A California Christmas (Silver Springs #7) - Brenda Novak Page 0,47

into the sand. “Doesn’t it ever get lonely spending so much time by yourself?”

It took him a moment to answer. Then he said, “Sometimes. But climbing is worth it to me. The challenge keeps me engaged. Besides, I think everyone gets lonely once in a while.”

“I didn’t while I was working,” she mused. “Or I was too busy to notice. But I’ve certainly felt alone since Ethan did what he did. Worse than alone. For the first time in my life, I’ve felt hated and reviled. That’s been hard. Everyone wants to be liked, and I’m betting that’s especially true for someone like me—the type of personality who would aspire to become a TV anchor.”

“Probably,” he agreed.

Emery was doing most of the talking, but she couldn’t seem to stop. She was happy for the first time in a long while. But the alcohol seemed to be having the opposite effect on Dallas. He seemed happy enough, or possibly he was merely content, but he was growing more and more reserved. “Anyway, enough about Ethan,” she said, assuming he had to be tired of that topic. “I don’t know why I brought him up again.” She lifted her wine. “This is delicious, by the way. You said coming here was worth it, but you have to admit that bringing the wine was a great idea, too.”

He held up his glass to clink it against hers. “I readily admit it.”

Closing her eyes, she focused on the caress of the wind against her cheeks. “Right now I feel pretty damn invincible,” she said. “Don’t you?”

“I’m not sure invincible is the word I’d use,” he said wryly.

Opening her eyes, she pulled the hair whipping around her face out of the way. “Why not?”

A small smile tugged at his lips before he twisted around to stare down the beach. “Never mind.”

“What are you looking for?” she asked, distracted as she followed his gaze into the darkness. The only things she could see were the whitecaps of the foamy waves, and the far-off light of a ship at sea.

“It’s hard to believe that with four million people in LA, we can be this alone,” he said.

They hadn’t encountered anyone after they were dropped off, while they were building their bonfire or spreading out the blanket—no voices, no lights, no movement, other than the constant thunder of the waves and a few sand crabs that scurried to get out of their way. “It is,” she said. “It seems like we’re the only two people on Earth. And here we are, sitting at the edge of the greatest ocean, breathing in the salty sea air. It’s gotten chilly, but it’s worth the cold. I love the ocean.”

“I wish I had a jacket to offer you.” He pulled part of the blanket they weren’t sitting on up around her. “There’s this, but maybe it’s not enough. Would you rather go?”

She snuggled close to him, reveling in the warmth of his solid, muscular body. “Are you kidding? We have a lot of fire left.”

Although he seemed stiff at first—stiff enough that she almost pulled away, assuming such close contact wasn’t welcome—he soon shifted to make her more comfortable and his arms went around her. “Are we staying until it dies down?”

“I’d stay a lot longer than that, if I could,” she said, watching the flames.

“I don’t have to be home until the wedding,” he joked. “You’re the one who has to work on Saturday.”

She laughed. “Maybe I’d get my fill if we really could hang out until tomorrow night.” She poured herself some more wine. They’d almost finished the bottle. “How do you like living in Vegas?”

“I like it.”

“It doesn’t get too hot for you in the summer?”

“I’m never there in the summer.”

She was feeling a nice buzz, knew she should stop drinking, but she took another sip. “Where do you climb most often? Other than Yosemite?”

“I like Utah. Big and Little Cottonwood Canyons and Zion National Park. Have you ever been to either of those places?”

“No. But I’ve heard a lot about Zion.”

“You really have to see it in person. Moab is also special. There’s nothing quite like Canyonlands and Arches National Park.”

She heard the reverence in his voice and understood how passionate he felt about nature. “I’ve seen pictures of both.”

“Pictures don’t do them justice.”

She removed her shoes and dug her toes into the damp sand at the edge of the blanket, eager for more sensory input, more celebration, a way to continue to block out the recent