“Yes. You’re not going to answer that question either, are you?”
“You catch on quick, Alessandro.”
Up in the parking lot, as Margo opened the back of her Forester, Tony said, “Maybe you’ll answer this one: do you ski on Mt. Hood?”
“I don’t ski anyplace. If you’re asking about the rack on top of my car, it could hold skis with the right attachments but the gizmos I have make it a bike rack for my mountain bike.”
“Jesus, what the hell kind of big city Easterner am I? I fall for someone who lives in the water, owns a four-wheel drive and a mountain bike and spends her free time hiking around in a wilderness.” He looked as if he was rethinking his taste in women.
Her retort was sharp and quick. “Yeah? Well, what kind of Northwesterner am I when I’m in love with a guy who probably doesn’t even own a pair of hiking boots?”
He caught what was buried in the sentence. “So, you’re in love with me.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Yeah, you did.” Neither he nor the beaming expression on his face moved.
“Get in the car, Tony. Just get in the damn car.”
With the passing of the shower, the weather began to cooperate with Margo’s plans to show Tony her favorite place in all of the Northwest, the spectacular gorge the Columbia River cut through the Cascade Mountains millennia ago.
Stopping at Crown Point, high above the river on the old highway, they could see for miles upstream and down. Below them, wind-surfers and kite-boarders darted like dragonflies around the occasional barge and towboat convoy. Above, white clouds and the remains of their more sullen relatives that had dispensed rain earlier moved east, occasionally snagging on the tips of trees on the distant hills as if reluctant to leave town.
Pointing out a bald eagle soaring overhead, Margo asked if he could ever imagine that sight in Philadelphia. Tony replied that the only Eagles he’d ever seen in Philly played in the NFL since he was sure, when the starlings and pigeons moved into Center City, the flying kind had relocated to a better neighborhood.
After fighting through the crowds to climb for a close-up of Multnomah Falls and then hiking on one of Margo’s favorite trails, they crossed the Bridge of the Gods to the Washington side of the river and checked into the hotel where Margo had a reservation for the night. They had a swim in the mineral pool and a long, leisurely dinner, then headed to their room where they planned to end the day with a soak in the hot tub on the balcony.
• • •
Tony took the hotel robes out to the deck, draped them over the railing to give them some privacy and climbed into the hot tub. When Margo had doused all the lights in the room, she joined him, wrapped in a towel, which she dropped onto the deck as she stepped into the water. God, she was beautiful. She looked like Venus or whoever it was in that painting rising from the sea. Except she was getting into the water. Not out of it.
What the hell was wrong with him? A beautiful naked woman was cuddling up against him and he was thinking about a goddamn painting.
They sat in silence for a while, the hot tub jets gently massaging them. Finally, Margo said, “This is just about perfect, isn’t it? The smell of the trees, the stars … ”
“Took us long enough to get here.”
Her head popped up. “I’m sorry. Was the drive too long?”