New Heights

I’m housesitting for my aunt and uncle. They’re childless and I’m the favourite nephew. They have entrusted me with their sprawling home for the summer. The house is in Fraser’s Landing, a lakeside town in the mountains; it’s mostly retirees living here. Though the place is beautiful and there’s lots of trails and outdoor opportunities, I’m working remotely for a social media startup and feeling pretty isolated. I’ve been a digital nomad for a while, travelling overseas or living out of my camping trailer. It’s nice to be in a proper home, but the town is very sleepy. I run a lot and go on hikes to keep my mood up. There’s almost no one my age around.

Except for Adanna, who works at the grocery store.

She always holds her look a bit longer when I am at the till, longer than with other customers, I’m sure of it. We make small talk, like the difficulty of knowing all the types of apples. She laughs at my attempts at humour. I can hardly deal with it when she turns and I see her from behind in her black tights. She is graceful; I watch her do her work with effortless athleticism. Her smile stays with me for hours; I think how her lovely, almost noble-looking face switches from seriousness and concentration to warmth when she sees me. I find myself mesmerized by her long, elegant fingers and her dark skin as she scans my items.

I explore the trails around the town. It really is a lovely place. The forested hills march down to a deep, clear lake. Beyond the hills, high peaks and ridges line the horizon. The air is fresh and the landscape has many moods and faces. But I’m getting lonelier and lonelier.

I know I have it bad when I find myself in front of the mirror, looking at myself critically like a high-schooler. I have a lean body from many years of running. I don’t have a six-pack or anything, but there is the faint outline of one. My chest could be worked on, but I’ve been told I have nice nipples and my chest hair is just enough, not too much. I turn to the side; my butt is what most girls compliment. Tight and rounded, smooth with little hair. Is it good enough for Adanna, I wonder.

I don’t know the best way to flirt with her. She must get a lot of attention, and not all of it good. I guess that from her faint accent she must have grown up somewhere in Africa. She’s the only dark-skinned person in the neighbourhood as far as I can tell. The old folks tend to act super nice to non-white people in retail situations, that way they can say they’re really not racist. I see the older men hovering around her till, long after they’ve paid and she’s trying to ignore them diplomatically.

She is new and doesn’t have regular shifts. I want to dress up a bit before I go in, but the only times I seem to catch her are when I’m in my running gear.

One morning, she asks me what I’m doing that day.

“Going for a hike,” I say.

Her eyes widen. Gorgeous green eyes.

“I’ve been wanting to go out for a hike."

She sounds frustrated. She does a pout face.

I’m flustered. I had imagined this conversation. This is exactly what I had hoped she would say.

“There’s tons of good trails. Just get out there!”

I try to keep it light.

“Which one is the best?”

“What do you like? Long ones, short ones, big views?”

She thinks. There are no other customers. I give her time.

“A nice view, not too long. I haven’t been working out lately,” she says.

I think she’s maybe fishing for a compliment. She’s very athletic. I want to tell her that but I don’t want to blow it now.

“Foster’s Bluff is a good one. Like 45 minutes to a really good viewpoint. It’s pretty steep though.”

She twists her mouth and pulls on one of her braids.

“I don’t really want to go out there by myself.”

“I’ll take you if you want.”

I am rigid with fear. Here it goes.

She smiles. I tell her my Insta handle. She grabs a pen and scrap of paper from beside the till and writes it down.

She follows me on Instagram that evening. I hesitate on her account, then click in. I’m worried there’ll be a boyfriend in there.

But it’s only two photos. Her and a friend, maybe a sister. They are standing somewhere in the Rockies making V signs. She is in a sports bra and I think I can see the faint outline of her nipples on her modestly-sized breasts. I pinch the screen to zoom on her muscled stomach. I wish my screen was bigger.

The second pic almost kills me. A POV beach shot of her long legs speckled with sand, toenails painted a deep green. Her calf muscles are hard and the legs and toes are divine. I lean back with a wave of desire.

I message her and we make plans for the hike.

When the day comes, it’s hot and clear. I pick her up at the store. I have Kokoroko playing, she smiles and bops her head. We talk about how we ended up here. She tells me how her family moved from Nigeria when she was still in elementary school. She grew up in the city; one summer her parents brought her here for a vacation. She remembered the place fondly, and, after she finished her degree, she came here to work for the summer. She wants to save up to go travelling, or maybe go back to school.

I tell her about stumbling into a remote job for a social media startup after college. I try not to bore her with details; it isn’t very exciting work. I design spam filters. Good times. Like her, I came to the town first as a kid, visiting my aunt and uncle as they built their dream home overlooking the lake. We laugh a bit about the retirees, their politics, and their giant vehicles.