Wander and Roam (Wander Series) Page 6

  We finish our drinks, pull on our backpacks, and head out the door. We reach the docks in less than five minutes. Only a few storefronts dot the tiny town, and the streets are nearly empty. The ferry’s bell tolls as soon as we sit on a nearby bench. Within minutes, the boat docks and a line of passengers slowly steps aboard. After we show our weekend passes, Sage leads me up the ramp and to the side of the boat. I glance at the windows behind me. Most of the ferry-goers have gathered inside.

  “Trust me, you’ll love the view when we approach Sydney.” He sits down first and pats the bench next to him.

  I place my backpack between my feet and settle next to Sage as the ferry takes off. The sun already blazes in the sky, but the breeze takes the heat’s edge away. After pulling a bottle of sunscreen from my bag, I rub it into my arms, legs, and face. Sage ignores the passing scenery and focuses his attention entirely on me.

  “What? I left Susan’s too early to finish my morning routine.” A white sunscreen glob slowly slides down my back, but no matter which way I stretch, I cannot reach it.

  “Let me.” Sage turns me until I’m half-sitting on the narrow bench and half-supporting myself with my right foot. His warm hands press against my back, above my sundress. They stretch and pull my skin, rubbing until the sunscreen is completely absorbed. Yet he doesn’t stop. His thumbs rub my taut upper back muscles while his fingers stroke from my neck to my shoulders. I can’t remember the last time someone focused entirely on my comfort. Maybe never.

  I’m not saying Robbie wasn’t kind and thoughtful, but he had too much of his own stuff going on. I close my eyes and relax into Sage’s touch.

  “Look at the view,” he whispers into my ear. I open my eyes to spot the ferry gliding past the Sydney skyline.

  I stand alongside the boat’s railing, away from Sage’s magic hands, and point to the iconic white building featured on nearly every picture of Sydney. “That’s the Opera House, right?”

  “You guessed it—Sydney’s famous Opera House. Check this out…” Sage digs through his backpack until he finds a postcard and holds it up. The Opera House, the bridge, the boats, all match up perfectly.

  The ferry’s speaker crackles. “Next stop, Circular Quay. Everyone must depart.”

  We let the hurried passengers disembark before we approach the ramp. After all, we have the entire day in the city with absolutely nothing planned. After following the last stragglers off the boat, Sage and I walk around the busy waterfront. A street performer rolls a glass orb up and down his body. He rolls the clear ball in impossible directions and appears to levitate it at times.

  “So, what do you want to do?” Sage guides me away from the performer.

  I shrug. “I have no idea. I don’t know anything about Sydney.”

  “You really flew all the way Down Under without even reading about it?”

  “Silly, huh?”

  Sage pulls a guidebook from his backpack. “I have a few things I want to do in the evening. Why don’t you pick how we’ll spend our day?”

  The guidebook has to be at least a thousand pages long. I don’t want to waste our time reading the entire thing. To be honest, I’m overwhelmed just looking at it. WWOOFing seemed like the perfect choice because I didn’t need to make many decisions. I just show up at the farm and follow orders.

  I flip open the book, which focuses on Sydney. The page reads, “Darling Harbour: Sydney’s primo destination for leisure and entertainment”. The guidebook goes on to detail the fancy shops, fine dining, and array of tourist activities the harbor has to offer. We can spend the day shopping, eating, and doing the tourist thing.

  One time, Robbie joined us on our family vacation. After two months of relentless asking, my parents caved. Robbie could come, with the stipulation he slept in a different room, with my brothers, and I could vacation plan my heart out. Robbie loved country music, so I chose Nashville. I found an enormous hotel near the Grand Ole Opry, with dozens of restaurants, even more stores, and acres of inside gardens. Everything worked out perfectly. We went to a different restaurant each night, listened to loads of music, and didn’t have to walk much, which helped Robbie.

  “I can’t wait to see what you choose,” Sage says softly. “A person’s vacation choices tell a lot about them.”

  His voice snaps me back to my surroundings. What am I thinking, planning the same exact activities as my last trip—my only trip—with Robbie? No, I need to think of something completely different, something with no reminders or memories. Something I could never do with Robbie.

  I close the book and look around. A massive bridge rises above the other buildings in the distance. Tiny objects appear to move up the bridge’s pylons. When I squint, the objects transform into people. People. People climb that enormous bridge.

  The metal bridge spans the entire harbor. Climbing the monster must involve a whole bunch of daring and athleticism. I would never be able to climb like that with Robbie.

  Perfect.

  “Well?” Sage paces restlessly. “Are you ready to surprise me?”

  “That.” I point to the bridge. “I want to do that.”

  “Walk across the bridge?” Sage glances at his map then leads me toward the bridge. “There’s a walkway right along the road. We should get some great pictures from the bridge.”

  The corners of my mouth turn up. “Um, walking sounds a little boring. Wouldn’t the photos be even better from higher up?”

  The look on his face is priceless. I wish I had a camera to capture how his jaw drops and his eyes widen. “You want to do the climb?” he asks incredulously.

  “That’s what I was hoping—”

  “I never pegged you for an adventure sports kind of girl.” Sage increases the pace. “Climbing the bridge was one of my top three picks for Sydney, but I figured I’d stop back on my own to complete it.”

  My radical deviation from normal vacation activities is paying off. Sage is happy, and I’m going to be too scared and distracted even to think about someone else. “What were your other top picks?”

  “You’ll find out this evening. We’re doing both of them.” Sage turns to me, places his hands around my waist, and spins me. “We’re going to climb the Harbour Bridge!”

  We race hand-in-hand to the bridge’s climbing office. I barely notice the renovated stores and hotels that surround the enormous bridge. It’s really, really tall. And Sage was wrong. I’m not an adventure-sport type girl. The looming bridge terrifies me.

  But it’ll help me forget. It isn’t too much to ask for one day of peace. For the guilt and the memories and the weight to be lifted for twenty-hour hours. Please, let me enjoy Sydney.

  AN HOUR later, I’m squeezing the skinny rails of a frail-looking catwalk. One step at a time. That’s what I’ve been telling myself for the last thirty minutes as we moved up, up, up. Though we’re nearing the apex of the bridge, we still haven’t reached it.

  Sage walks in front of me. I insisted, so he wouldn’t see my hesitation at each new step and my death grip on the railings. Every few minutes, he turns around to smile, point out something far below, or wave. Thinking about how ridiculous we look in our matching full-body, gray-and-blue regulation jumpsuits helps keep a grin on my face. I don’t want Sage to waste his climb worrying about me. Besides, I sort of enjoy the new adventurous persona. Maybe I’ll even grow into it.

  We’re nearing another set of stairs. While my logical brain knows they would never send hundreds of tourists a day onto a rickety, faulty structure, my anxiety-fueled thoughts cannot wrap around how the see-through mesh steps can actually be sturdy. I glimpse down at the waves kicked up by a boat’s wake and press my lips together.

  The upward progression stops, and group members pause for photos as they reach the apex one by one. This leaves me stuck on the stairs. I glance at my tether, locked into a steel cable that runs alongside the catwalks and stairs. Supposedly, the tethers should keep us safe, but I struggle with how this skinnier-than-my-finger rope is supposed
to fight the powerful force of gravity.

  “Coming?” Sage holds out his hand. He’s next in line to step onto the highest catwalk.

  My white knuckles firmly grasp the side. The warm metal provides mild reassurance. As long as I don’t let go, I shouldn’t fall. I’m unsure if a person can ever provide the same promise of safety. Maybe that’s my problem. If I refuse to trust anyone again, how will I ever move on? Slowly, I release the rail then reach for the security of his fingers. Hand-in-hand, we take the final steps to the top.

  Our group walks down the long catwalk, posing for perfect photos in front of the Opera House. The guide moves from family to couple to solo traveler, snapping memories of their bravery. A wind gust catches me off guard, and I grip even tighter.

  “Ouch!” Sage says, but he smiles at me. When I try to release his hand, he pulls me to him and holds me securely.

  When he wraps his arms around me, my hesitation and fear fade away. Up here, it’s Sage and I and our sky-high adrenaline. My ground-level worries don’t even register. Sage’s embrace is so comforting, all I can think about it how I want more.

  “Adventurous must be the new sexy,” he says as his lips caress mine.

  “Don’t stop,” I plead.

  We kiss—frantically at first, then slowly and sweetly. I barely notice the three wire cords digging into my back, the people around us, or the growing breeze. My attention’s entirely on Sage’s muscular arm, so firm beneath my hand, his warm body so snug against mine. His distracting lips, which haven’t stopped moving.

  A bright flash of light interrupts our moment. “That will be a great photo. They’ll be available for purchase at the base for only $19.99.”

  I open my eyes to find myself pressed against the side of the catwalk, between thin cords and Sage’s strong body.

  “You can’t get more ‘now’ than that,” Sage whispers in my ear. “Abandoning your fears to the pleasures of the moment? Wicked hot.”

  I carefully step to the middle of the catwalk, about a half-inch of movement. “So you weren’t afraid at all?”

  “I had to learn to manage my fear a while ago.” Sage’s smile fades, and his entire face darkens. “Imagined fears are nothing compared to that.”

  Before I can ask him what he means, Sage gestures to the departing group and hurries after them. I begin my slow, careful descent from the bridge. Imagined fears. Thinking about it that way, the journey down isn’t nearly so hard.

  When we reach the bottom of the bridge, I spot a restroom and sigh with relief. “Bathroom break?”

  Sage nods. “I need to do something. Can you wait for me right here?”

  After using the bathroom, I take an extra minute to peek in the mirror, run a brush through my windswept hair, and reapply lip gloss. I’ve probably looked in a mirror twice as often these last few weeks. Before I can agonize over whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing, I head out to find Sage.

  He still isn’t back. After settling on a nearby bench, I pull the guidebook out of my backpack. Flipping through the pages, I scan activity after activity.

  “My turn.” Sage closes the book and tucks it away. “I know exactly what we’re doing next. Are you ready?”

  I follow him along the waterfront. “Do I get a hint?”

  “Nope.” He grins. “Thinking about what’s to come takes you out of the moment.”

  We’re approaching the Opera House again, and its white sail-like roof mimics the boats that soar by in the water. What a beautiful city. Sydney is vibrant, alive, and so different from the Midwest’s dying cities. The sun beats down from the bluest of skies, warming everything around me. Between Sage’s intense stare and his sexy smile, my inside temperature soon matches the outside.

  He reaches for my hand. It’s so tempting, but the rush of adrenaline is gone and the bridge’s magic has faded. My step to the side of the walkway was meant to be subtle but comes off as blatantly obvious.

  Sage pulls his hand back and sighs. “I wish I knew who hurt you.”

  “It wasn’t intentional.” I keep walking, hoping he won’t notice how I’ve stiffened.

  “If… if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here,” Sage says.

  I can’t. I not ready. I’m not strong enough to talk about Robbie. Maybe I’ll never be strong enough.

  Sage waits for my answer. I simply nod.

  I glance back at the Harbour Bridge. Somehow, being up so high, away from all of life’s realities, made it easy to give in to temptation. Back on the ground, thoughts of Robbie rush back to haunt me.

  WE’RE STANDING in front of a large sign that reads, “Welcome to the Royal Botanical Gardens. Please walk on the grass. We also invite you to smell the roses, hug the trees, talk to the birds, and picnic on the lawns.”

  The Australians are certainly more easy-going than folks back home. The signs in Ohio’s metro parks are all of the “don’t” variety: “Don’t step off the trail, don’t feed the wildlife, don’t enter the water.”

  My self-imposed restrictions aren’t so different, but it’s refreshing to be in a land of “do’s.” Maybe I should try to be freer while I’m here.

  “Are you ready?” Sage reaches for my hand but changes his gesture mid-motion and turns awkwardly toward the entrance. If I’m going to work at freeing myself, I might as well start now. I take his hand in mine.

  “Are you sure? You don’t have—”

  “Let’s go.” I squeeze his warm palm gently as we step into the gardens.

  Odd-shaped trees dot the grass, flowers bloom in clusters, and unusual plants grow all around us. Art decorates the gardens as well; all sorts of sculptures are placed strategically around the grounds. Sage leads me down a trail but pauses in front of a bronze goddess. Flower petals have been woven into a necklace and head wreath, while more petals and decorative leaves cover the base of the sculpture.

  “Look at all the offerings. We should leave one, too.” Sage heads to a nearby flowerbed. He searches the soil until he locates a fallen petal. Returning to the goddess, he places the petal on her outstretched hands.

  “I thought you believed in the Buddha.”

  “I’ve found many of the Buddhist concepts… comforting,” Sage says. “But I’m pretty open religiously.”

  I want to ask about the comforting comment, but something makes me think he’s not ready to share more. “Open? How does that work?”

  “Remember the first day we met, when I said I’m an explorer? Well, that goes for religions, too.” He looks at the sky. “How can you know what you believe unless you explore each path?”

  “I don’t believe in anything,” I admit.

  “Makes sense. You’re a runner, after all.”

  Sage had me pegged from that first conversation. He pulls a blanket from his backpack and spreads it on the ground. He reaches in his pack again and grabs a brown paper bag.

  “We’re going to have a picnic?” My stomach rumbles. The bridge climb took so long, we totally missed lunch. By the position of the sun, I would guess it’s dinner time already.

  “I figured we’d be starving by now, so I grabbed some food.”

  “When?” I’m still not used to someone being so thoughtful.

  “While you were in the bathroom.” He unpacks the contents. Two different cream-colored mushy things, pita sandwiches, and more pita bread. “Hope you like Mediterranean.”

  I’ve always been more of a meat and potatoes girl. I examine the mush. “What is it?”

  “Hummus and baba ganoush.” He gestures to the sandwiches. “I got some falafel, too.”

  I take a piece of pita, which I recognize, but I can’t decide which mush is the safest one to try. “Your mom must be a health food nut.”

  “No, we ate pretty normal growing up.” He lowers my hand to the hummus. “Try this one.”

  I dip my bread so only the top corner is covered before tentatively tasting it. Not bad. Not great, but not bad. “If you weren’t raised vegetarian, how did you get into th
e healthy eating thing?”

  Sage stops mid-bite then awkwardly swallows. “Let’s just say, I had… motivation.”

  Motivation? What kind of answer is that? He’s in excellent shape. Maybe he was an athlete at some point. I know they can have odd eating habits. Or maybe it was more ethical-related motivation. I could totally see Sage being a card-carrying member of PETA.

  “What kind of—?”

  “This must be one of the prettiest views in all of Sydney.” Sage stares across the gardens at the view of the harbor and the Opera House.

  His attempt to change the subject isn’t lost on me, but having been there myself so many times, I’m not going to pry. “Definitely the best picnic view I’ve ever had. Is that why you chose the gardens?”

  He glances at the sky, which is just starting to take on the pink hues of dusk. “Nope, it was just an added bonus. Hurry up so we’re not late.”

  I finish my sandwich, which wasn’t nearly as bad as I feared, then help Sage pack all our trash back into the brown bag. He takes my hand without hesitation this time, consults his map, and leads me to the left.

  “Late for what?” Why all the mystery?

  “You’ll see.” Sage stops underneath a grove of trees.

  When I secluded myself in the dorms, I grew used to things being repetitive and predictable. Boring, but safe. Lately, I can’t anticipate what’s going to happen next. After arranging his blanket, Sage lies face-up and pats the empty space next to him.

  “What are we doing? It looks like you’re getting ready for a nap.” I sit on the blanket, but Sage guides me down until we lay shoulder-to-shoulder.

  Before I came to Australia, it had been six months since I lay next to a boy. Six lonely, lonely months. Not that the months before were much more bearable. Somehow, I’ve lain next to Sage twice since arriving.

  I’m aware of everything. How his arm grazes me, the warmth of his leg pressed against mine, his gentle breaths on my cheek. “Are you comfortable?” he asks.