He literally couldn’t imagine it. Taking her out on a few more dates, and then waving goodbye and getting on a plane back to Los Angeles forever...
He couldn’t do it. He’d freeze on the tarmac, unable to take that last step. He knew it in his bones.
Was this a temporary thing? Was the sight of Misty laughing in the firelight, the fellowship of his oldest friends, all conspiring to make him dizzy with desire, fantasize about being with all of them here forever?
His jaguar growled in disgust, and Ty found himself agreeing. He was pretty sure this wasn’t temporary at all.
***
Misty
Misty hadn’t been drinking, other than the one beer at Oliver’s, but she felt strangely as though she had been.
Almost. She wasn’t dizzy or having a hard time with words; she was sure she could walk a straight line no problem.
She just kept laughing, which was something that never happened unless she’d overindulged in alcohol a bit. She wasn’t giggly, never had been.
But everyone was just so happy. And Ken and Stella were both very funny people, it turned out, and even Lynn had a dry humor that Misty had never seen in her before.
There had even been a moment when Ken had bet Nate, with comical sincerity, that he could infiltrate the ranger HQ at Glacier National Park and play a prank on their friend Cal, the head ranger there—who was apparently home with a sick baby tonight, and had sent his apologies.
Ken had been speculating on how to avoid the extensive pack of snow leopards who were all rangers up at the Park, and how he might enlist their friends to help him, and claimed he could totally carry this off tonight, and Misty had said, “I’ll be sure to get to the station early tomorrow to meet you all coming in,” and the entire group had exploded with laughter.
And she’d been struck speechless by the deep flood of joy within her at the sound. Everyone had been smiling at her, happy with her joke, including her in the experience of fun and conversation, and it had been so overwhelming that she’d felt tears pricking at her eyes.
It was to
o much. It was all too much—but not too much in a way she’d ever felt before. She knew what it was to have too much exhaustion, too much pain, too much sadness, too much work, too much care.
She’d never had too much joy before.
“Excuse me,” she said, standing abruptly. “I—I’m going to get a glass of water, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” Stella said immediately. “I can get it for you—”
“I’ll show you where everything is,” Ty cut in, standing with her. “I mean, I don’t know where everything is, but I won’t hesitate to rummage around in the cabinets until I find the glasses. And I could use some water, too. Anyone else want anything?”
Everyone declined, and Ty and Misty made their way back to the house, Misty taking calming breaths of the crisp night air away from the fire.
“All right?” Ty asked her in a low voice as they went inside.
She nodded, looking around the dim kitchen. Ty went and found her a glass, filling it with water from the tap.
“Thanks,” she said as he handed it to her. “It was just—”
“A bit much?” he asked.
“Sort of. I mean, they’re not what’s too much, they’re all lovely. It’s me. I didn’t realize—” She bit her lip. “How lonely I really was.”
Ty touched her shoulder, and she set down the glass of water—which she hadn’t really wanted, anyway, it had just been an excuse to step away for a minute—and turned into his embrace.
This was another thing she hadn’t even realized she’d wanted. Being held—when was the last time she’d been held, before today? Even her father hadn’t been very affectionate; she’d known he loved her because of his words, not because of a lot of hugs or kisses.
She’d dated men before, certainly—in college, and when she’d been working in Missoula, mainly. But her experience of physical affection with them had mostly been frustrating. They’d been too gruff or too saccharine, touched too hard or too soft, always had a hand or on her or hardly touched her at all except in bed.
It had never been right. Misty had eventually concluded that dating wasn’t for her and moved on to focus on her work. It had hurt, but she’d told herself that that was stupid: if she didn’t like it, why was it hard to stop?
Because she’d been missing this.