t see the point in you setting me up for a hookup.”

“So go and have some fun on a date. See how it goes. Who knows? Maybe one of my exes will surprise you. You said it yourself, they’re right up your alley. You don’t have to marry them, but you might want three or four dates before you cut them loose.”

I tap on my glass and shake my head. “You’re going to call up some guy who, in your own words, broke your heart, and say, ‘Hey, there’s this girl you should meet’?”

“No, of course not. Most of these guys didn’t break my heart. We just weren’t right for each other. Oh, I know! We could stage a meet cute.” She leans in close, giving me the puppy dog eyes again.

The options in the bar have not improved. My inclinations meter ticks closer to Maybe. “It feels hella weird to go out with some guy you dated for a year.”

“Who says it has to be him?” She frowns at the bar top and her eyes widen as she grins at me. “I’ve got it! There’s a guy I've known since I was a kid. We dated briefly but weren’t a good fit. I bet you would like him.” She blows her nose, still experiencing the lingering effects of her sob session.

“I still haven’t agreed to this.”

“I’m telling you, Wyatt’s the one. Please, Moxie? I can’t go back into the dating world alone.” She pouts.

“Can’t I just cheerlead you from the sidelines? I’m not looking for The One.”

“Help me believe in love, Moxie!” she yelps, drawing attention to us once again. I can’t deal with these dramatics.

I might have to agree just to be done with her badgering. The thing about one-night stands is there’s no pressure. No expectations. I can chat someone up, and if it goes well, I can take them home. If I'm not feeling it, I can easily walk away and find someone else just a few stools over. Hannah wants a lot more. I’ve got to put a stop to this now.

“I don’t know. Dates are so awkward. All that small talk, or the whole ‘let’s ask the big questions now so we don’t waste each other’s time’ third degree.”

She bites her lip in a way that seems to move beyond simple contemplation and into fear that I won’t agree.

“What if it’s not a date? What if we could arrange a quick meeting so you can get a first impression. We don’t have to say a word to him, so there’s no pressure and we aren’t getting his hopes up, either.” Her voice creeps higher with each word in a way that suggests panic, so that by the end of her speech she’s squealing.

My bank of excuses is running low, and Murray’s taking his sweet ass time. I’m so going to threaten him with a negative Yelp review when I get my hands on him.

“It’s perfect.” She claps her hands. Her mood is flip flopping so fast I can barely keep track. “We could give each other intel to make sure the first date goes well.”

“What happened to just a quick meet to see if I even want a date? I thought we were going the low stakes route?” I don’t bother mentioning there is very little intel I could provide her on my one-night stands. What am I going to say? Kick this one out when you’re done with him, he eats too much cheese and farts in his sleep? Or, Let that one go down on you, he works wonders with his tongue?

She waves her hand. “Hypothetically, of course. If you decide you want to date.”

“I don’t usually put this much effort into dating,” I say weakly, already knowing she’ll have an answer.

“That’s just because you’re not using spreadsheets to their full potential. Don’t worry, I can plan the whole thing.”

Murray finally shows up, and I lean in to ask for my check.

“Can I please have another?” Hannah wiggles her empty glass at Murray.

So much for peacing out of here before Hannah talks me into her wild scheme.

“If you're so keen on this idea, why don’t you go first?” I suggest. “That’ll give me time to decide if I want to be set up.” I mentally scroll through my little black book, grasping at fleeting memories for someone who might be a good fit for schedule-loving Hannah.

“I still have mascara tracks on my face,” she says. “I need a hot minute to catch my breath. I’ll take a couple weeks to recover, and then we’re in this together. But the more I think about it, the better I think Wyatt is for you.”

Seeming to sense that I'm wavering, Hannah whips out her phone, taps, and scrolls.

“Okay, you want to see a picture? Here.” She thrusts the phone at me, and I take it. On the screen is a very attractive man with a strong chin and the kind of wide, honest smile that can only come from genuinely having the time of your life. Long blonde hair frames his face, hanging just far enough off it that there must have been a strong wind that day. He has kind eyes that crinkle at the corners and sun-kissed skin dotted with small freckles. He’s hot.

She silently waits me out, sipping the fruity concoction Murray whipped up for her. Hannah's eyes are full of confidence. Mental recap time.

Her suggestion of a low pressure meet-and-greet isn’t terrible, and maybe by then I'll have come up with better excuses. Judging fully on his looks, I could certainly do worse than Wyatt.

At this point, saying no to Hannah’s tear-stained face feels a bit like kicking a puppy. I may not be taking home a Miss Compassionate award any time soon, but I'm not that big of a monster.

I take a fortifying breath. “Fine, but just a quick meet. I meant it when I said dating isn’t my thing.”

Hannah pumps a fist in the air, and let’s out a quiet “Yes!” I can’t help but chuckle.

“Do you still talk to this Wyatt? Is he even single?”

“Only if we bump into each other, but Stitch ’N Bitch is a reliable nuisance of a news source.”

“I’m sorry, run that one past me again?”

“The neighborhood moms are in a cross-stitch and gossip group. That’s the central hub for the goings-on in the neighborhood, but it extends beyond that inner circle. I can’t sneeze in the grocery store without getting a call from my mother to ask if I've got a cold. They’ve got eyes everywhere.” She looks around as if moms are hiding in the corner.

The music in the bar shifts mid-song, and the abruptness makes us both look around. One of the dance floor zombies turns away from the TouchTunes jukebox as his selection plays. He locks eyes on us to the crooning of “All By Myself.” Subtle. Hannah shudders, and I agree.

We spin back to the bar. “Right. Stitch ’N Bitch. What does that have to do with this guy?”

“Wyatt’s mom is a member. You know how you get superglue on your skin even when you swear you were careful and there’s no way you could have gotten any on you, and then you try everything to get it off, but you eventually have to accept that you’re going to live with it?”

“Not really.”

“Well, pretend. Even though he and I ended on good terms, our mothers hold a grudge and have clung to the dredges of our very brief affair like superglue on skin, so I hear about him all the time. He recently broke up with someone.”

“I feel like you could have just said. ‘Like superglue.’” The song ends and promptly restarts, dooming us to desperation in musical form on repeat.

“Forget the analogy,” Hannah says. “You’re stuck on the analogy.”

“There are so many better examples. Like spinach on front teeth, sand in your swimsuit, glitter on… anything.” What little hints of sadness that had been lingering vanish with her annoyance. Mission accomplished.

“Yes, they cling to their grudge like all of those clingy things.” Hannah folds her arms and tips her nose up, looking rather pleased with herself.

“Alright,” I shrug. “Wyatt it is. Now can we get out of here before we have to listen to this song a third and fourth time?”

She presses a hand to her chest in absolute bewilderment. “We can’t leave now. There’s so much planning to do!”

I wince, sparing a glance toward the sad sap near the dance floor and setting the over/under for his approach at five minutes. I’m taking the under.

“I seem to remember you saying you’d handle the planning. Can’t you just text me when and where to show up?”

She laughs as if I've intentionally cracked a joke, but I wasn’t trying to be funny. “This is going to be so much fun! Who knows, maybe he’ll even be the love of your life.”

I've created a monster. I glare at her, and she holds her hands up with a laugh. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. You’re right. We’re going slow. First things first, we need to be able to communicate.” She grabs her phone and looks expectantly at me. I hesitate for a second before giving her my number.

She’s so damn sweet it’s hard to be annoyed with her despite how absurd all of this is. If I'm not getting out of here anytime soon, and if I'm agreeing to this thing, I might as well go all in. I order another round of drinks as Hannah frantically searches her purse.

“I wish I had my notebook, but this will have to do. Or I could pull up a spreadsheet on my phone. No, sometimes paper is best.” She is full-on babbling to herself, and I decide it’s best not to interrupt her.

She taps around on her phone some more, then flashes Wyatt’s profile at me. “Status recently changed to single. Gossip confirmed.”

“Way to go Sew n’ moan.”

Hannah laughs, and a hiccup bubbles out. Maybe we should slow down on the drinks. “Stich n’ bitch.”

“Right, that. Hey Deejay! Give us something upbeat,” I shout to the guy who has been playing us the depressing broken record.

His eyes widen, and he nods and swipes his card in the machine.

“You acknowledged him,” Hannah whispers. “Now he’s going to expect a dance.”

“I don’t owe him or any man anything. He can expect all he wants.”

She raises her eyebrows but lifts her glass. “Moxie, you might just be my idol. Cheers to that.”

If I'm her idol, I fear for her. Hannah busies herself with planning, doing who knows what on her phone and scribbling notes on a coaster. True to her word, she doesn’t seem to need my input, so I eye the crowd.

Before long we’ve roped another group of women into dancing with us, and I do my best to find the perfect ratio of alcohol and water for happy and fun, but not sloppy. Hannah alternates between notetaking and dancing. I’m questioning the quality of her notes as tipsy Hannah takes the wheel. She appears to be a shouty and lovey-dovey drunk.

“I think we’re going to be best friends,” she shouts at me for probably the sixth time.

“And I think you should drink some water.” I shove a glass in her direction.

“You don’t believe me, but just call me Kool-Aid Man because I'm going to break right through that wall you’ve got around you.”

I have no idea what she’s talking about, but I tug at her elbow and steer her toward a corner of the room away from the chaos I’ve stirred up. “Right. Drink that water.”

“Ooh yeah!” she bellows.

We tumble into a booth and she rummages through six coasters covered in her looping script. Finding the one she wants, she shoves it in front of me, where she’s written:

County Fair Expo

This Saturday

Meet Cute

Saturday already? My chest constricts with anxiety. While playing the entertainer, I almost forgot what we were doing. The reality of starting this project so soon slaps me in the face and sobers me up fast.

She hits me with that hopeful stare, her smile loose from the alcohol, and once again I nod with a resigned sigh. “Saturday, huh? At the fair?”

“Yep. Wyatt and his buddy Noah have an adventure tourism business. They’ll have a booth there. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to meet him without it seeming like a setup.”

I have to admit, it’s a good idea. “Alright. I’m in.”

“I was hoping you’d say that. Let’s meet at one o’clock at the entrance to the expo.”

“I can do that,” I say.

“Oh! And Wyatt is on the rugged side, so don’t wear anything that screams high maintenance.”

“Noted.”

Hannah puts the rest of her note-coasters into her bag. “I already emailed you a map of the fairgrounds. I’ll send you another email soon with more information.”

I can’t imagine what else I could possibly need, but I’m ready to wrap this up. “Sounds good.”

We cash out, and I make sure Hannah gets into her rideshare before taking the short walk to my own apartment.

The unfamiliar pressure of a dating scenario that isn’t just picking up a random guy at the bar has my thoughts swirling once again. I remind myself that I don’t have to go on a date. I simply agreed to meet him. I only hope I don’t regret it.

Chapter2

Wyatt

My phone’s ringtone echoes off the canyon walls, breaking the serene late afternoon stillness, and “Dad” glows on my watch screen.

“Don’t answer it,” Noah, my best friend and business partner, calls out from the ground twenty feet below me.

“Wasn’t planning to!” I shout back and shift my foot up to the next hold.

My fingers burn with the ache of clinging to the rock. I was tired before I even started climbing thanks to the earlier hike to set up the top rope. Sweat covers my skin despite the chill in the air.

I scan the jagged cliff face taking more time with my moves than I normally would. I’m trying to figure out the puzzle to guide less experienced climbers so they can have the thrill of a challenge but not end up careening off the rock face. We don’t have a climbing excursion in our repertoire yet, and this would be a perfect one to add.

Another sound breaks the peaceful mountain silence; this time it’s a high-pitched chirping.

“Eagle?” Noah asks.

“Yep. Over there.” I nod my head in the direction of the stunning bald eagle drifting across the sky. For a moment, the bold greens of the trees and the mountain valley take my breath away. I’ll never get tired of this.

“You sure you don’t want to climb? You should see it up here.”

“Not today,” Noah says.

“Is something on your mind?” I grunt as I lunge for a new handhold that’s too far a leap for the newbies I’m planning to take here, but a guy’s got to have a little fun. “Look at this place, man. Nowhere better to solve the world’s problems.”

“All is good. You should pay attention to where you’re putting your feet,” he says.

“Is there trouble in paradise? Six months of marriage, and already there are ripples in the smooth waters of love with you and Mindy?” I doubt that’s the case. The two of them have been head over heels since the moment they met. Only five months into their whirlwind romance, he put a ring on it. He saw his chance and he took it. I don’t blame him, either, because nobody knows that opportunities are fleeting better than I do. My best friend has found the love of his life, but I’ve yet to find mine. I’d be jealous if I wasn’t so damn happy for him.

“No way. You know Mindy is the best. There’s a good foothold by your left knee.”

I glance down, and he’s right. I step up into the hold and boost myself higher. “If I’m honest, I thought with you two getting married and the new house, she wouldn’t want my big feet tracking in mud all the time, but she’s been super cool about it.”

“It’s been going great other than the home improvement projects that keep popping up,” he says. The eagle screeches again, and we both go silent for a minute. I cling to the rock as the eagle flies by, leaving us behind as effortlessly as it sometimes feels like my friends do, when each day someone else announces new marriages, homes, kids.

“I was thinking it might be time for me to get married too.”

Noah lets out a hearty laugh. “Really?”

“For sure. I mean, you and Mindy being married, and I was talking to Carlos the other day and he’s ring shopping. It seems like it’s time.”

“Brilliant plan. There’s just one small problem. I’m your best friend and know just about every detail of your life. Sometimes too much. I could do without knowing the schedule of your bowel movements.”

“That’s what you get for sharing an office with me.”

He ignores me. “To my extensive knowledge, you don’t have a girlfriend at present.”

I look down at Noah from my perch halfway up the cliff face. “What’s your point?”

“Are you kidding me? How can you think you can get married when you aren’t even casually dating anyone?”

I sigh. “I didn’t say I’d worked out all the details yet, just that I thought it was about time. You tend to get hung up on the minutia of a master plan.”

Noah scoffs. “Minutia? I think the bride-to-be is a pretty big detail in a wedding.” The rest of his lecture gets cut off by ringtone of Kip from Napoleon Dynamite shouting, “Your mom goes to college.”

“It’s my mom.”

“Yeah, I figured. You can call her later.” Talking with Noah while climbing is one thing, but while Noah gets along well with my parents, dealing with them while hanging on a cliff goes against his idea of safety.

But if they both are calling in a span of a few minutes, my cell phone is about to become a revolving door of parental missed calls if I try to avoid it. “She’s just going to keep calling.”

“You should have turned off your phone,” Noah says, bracing himself for me to let go of the mountain and put my weight on the rope.

“If I’d done that, she would have sent helicopters out here looking for us.” It might sound like I’m joking but it’s a real possibility.

“You might want to tell her your life is literally hanging by a thread right now and she should wait to talk to you later.”

“I hope it’s hanging by a lot of threads.”

I don’t bother looking down. I know the eye roll is there, and so is the grumbling that I can’t hear. Such a worrier, but I love him.

I lean back and let the harness catch me, then tap to answer through my watch.

“Hey, Mom. It’s not the best time. Can I call you back?” The question may as well be rhetorical. I brace myself for the latest gossip about her friends, what my dad has done to drive her up a wall, or inquiries into my dating situation, the latter of which I'd prefer to avoid.

“This will only take a minute.” I shake my head and laugh to myself. It will not take a minute. “Your dad thinks we should put a hot tub in the backyard. What do you think?” Mom calls out over the clank and clatter of bowls and pans as she presumably prepares breakfast. To purchase or not to purchase a hot tub. This is definitely a problem that needs to be solved while I'm swinging in the breeze.

“Uh, sure, why not? It sounds fun.” They live in the same house I grew up in and have lifelong friends all over the neighborhood. Unfortunately, that means the whole neighborhood feels they have a right to know everyone’s personal business.

“Well Honey, here’s the thing. I think it would be great for us and I’m all for having fun stuff around the house.”

I let the sun hit my face, spreading my arms wide and relishing the beauty around me while I dangle like a spider on a string.

“Great, then go for it.”

“I’m not sure.”

Now is not the time for me to wait for my mom to get to her point. “Listen, I should pay attention to what I’m doing right now. Can you give me the short version?”

“Oh, come on. Her short version is a marathon, not a sprint. I’m not going to hold you up forever!” Noah shouts.

“I just know that woman is going to bring it up to the homeowner’s association and they’ll say we can’t do it. Or she’ll bring it up at Stitch ’N Bitch and find a way to turn everyone against me.” My mom’s so-called crafting group really just gets together for the wine and the whine, but they do have an incredible amount of pull in the neighborhood goings-on.

“Don’t you think this has gone on long enough?”

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response. But that’s not the only problem.”

“What else?” I roll my eyes and shrug down at Noah, who exaggeratedly taps his foot with impatience.

“Your dad’s breakfast buddies will come over every weekend to soak, and then before you know it, I’ll get roped into making breakfast for them and that will get old fast. And they would all be out there soaking in their swim trunks. I don’t want to start off every day with six old men simmering in my backyard asking for bacon and eggs. Can you imagine?”

“Mom, that’s a visual I didn’t need.” I rub my eyes as if that will wipe away the image now burned in my brain.

“How do you think I feel? I can’t wake up to that every morning. They’ll be nearly naked! In. My. Backyard!”

“Mom–”

“What happens to my quiet weekends enjoying the mountain view? Good grief, they would never leave! Can you talk to your dad and tell him this is a bad idea? Please?” 

I sigh, knowing she’ll call me every morning if these guys are over there, and probably send pictures too. “Okay, I’ll talk to Dad and see if he can encourage Mr. Lewis to put it in his yard.”

“As long as it doesn’t get back to Ava that we suggested it. She’d never forgive me!” Mom takes a deep sigh. “I feel better. Now that we’ve settled that, any news on the dating front? It’s been a while since... what was her name?” So much for avoiding this topic.

"Jessica. No Mom, there’s no one new.”

“What happened with her? She seemed nice.”

Noah groans, “Don’t get into this with her, man. Tell her you’re going into a tunnel or something.”

“Yeah, she’s nice. Just wasn’t the right fit.” I can’t say I brought her over to meet you and Dad and she panicked.

“That’s too bad. Although, if I’m honest, remember when you brought her over for chili that time? She wasn’t very friendly at all.”

I take in a deep calming breath of mountain air to remind me that I can handle my mom’s version of love, which involves way too much participation in my life.

Still, it wasn’t a great loss. I liked Jessica but was she my one true love? No. I can’t say I felt a strong connection with her or any of my past girlfriends, really. I’m not too picky but every time I try to move it to the next level, I end up getting dumped. It sucks.

“Any day now,” Noah shouts from the ground. I shrug, plant my feet against the wall, and bend my knees to bring myself back in to climb.

“Why don’t you give Kayla a call? Her mom told me she’s not dating anyone right now.”

Despite my recent proclamations about marriage, letting my parents set me up probably isn’t the way to go. “I really need to get off the phone or Noah’s going to drop me.” Frustration bubbles in my chest and I kick the rock face. Noah grunts with the force of the sudden catch.

“Okay, no Kayla. How about if I ask around? I’m sure I can set you up on a date with someone. You can come over on Saturday.”

I take a second to secure some footing from my new handhold and catch my breath before responding. “Absolutely not. Been there, done that. I can find my own dates, thanks.” This hell will not end. Mom means well, but if she gets started talking to her friends about who I should date, I’ll have to leave Colorado to find a deserted island with no cell service. That woman has a lot of friends.

“But–”

“I’m good Mom, but I’ve got to go.”

The eagle makes another chirping pass.

“What was that?” Mom asks.

“An eagle.”

“Where are you?” Concern tinges her voice.

“On the side of the mountain.”

“What on Earth are you doing talking to me while climbing?” she shrieks.

“I told you it wasn’t a good time!”

The line goes dead. That’s one way to get her off the phone, I guess. I return to my climb, and before long, I reach the top. An endless sea of rockface stretches before me, and deep trenches cut by the river create a picture-perfect view of Colorado. A laugh escapes me. I have to blink a few times to keep my eyes from watering. I truly have the best job in the world. I get to experience beauty like this almost every day, and better yet, I get to watch the absolute wonder on other people’s faces when I guide them through those experiences.

Even though my camera roll is full of hundreds of similar pictures, I pull out my phone to snap a few more shots of the valley from my perch at the top. I take in one more deep breath of that sweet mountain air while I spin in a slow circle to get a full 360-degree view before reluctantly preparing to descend.

“On belay,” I call down to Noah.

“Belay on,” Noah calls back. I take hold of the rope and rest my feet on the edge of the cliff, then slowly lean back until I'm standing against the side of the rock. My phone rings again.

“Let it go until you get down,” Noah calls out.

“I got it, don’t worry. It’s just my dad, so this will be quick.” After ensuring I've got a good grip, I tap my watch back onto speaker.

“Hey Son, you aren’t on the mountain right now, are you?” I should have guessed it would be Dad.

“Yeah, actually. I’m climbing down now. What’s up?”

“Oh shit, call me back when you get down.”

“It’s okay, I can talk.”

Without looking I can tell Noah is glaring at me. He calls up, “I should drop you.”

“Mom got to me first about the hot tub and Noah is threatening to let me plummet to the ground, so I’ll call you later.”

“Later, but back me up on this one!” The line goes silent.

“Thanks for not actually letting me fall,” I say.

“I definitely considered it,” he grumbles. “It sounds like your mom’s got you covered with this marriage idea of yours.”

“See, that’s another reason why it’s time. You wouldn’t believe the list of people she wants to set me up with. I can’t take it. I know you think I’m joking but I’m serious.”

“I know you’re serious but I’m not sure you’ve really thought it through. Are you planning to just fall in love with the next girl you meet? It isn’t something you just decide to do. Besides, in a week, you’ll be on to some other big idea, and finding the love of your life will be out the window.”

I land my feet on the ground and face Noah. “Nope, I want this. You never know when the perfect one will walk into your life. You never saw Mindy coming.”

Noah concedes the point. “I guess that’s true. But there’s an issue with timing. Let’s get back to focusing on work, and when there are women around,” he gestures to the quiet trail, “you can consider finding the one.”

I chuckle and flip him off as I gather up my equipment. “This would be an awesome tour for us to do. Check these out.” I hold out my phone for him to see the shots I took up at the top.

He shakes his head. “Yeah, but you’re talking a lot of new equipment. We have to do a feasibility study before you get carried away. The bouldering trail looks great, but I think it’s better if we focus on the things we have going right now.”

Noah is always a little hesitant to add new trips, but I love to keep things fresh.

“Let’s come up with a good description and you can set a price for that at least.”

“Fine, but I want to see how we do at the Expo before you go adding climbs. Business has been a little slow lately, so I want to wait until our numbers go up.”

We grab our gear to start our trek back out. When the phone rings, I mime pitching it over the side of the mountain.

Chapter3

Moxie

The combined voices of the crowd blend with the thumping and clanging of rides and the ringing of prize buzzers as I weave my way through the town’s summer fair. Childhood memories climb to the surface as I slip between tents towards the building where they’re housing the business expo. I’ll stroll up to his booth and express a little interest. If I get bad vibes, I walk away. It’s no different than saying hey to a guy at the bar, and yet my anxious belly seems to be convinced that it is.

Six-foot tables line both sides of three aisles. A few people mill about near the entrance to the exhibit hall, but none of them are Hannah. I hang my thumbs on my belt loops awkwardly while I wait. Since I’m one of the millions of cyborgs who can’t seem to pass a silent moment without a screen, I whip out my phone to check my notifications. Still no Hannah. I glance at the phone’s clock before shoving it in my back pocket with a sigh. It’s five minutes after one o’clock. She’s late, which seems very unlike her. Or maybe I’ve misjudged her. It never really surprises me when people let me down. It’s the whole reason I try not to depend on anyone. If you don’t expect anything from them, they can’t disappoint you.

Another scan of the room, and three booths up the aisle, right in my eye-line, a frog is staring me down. Not an actual slimy creature but a bright green costumed one, with eyes more disturbing than friendly. Odds of any child catching sight of that thing and wanting to come within ten feet of it are slim. I shudder and resume my search. After scanning all the rows, my eyes swing the other direction, and I jump back a step in shock. The frog is still zeroed in on me from the vicinity of the insurance booth for which it appears to be the mascot. I swear it looks closer than it was before.

I narrow my eyes at the frog. I can’t say what’s going on inside the massive head, but the costume eyes remain fixed, never moving. What the hell is up with this theme park reject? Finally, it glances from side to side, then discreetly—or as discreetly as a six-foot, lime green, fur covered amphibian can—beckons me.

I laugh as it hits. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter. “This is your plan? I don’t know if I can take you seriously in that.”

“One, I tried to send you the plan, but your email wouldn’t accept the attachment. It said the file was too large.” Hannah's voice is muffled by the thick mask. I’d tell her to take it off so I could talk to her but I’m honestly not sure which would be more scarring to children: the actual mask or seeing the fake frog decapitate itself.

“How large a file could you have possibly created for a meet cute?” I ask, incredulous.

The massive head tilts and I can picture Hannah’s nose crinkling in confusion. “Well, I had photos, a bio on Wyatt, and a PowerPoint with an embedded role-playing video to demonstrate recommended conversation starters. There was a minute-by-minute Excel schedule—which we’re behind on, by the way—and a map of directions from the bar since I didn’t know where you live, as well as of the parking lot and fairgrounds.”

My jaw hangs slack as I gape at her. “You made a role-playing video? You’re going to have to find a way to get me that file. I don’t care if it's no longer relevant.”

“I like to be prepared,” she grumbles.

“What was point two?”

“I couldn’t have him recognize me. You wanted to meet him with no pressure.” 

“Yeah, yeah. What’s the plan?”

“He’s at the next booth, so I can try to listen in and signal if you go off track.” Hannah points her green finger at a brightly colored booth full of snowboards, kayaks, and a mannequin decked out in snow gear. The sign reads, “Shred and Tread.” Maybe Hannah found someone for me who won’t be boring.

“Think of me as your Cyrano; instead of a silver-tongued wordsmith, I’m an amphibian with hand signals. I researched earpieces, but your hair is too short to hide them.”

“Earpieces might have been extreme. You ready?”

“Ready Freddy.” She hands out a few flyers to passersby.

How the heck did she manage to become the insurance company’s mascot on short notice? A mystery for another time. 

I walk around her, and there he is.

The lone guy in the booth wraps up a conversation with some other expo attendees, then bends over the table, his casual blond curls falling in his eyes. He looked good in his picture, but it didn’t do him justice. Hannah didn’t mention the pure ease with which he carries himself, nor how badly I would want to run my fingers through his gorgeous wavy hair. And that body, naturally toned and tanned, tickles my insides. I can picture his strong arms pulling himself up the cliff walls. I make a mental note to thank Hannah later.

I slow my steps, forcing my eyes away from Wyatt and studying the gear behind him, while my heart rate returns to normal. I show enough interest for any expo booth shark to latch on to a potential customer, and Wyatt bites.

“Do you kayak?” he asks.

“I’ve been once before. Does that count?”

He flashes me a wide grin, and oh god. I’m such a sucker for dimples, and he’s got them. “What I’m hearing is, you’re practically a pro?”

I laugh. “Something like that.”

“Here, take a look at this. We have two-person kayaks for our river tours, and if you want an exciting group experience, you should check out our white-water rafting.”

“These pictures look awesome!” Hannah was setting me up for a date, but it looks like I’m going to have fun even if the romance doesn’t work out. My eyes linger on his mouth, and I imagine… Oh shit, he’s watching me. I’m probably drooling. Get it together.

“Which one sounds more your speed?” He opens a book with pictures and descriptions of various options. He got a laugh out of me right away, he doesn’t give off creep vibes, and he’s even more attractive than I'd expected from his picture. I should probably pay attention so I can make a decision, because while I may still have reservations about dating long term, I’m fully on board for a night with this guy. His warm smile keeps pulling my eyes back up to that handsome face.

“Rafting sounds fun.”

“It’s rad. We’ve got beginner rides that stay on Class II or III rapids, or we have expert runs that hit Class V and VI.” Wyatt’s face lights up as he goes through the details. Flipping through pictures of past trips, I can see his taut biceps working the oar through the water. They are the same muscles currently testing the seams on his Henley. In the photos, the sun glistens off the water spray sprinkled through his hair. Yep, I’m sold.

“I’ve got sign-up sheets with me if you’re interested, or I can give you one of our brochures that talks about our other options. We’re adding a new climbing tour soon, too.” His eyes dart away as if catching himself on something.

“Can I see the times available?”

“Sure.” He guides me around the table, and as I lean over the clipboard with the sign-up sheets, I stand close enough to brush against him in a way that I hope sparks his attention without being obvious.

His forearm visibly tenses as he explains the sheets to me. I inhale and get a whiff of pine tree and moss, and I tamp down the moan of pleasure that wants to escape. I half-listen as he explains the sheets, distracted by his mouth and the way his frequent grin stretches kissable lips, bringing out dimples that make me weak. If he always smiles this much and this isn’t just win-a-client mode, I'm a goner.

My pen hovers over the sign-up sheet, wavering between intensity levels. On the one hand, I don’t want to look like a wimp. On the other hand, I’ve never been rafting before.

“I think I’ll sign up for the intermediate level,” I say, louder than necessary. I sneak a quick glance at Hannah, who has frozen in place. It’s hard to get any advice from a giant, unmoving frog. She probably had a whole alphabet’s worth of signals in her failed email. I’m going to have to go with it. I lower my pen to the page, when suddenly, there’s a loud crash.

Without warning, Hannah has gotten into her role of frog mascot, and while crouched down, hopping back and forth, she’s knocked over a table full of materials.

“The mascot’s gone berserk!” the guy running the booth shouts, scrambling to pick up the puddle of brochures. Wyatt moves to help them, but Hannah stops jumping and tries to lend a webbed hand to the cleanup effort. The costume hands can’t grip anything, so she’s basically pawing at the ground, but Wyatt would just get in the way now and turns back.

“That was weird,” he says. I can only assume that was Hannah’s absurd attempt to tell me I shouldn’t take the intermediate level course. She said her exes thought she was too predictable and not adventurous enough. Is she telling me I’d better go for the expert if I want to impress him? Does she know I’ve never been rafting before? It’s the only explanation that I can think of, so that’s what I’m rolling with.

“On second thought, I think I’ll try the expert class,” I flip to that sheet, and write my name on the form.

“Moxie?” he asks, reading over my shoulder. “That’s a unique name.” He’s so sexy, I’m tempted to scoot back the mere inch or so between us and lean against him. That’d be a little much for an introduction, though. Especially since he doesn’t know we’re dating yet. 

“It is.” I cap my pen and spin to face him. I rest against the table, and we are right in each other’s personal bubbles.

He raises an eyebrow at me, and I huff. “It’s a nickname, but we do not speak of my given name.”

“Why not?”

I smirk. “Funny, that sounds like speaking about it.”

“Does it?” He holds up his hands in a show of innocence. “Surely there’s a loophole in there somewhere.”

I tap my chin, then lean in to whisper, “If there is, I'm not going to help you find it.”