Leo

The next morning, the sun breaks over the peaks of the mountains with a vengeance, rays spilling through the obnoxious window and spreading warmth across my face. I try to fight for a few more minutes of sleep, but it doesn't come. With all hope lost, I kick back the covers and get out of bed, heading for the bathroom.

I should be exhausted – after my unfortunate interaction with that girl I met on the street, I stayed up late with Aunty Tenille and her fiancé, Kit, the three of us drinking to our heart's content in honour of my father, despite me being underage. I've never been one to drink, but last night was an exception. Sometimes, when you're swarmed by a wave of emotions that can't be answered, the best thing to do is lean back in your chair and drink until everything feels numb. Which is exactly what I did. Which is also why I should be puking my guts up this morning and suffering from a massive migraine. But I'm not.

No, this morning, I have a surge of energy that can't be explained. The weather could be a major component of my current mood, contributing to the fact that my journey with this bucket list will be a lot easier.

After I've finished my average morning routine, I head downstairs to the kitchen, where Aunty Tenille is dressed in her typical riding gear, hair tied up in a bun. On the countertop are her riding helmet and gloves.

I walk over to where she's standing, in front of the stove, frying up some bacon, and give her a hug. Although Aunty Tenille isn't actually related to me by blood, she's my mom's best friend, one I've known and been close to since before I can remember. There have been plenty of times where she's visited us in Newfoundland over the years, with Kit by her side, but the best memories I have of her include my birthdays. Every year, she bakes me a cake. Inadvertently, it sort of became a tradition. A tradition that, as I got older, became more about everyone reuniting as opposed to just being about me. Which I enjoyed a lot more – I'm not a big fan of the attention being entirely focused on me, and let's be honest here, who likes it when a group of people sings you "Happy Birthday?" It's the most awkward thing in the world.

"Morning, Aunty Tenille," I say.

She leans back and kisses me on the cheek. "Morning, Leo. Did you sleep well?"

I smile, tempted to reach out and snag a piece of bacon.

"Leo Nathan Sangster," she warns. "Don't even think about it. Sit down and I will dish you up when it's done."

I chuckle to myself, loving how Aunty Tenille treats me like she's her own kid – although she already has one to worry. That's right, despite the fact that Aunty Tenille and Kit are getting married this summer, they've been together for years and have already had a kid. Their daughter, Clara Coleman, is three years younger than me, making her fifteen. She's currently in Texas, visiting her grandparents and isn't scheduled to return until a week before the wedding.

"You know," I say, sitting down at the breakfast bar. I reach over and grab a waffle from the plate, tearing a piece off and shoving it in my mouth. "I'm perfectly capable of dishing myself up."

"And you know how much Kit and I love having you here, Leo," she replies, shutting off the stove and turning to face me, a pan of sizzling bacon in her hand. I watch intently as she dishes me up a plate, adding two waffles, two slices of bacon, a spoonful of hash browns, and one poached egg. She then sets it in front of me, along with a fork and knife, as well as the ketchup and maple syrup. "So," she continues, looking me dead in the eye. "Let us treat you. This is your first time in Whistler, and we want to help make it a wonderful experience."

I smile, picking up my fork and taking a bite of my hash browns, closing my eyes and practically groaning as I taste hints of seasoning salt, smoked paprika, and garlic salt. I can be an exceptional cook when I want to be, but there's always something about other people cooking for you that makes meals ten times better. "This is delicious," I say.

"Leo," she scolds. "Your mother taught you better than that – don't speak when your mouth is full."

I almost apologize just to annoy her, but then I decide otherwise. Talking back might get me kicked out for a day or two. Instead, I nod, watching as Aunty Tenille dishes herself up. And, as I do, I vow to myself that I will make her and Kit breakfast one morning just to show how much I appreciate them letting me stay here for the summer.

"So," she says once she's sitting beside me. "What are your plans for today?"

I lift one shoulder. I don't want to tell anyone about the bucket list just yet because it feels like a secret between me and my dad. A connection I never had. It's something I want to keep to myself for a while. There's a chance they could know about it already, but I highly doubt that. I found the book in a box up in the attic. A box of my dad's things. I didn't want to take too many things, worried that I might upset my mom, so I only took the book and an old Dalhousie sweater before being driven to the airport.

"Not sure yet," I reply. "But I've been thinking about applying for a part-time job just to make some extra cash while I'm here. I don't want to live off of ramen and Kraft Dinner when I'm attending my classes at Dalhousie."

Although my main goal is to complete this bucket list, I have been considering getting a job. I know there's a lot to see in Whistler, according to my mom, but I'm going to need money in order to do some of these things. There's no way I'm spending from my savings account and wasting the money my mom and grandpa put aside for my post-secondary education.

Aunty Tenille takes a sip of her coffee, smiling at me. Judging by the glossy look in her eyes, I can predict that she's going to say something about how proud my dad would be of me for nursing my talent in golf, for earning a scholarship as he did. At first, I didn't take up golf because I wanted to feel closer to my dad. I wanted to do it because I enjoyed the technique and concentration that's involved in the game. However, as I grew up, I began to realize just how important golf was to him. If Dad had survived the accident, he would have been in the PGA tournament. Ever since that moment of realization, my goal has been to fulfil what my dad couldn't. 

"I know," I reply softly, a pang of sadness shaking my heart. "I know he would be proud. I hope he is."

Aunty Tenille reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. "You can't even begin to comprehend how proud he would be of you, Leo. You have so much of your father in you, physical traits and mannerisms."

The corner of my mouth quirks up. "I know," I reply, thinking back to all the pictures Mom has at home. Aside from my hair colour, the shape of my lips and eyes, and the touch of delicacy my cheekbones have, I am a spitting image of my dad.

For the rest of breakfast, Aunty Tenille and I discuss potential jobs I could find. I have plenty of experience in different fields of work, so she thinks it will be easy for people to accept my resumé.

"There's a great mountain bike rental shop near Lost Lake," she adds as I rinse my plate in the sink. "They're always hiring during the summer. Maybe you could try there first."

I chug the last of my orange juice and then wipe the corner of my mouth. "Yeah," I say. "I'll consider that." I pause, looking down at my watch as I begin to make my way to the front door. "I think I'm going to head out now. I should be back around three."

"Try not to have too much fun exploring the town," she jokes. "And make sure you wear a helmet while you're riding your bike!"

"I always do!" I shout back, stepping out into the sunny air.

Out on the porch, I squint up at the sky, finally able to remember just how warm the sun is after days of rain. A small smile spreads across my lips as I palm the familiar folded piece of paper in the pocket of my jean shorts.

I don't know where I'm going, but I need to find a rock by a creek called Fitzsimmons Creek before the day is over.

And what better way to figure it out than to visit a rental mountain bike shop that has an endless supply of trail maps? 

* * *

As it turns out, finding the rental mountain bike shop is a lot harder than I originally thought. The area above Lost Lake is a system of tangled hiking and mountain biking trails, leading in every direction possible and confusing the hell out of me.

Thankfully, after the help from a park ranger, I find my way. The rental mountain bike shop, named Brantford Mountain Biking & Co., is extravagant, standing out against the dark green pine-and-cedar forest behind it. Two pillars of solid wood form a defiant peak above the floor-to-ceiling windows that display an array of mountain bikes and gear.

After locking my own bike to one of the bike racks outside the building, I step inside, pushing my sunglasses up so I can get a better view of the busy building. The floor inside is stamped cement, glossy, but also worn from time. The wall behind the front desk has been painted with chalk paint, allowing the staff to write detailed explanations about the packages customers can buy, how much a rental is, et cetera. I also spot a HELP WANTED sign hanging from the front desk. Judging by how much of a buzz is in the air and how people are doing nothing but smiling and laughing, I decide that working here would be a great idea. In the heat of the moment, caught up in this wonderful atmosphere, I quickly extract my resumé from my backpack and head to the front desk.

There's quite the line-up, but when one of the cashiers notices me standing there, paper in hand, she coaxes me over to her. She's an older lady, maybe around the same age as my grandpa, but I can't be too sure – I'm awful at predicting ages.

"Are you here for the job ad?" she asks.

"Yes, ma'am," I reply, handing her my resumé.

As she reads it, I analyze her facial expression, trying to process whether or not she's impressed with the experience I have. To be fair, I haven't updated my resumé for years, so if she decides against hiring me, I won't be offended. The effort is there and that's all that matters.

"Newfoundland, eh?" she asks, her eyes meeting mine. "Is this your first time in Whistler?"

"Yes," I reply. "But, if it means anything, I have experience with mountain biking and I'm a fast learner. I also enjoy spending my time outdoors and know how to repair minor damages. I also have training in first aid."

The lady, whose nametag says Nora in bolded capital letters. "I think I could get you started on Friday. Do you have any plans?"

I blink. Okay, I was certainly not expecting to be hired on the spot. Surprise aside, I don't hesitate to shake my head. "I'm free. I'd love to start at the end of the week."

"Perfect," she smiles, a twinkle in her eyes. "I'll just direct you over to my granddaughter..."

Nora glances over my shoulder, searching the area for her granddaughter.

"Aria!" she calls out. "Can you come here for a moment, please?"

Several seconds pass before I feel someone take their place beside me. "What's up, Grandma?" the granddaughter asks.

Instantly, I react to the familiarity of her voice. I've only heard this voice once before, but with it still fresh in my mind, it's hard to forget about it. And, when I turn to face her, my brain registers, reminding me of the weak connection we created yesterday in the rain.

Her eyes widen the slightest bit when she makes eye contact with me, and I don't fail to notice how her breath hitches.

"Aria," Nora continues. "I want you to meet our newest employee, Leo. He's going to start Friday morning and I need you to get all of his information while I deal with this immense line-up that Benn can't tackle on his own."

"Yeah," Aria nods, still staring at me. "Okay, no big deal."

When Nora has returned to her job, Aria guides me into a small office and begins pulling out different papers. One, I believe, is a contract I am going to have to sign in order to work here. The others include things such as medical information, payment information, and contact information.

"So," Aria says. "Are you stalking me or something?"

"Why would I be stalking you?" I frown. What an odd question to ask. Yeah, it's weird that we're meeting up for the second day in a row, but stuff like this happens all the time. It's just a coincidence. That's it, that's all.

Aria stares at me, looking slightly bewildered, as if she's searching for something to say to me but can't quite figure out what. However, all she does is shake her head and turn back to the papers, mumbling a couple of incoherent words in my direction.

"Okay, Leo," she says, setting the papers down in front of me, along with a pen. "I need you to fill these out for the company. I also need your sizing so I can order a company T-shirt for you. Think you can do that?"

I pick up the pen and tip my head in her direction to answer her question.

"Great," she nods.

I spend the next five minutes filling out all the paperwork, aware that Aria is watching me with a blatant look of guilt on her face. If she still feels bad about our encounter yesterday, then she's being ridiculous. I'm not one to hold grudges and nor will I ever be. Yet another trait I inherited from my dad.

When I'm finished, I set the pen down and glance up at her. "I'm not upset with you," I say, carefully choosing my words. "We were a couple of strangers. How were you supposed to know what I was doing?"

Aria releases a deep breath. "I am sorry, Leo. I didn't mean to be so impulsive with my words. It was unfair of me."

"No big deal," I reply, waving her apology off. I then gesture to the papers. "Is that it for now?"

"Yes," she nods. "We're looking forward to seeing you here on Friday."

I collect my bag, swinging it over my shoulder. "The honour's mine," I reply. "Thanks for giving me this job."

Aria's gaze flitters to the buzz behind me. "We need it," she sighs. "We're a popular attraction in this town."

I have a feeling that her statement is loaded, but I don't want to ask. I'm already behind schedule and need to get going before I run out of time today.

Saluting Aria, I wish her goodbye and exit the building, but not before I snatch a map from a large display near the entrance. I know I could have asked someone where to locate Fitzsimmons Creek, but part of the adventure is the mystery. Even if it takes me five hours, I'm going to find the rock and plant a fresh stonecrop succulent around it before the day ends.