The next three days are filled with even more of my spaghetti. And at least three socks have disappeared from my room along with my keys and phone. Every time I mention this to Enrique, he just disappears down a hallway and returns with whatever I've lost, citing the elusive, invisible Charles the cat as the culprit.

I have no idea where to go with that, and Enrique's getting irritated with my questions, so I've taken the easy way out and avoided talking to him about basically anything before he's home and wearing pyjamas.

I'm not sure how to feel about the fact that my life has become even more mundane than before. Isn't a husband supposed to be exciting or whatever? A week ago it was exciting.

But Enrique said it himself, everything changes when you're back to normal life. Things are less exciting.

We haven't talked about the upcoming reunion once and between that and Charles I'm starting to wonder what's going on. I stopped by Mrs. Gallagher's house twice to help weed her garden and see if she'd give me any gossip but she's holding out on me.

All I want by Friday afternoon is to finish my work and take a nice long bubble back with my book, but I'm not going to lie. It's getting a little lonely in this big house all by myself.

I'm staring at the spreadsheet on my screen when the front door crashes open. My legs are burning and my ponytail is tipped to the side when I reach the front door to find an equally dishevelled Enrique.

Honestly, if Mrs. Maeve Gallagher walks in here right now she's going to think something very different is going on.

"Is everything okay?" I ask, once I finally have my bearings. Enrique home before six probably means the school exploded or something.

"Of course, why?"

Because the last time you were home before supper was... never? "You're home so early I thought maybe something went wrong."

My computer pings from the den, alerting me to a work email.

His whole body sags and he reaches for a glass of water, resting his elbows on the counter. "Fridays are early dismissal so I get home a little earlier even after grading and cleaning and all that boring stuff you don't want to hear about."

I do, though. I do want to hear about it. I have no idea why I want to hear about it, but I want to know everything he has to say. Why does my mouth refuse to tell him what I want?

He puts the glass down on the counter and stirs me out of my thoughts. "I'm wondering, though. Do you want to get out of here?"

My clothes are a mess and I can practically feel my hair forming a knot on top of my head. Suddenly self conscious, I ask, "Get out of here and go where?"

Please be somewhere that doesn't make me eat my own spaghetti.

"A hike maybe? I think we still have time before sunset."

A hike? I hate hiking almost more than I hate liars and disorganized lists. But I can't bear to be cramped up in this house anymore. So instead of asking to do something I'd actually enjoy, I just say, "Sure, a hike sounds nice."

Well, I am wildly unprepared for a hike. Or outdoor activity of any kind. But I do know I need to find comfortable clothes and shoes that would look very out of place on a runway.

Somehow that dang cat has taken my favourite pair of socks, but I don't have enough time to do anything but race around my room searching for my one suitable pair of runners. I haven't worn them in over a month, so I'm hoping my memory serves me correctly and there will be no blisters.

The last time I went hiking my grandfather was trying to make up for the fact that he hadn't seen me in several years. He would have done better to not see me at all, as the whole thing ended with dehydration and a broken leg. I had to be airlifted to a hospital and the whole seventh grade thought that was the coolest story.

I disagree.

Enrique seems like he would agree with me, because he is sitting in the middle of the floor with every imaginable item laid out on the floor, packing them methodically into a bag the size of a kindergartener.

"You aren't expecting me to make it up there with one of those on my back, are you?" I ask, pointing to the bag. "Because I'm not even sure I can get myself there, and that has to be fifty extra pounds."

"Don't worry. Yours is just full of light snacks. And it's over there." He points to a much smaller backpack resting on the corner of the couch. "You really haven't been camping or hiking before?"

"I've been a couple times, but I was a lot younger. And I do like snacks. I guess I can take one for the team." I sit down on the floor beside the pile of equipment. "What's all this for?"

"That one is a fire starting kit. There's a first aid kit and food and flares and a walkie to Meave's. She's always around and there isn't always service."

There's a lot of other odds and ends I couldn't pick out of a line up, and then things I would never have thought to take, like a flashlight.

"You really need all of this for a little hike?"

"It's just in case of emergencies. You can never be too prepared."

"I agree. So where's your list? I'll check things off for you."

"List?"

"Yeah, your list of things to pack."

"It's all up here," he taps his temple. "I don't have a written list."

"What if you forget something?"

"I never forget anything truly important, don't worry."

"I'm not sure if not worrying is in my vocabulary. But I'll try." My attempt to pull my legs under me results in my whole body tumbling toward the floor, dragging Enrique's left arm with me. When we finally come to a rest, he's encased me in his arms, holding his body just above mine, face reddening with the closeness.

Reaching up off the ground, I press my lips to his briefly. "Sorry I took you down with me."

He doesn't move, eyes flowing over me. I don't think I'm breathing properly, wondering how we went from barely talking to packing for a hike to whatever this is. My heart is trying to escape through my throat.

He clears his throat and pulls away, turning back to his bag. "It's no trouble."

"Yeah, good," I mumble. "Do you always take all of this when you hike?"

"Yeah, I like to be prepared for anything."

"You can't possibly be prepared for anything," I laugh, passing him the purple flashlight.

"That's becoming very clear," he whispers to himself before turning to me and raising his voice. "I just had some trouble in the past with people who should have been prepared for things not being there for me and I guess now that I'm in a position where I'm the one in charge, I don't want to do that to anyone else. I don't want to let you down."

"I guarantee it's impossible to take first place of 'worst hike I've ever had'. You're in the clear."

"Vegas?" he asks simply, clearly remembering all the blisters my inappropriate footwear gave me.

"No, actually. Once upon a time my grandfather took me hiking and I ended up airlifted to a hospital. But I'm fine now."

He makes me tell him the whole story while he finishes packing the bag and then he hands me the small one filled with light snacks. Finally, I explain the airlifting and the broken leg.

"Well, I think you probably learned your lesson about hiking in inappropriate footwear. And I promise I'm much too cautious to not get you medical care. I have a whole first aid kit and I'm completely certified. You don't need to worry about anything."

"Well I wasn't worried until you brought it up."

"How does my being prepared make you more nervous?"

"I don't know. Maybe because before you mentioned it, I wasn't thinking about how we might need first aid on a hike."

"But you were just telling me a story about being airlifted to hospital," he laughs.

"Yeah, but I trust you more than I ever trusted him."

It just comes out of my mouth before I even have a say in it. Flies out there and hangs in the air, leaving me to wish I could take it back.

"I'm glad." His weariness is replaced by a bright smile for the first time. "I want to be someone you can trust. Would showing you my first aid certification help?"

I can't help but laugh as he reaches for his wallet.

"No. Don't worry about it. I do trust you know what you're doing and I have survived a hike with you once before. I was much less prepared then, so I'm sure I'll be fine."

"You will be fine."

I sure hope he's right.