Warner chuckles, reaching over to give my knee an affectionate squeeze. “Plenty. We can climb as many mountains as you want. Especially if I get to hike behind you.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I love the view.” He draws his hand further up my thigh before giving another squeeze.

I snort and bat his hand away. “I’m driving! You’re going to make us run off the road.”

He leans back against his door, laughing.

Warner is tearing into his third granola bar when things go wrong.

The car sputters and shakes and stalls out. The engine goes quiet. Luckily, the brakes don’t fail. I slow us down, coasting to the side of the road until I can bring us to a full stop.

“Did you run out of gas?” he asks, leaning over to study the dashboard.

“No! I still have half a tank.”

I reach past the steering wheel to tap the display. Only the second I make contact, the gas needle quivers and drops to land on the E.

“Fuck.” My forehead hits the steering wheel. “This truck keeps finding new ways to screw me over.”

“It’s okay, Zoey.” A warm, comforting hand cradles the back of my neck. “We’re maybe forty-five minutes from town. I’ll just call …”

His trailing off has me turning my head, and I catch Warner frowning at his phone.

“You don’t have any service here, do you?”

His grimace is all the response I need.

I reach for my own phone, and my half hope is quickly dashed. No bars for me either.

“Okay. New plan,” Warner says. “You chill out here, and I’ll jog down the road till I get service or find a gas station. We passed at least one on our way out.”

“See, I like that plan, except for the part where I’m required to sit in a truck alone on the side of the road with no cell service for who knows how long. Plus, look at you.” I gesture at his body.

Warner glances down at himself, brow wrinkling in confusion.

I reach over to pluck at his dark shirt. “Walking on the side of the road, dressed like this, you’re practically begging to get hit by a car. Meanwhile, I”—my hands wave at the colorful leggings I chose to wear on our hike—“could easily act as a traffic cone. We’ll both go.”

He sighs, but his lips curl into a reluctant smile. “Fine. We’ll both go.”

We’re maybe five minutes into the walk when I remember why I was so happy to get back to the truck. My feet protest each step, demanding I elevate and ice them rather than continue using them to move myself forward. And then my muscles remind me that I spent half the day climbing a motherfucking mountain.