Need You for Mine(99)

Her first destination required crisp mountain air, fireside s’more-tinis, and a real get-back-to-nature kind of adventure—one that would hopefully give her the skills needed to live out loud.

Avery looked through the windows of the local Moose Lodge at the imposing Sierras, a rugged mountain range that cut through Northern California and towered over her quaint hometown of Sequoia Lake.

“Before you begin your climb, you want to make sure you give the chest harness a final tug to ensure it’s secure,” she said as if she were the foremost expert on extreme adventures. As if her entire world—up until a year ago—hadn’t consisted of managing retirement portfolios at her family’s bank and listening to couples talk about their senior cruise to Alaska.

She bent over slightly to click the last carabiner into place, securing the leg straps to the chest harness.

There was something so poignant about that sound, about how with one click the device restricted her freedom and pressed down on her scar, a reminder that she was strapped in and fully committed to the climb.

“I’ll tug it,” Mr. Fitz offered, his bony fingers already reaching out to help. Or grope. Avery couldn’t be sure, so she stepped back out of range.

Mr. Fitz was three thousand years old, with teeth too white to be real, and, even though he looked like a harmless old-timer in his TOO BIG TO THROW BACK fishing hat, his eyes were laser pointed at Avery’s chest—which was prominently on display because of how the harness fit her body.

“I’m fine.” Avery swatted his hands away right before they made contact. “But thank you for the offer.”

Mr. Fitz backed off, taking his seat, but looked awfully disappointed.

Senior X-Tream Team, the town’s invitation-only fly fisherman’s club, had asked Sequoia Lodge to their monthly meeting, since the first topic on their agenda was to finalize their big summer excursion. And since Avery was Sequoia Lodge’s newly appointed adventure coordinator, it was her job to go out into the community and solicit new customers. If she secured all twelve members for this excursion, then she’d meet her entire quota for September in one fell swoop.

She straightened her shoulders—an impossible task due to the climbing harness—and held out a clipboard to the crowd. “Now, if that answers all the questions, let me tell you about the amazing views from—”

Mr. Fitz’s hand went up.

“Mr. Fitz?” she said thinly since this was his ninth question.

“If I fall on this climb, will you be there to catch me?” he asked, and a dozen gray heads bobbed in support.

“Your harness is secured to a safety line and a main line,” Avery said, reiterating verbatim the lodge’s safety manual of the precautions taken in any excursion that included chest harnesses. But to ease the concerned looks, she added, “Plus your adventure guide is with you every step of the way to make sure your trip is exciting and safe.”

Another hand flew up. The captain, as he preferred to be called, was the president of Senior X-Tream and seemed to be the ladies’ man of the group. With his silver-streaked hair, captain’s hat, and deck shoes, the man looked as though he’d just stepped off his boat and was ready to impress. He was also trying his hardest not to look at Avery’s chest. “If you fall, can I catch you?”

“I don’t go on excursions. I just coordinate them,” she said, leaving out the part that with every party confirmed, she got a bonus adventure for herself.

A series of disappointed mumbles filled the room, and she dropped the clipboard to the table, silencing the room with a bang. “Now, can all of those in favor of Senior X-Tream starting off their fall season with the River Rock climb please raise their hands?” she asked in a tone that usually had her customers signing on the dotted line.

Not a single hand went up. Which was odd since she’d come here to pitch the Fern Falls fly-fishing day trip and the group had specifically asked her to explain the River Rock climb, even going as far as having her demonstrate how the harness worked. And since that trek had a special place in her Living for Love passport, she’d suited up.

Only now, she was afraid she’d secured the carabiner incorrectly. Even though she’d followed the directions exactly, she couldn’t seem to loosen the harness or get the carabiner to open. Not that she’d let them know that.

“Mr. Fitz, how about you?”

Mr. Fitz shook his head. “My wife would have my head if she knew I was even thinking about climbing River Rock. That’s a young man’s trail, and I had a new hip put in last spring—no way could I take the pressure of that harness.”