How to End a Love Story(23)

“Do you ever just think . . . Trees!” Eve says, making jazz hands as she looks up at the canopy of golden leaves above them.

Tom snorts. “You sound so dumb right now. Trees!”

“No, it’s like, they’re so big and so old and so beautiful, like, they’re the same ones that have been standing since, like, the old times,” Eve says. “It’s like me and some Victorian lady both could have experienced these same trees.”

“No, I know what you mean,” Tom agrees. “We should do a rewrite on that western spec.”

“Yes.” Eve snaps her fingers.

“Keep up,” Suraya says, moving briskly up ahead with Saskia at the front of the pack. “We’re almost at the view, and then we can go home to s’mores.”

A collective excited murmur sounds behind him at the word s’mores.

He’s surprised to see Helen hanging with the stoned half of their group. She’s laughing at a joke Nicole has just whispered in her ear and glances up at him before bursting into a fit of giggles. She looks happier than Grant’s ever seen before.

He feels an involuntary tug at the corner of his mouth, and quickly forces it down into a neutral expression. He offers his hand to everyone passing by, helping them up the slight incline.

“Thanks, Dad,” Nicole says, then she and Helen burst into another round of giggles.

“I can do it on my own,” Helen says, waving him off.

“Of course you can,” Grant says, eyeing her brand-new hiking boots that have zero traction on them.

He reaches to support her elbow, and she swings away from him. “I said I have it.”

The force of her swing throws her off balance, and Grant lurches forward on instinct to catch her by the windmilling arms.

“Oh,” she says, staring up at him. “I guess I didn’t have it.”

She laughs then, and the shock of it makes him lose his own footing, and suddenly they’re tumbling downhill.

“Fuck,” he groans, trying to take the brunt of the damage.

“Nonononono,” Helen says, her breath coming out in short bursts on his neck.

They end their fall at the bottom of the leafy hill and look up to see six figures peering down at them.

“Shit,” Helen says, springing up. “We’re fine!” she calls up at them.

Grant pushes himself up and feels the stinging protest of his palms as he stands. He looks down to find them raw and pink.

“Oh, fuck,” she says. “You’re not fine.”

“I’m fine,” Grant waves her off.

“Grant’s bleeding!” she shouts up at the others.

“I’m fine!” he shouts back.

“He’s not fine, he needs—medical attention,” Helen says, shouting half up to the others, half at him.

“She’s being dramatic,” he shouts up at them. “I just need to wash my hands.”

“You wanna head back to the cabin first?” Suraya shouts down at him. “It’s just a few more steps to the view anyway. I can lead the way.”

“You shouldn’t go back alone,” Helen says heroically. “What if something happens?”

Grant lifts a brow sardonically. “Are you offering me your protection?”

“I’ll walk with him,” Helen shouts up. “I hate hiking anyway.”

Grant can tell by the cheers uphill that she’s not the only one that feels this way.

“Don’t eat all the s’mores without us!” Owen shouts down at them. “Lucky bitch.”

“Come on.” She pats Grant on the chest. “Let’s go.”

Grant lets her lead the way a short distance before deciding it’d be safer if he was at her side.

“What?” she asks, when she senses his presence.

“You’re high,” he says finally, trying not to laugh. “I just . . . never thought I’d see the day.”

“Someone brought gummies,” she says with a frown. “I succumbed to peer pressure.”

Grant does laugh at this. “Mrs. Granuzzo would be so disappointed right now,” he says, thinking of their pinched-faced D.A.R.E. teacher. “Did you forget to ‘just say no’?”

“I was trying to make more of an effort to be like everyone else,” she says, surly. “Some people told me that was important.”

“I didn’t say be like everyone else; I said make an effort with everyone else.”

“But not you, because that’d be a waste of time,” she agrees.

“Right,” he says.

“Aw,” she says, looking sideways at him. “I hurt your feelings.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says.

“I’m so mean to you,” Helen says suddenly. “And you’re so—effing—nice. I’m awful.”

“You’re not awful.”

“I am, I’m the worst,” she says in a rush, sounding like she might cry. “I’m selfish and I’m obsessed with seeming like I’m winning to people from high school that I don’t even talk to anymore and I’m not, I’m so far from winning it’s laughable, like, why do I still care about high school and why are you always around when I feel like . . . like . . .”