The One You Can't Forget (The One, #1)

ten

Hainsey

"Hains!"

I startle, pull the brakes, and look around.

Emyln is behind me with the group of tourists that we've been leading around since noon. She gestures at the lookout point and my eyes widen the slightest. I'm alarmingly close to the edge of the ridge, pedalling furiously toward the dense forest and whatever's beyond it. I shake my head, make a joke about feeling high on the alpine air, and then steer my mountain bike back to the group, feeling the ache in my legs and this unexplainable urge to turn around and head back to the forest.

My mind has been anywhere but here today. I've been working with Ems for two weeks now and things have actually settled into a somewhat comfortable work zone – we're not exactly friendly with each other, but not cold either. We're acquaintances. And the night Ems was peeking through my window I decided the best thing for me to do would be draft a new schedule. So that's what I did. Ems is good at managing reservations and dealing with customers that want to buy products, and I'm good at cleaning and repairs – it means we don't usually spend more than a minute or two in the same room together.

Usually, things are good.

Except for today. Today my mind is spinning like a stupid-ass merry-go-round. I'm trying to play the part of the enthusiastic tour guide and make the customers happy, but the role doesn't suit me – I can't stop thinking about the past, present, and the future. Ems, money, and what I'm going to do with Mom. I've also spent too much time near Ems. The one downfall of working with her is that she doesn't know all the tours or the spiel that goes with them, so I have to train her. The group that's touring today is also too big for just one guide. No matter how much I insisted to Mrs. Brantford that I could do this on my own, she refused and said her daughter needed to come.

So, shit out of luck, here I am. With her.

As I park my mountain bike, I spot Ems near the back of the group trying to Band-Aid a scratch on her shoulder from the thicket of branches we had to go through earlier. She's wearing the same grey T-shirt as I am, a pair of workout shorts, and her long hair has been tied into a ponytail. There's a pattern of splattered mud across the backs of her calves – it poured rain overnight, and the water has collected in every divot in the trail. I don't know why, but Ems has always had a thing for getting dirty. I remember, when we were younger, her mom and dad would always reprimand her for coming into the house wearing muddy shoes or having a smudge of dirt on her chin.

As I watch her, through the crowd of tourists that all have their phones out and are taking numerous amounts of pictures, I decide that she's not going to get that Band-Aid on properly without some help. I begin to walk over, stopping once to take a picture of a girl and her boyfriend. I narrowly miss a conversation about the scrapbooks she makes after going on these types of vacations.

I don't know why I've decided to help Ems – I don't need her, and she definitely doesn't need me. Yet something is pulling me toward her. I imagine it's because she's the only person I know out of this group of strangers, but deep down I feel something else.