Most of his climbs were Denali, but Easton was one of only a couple of guides in the state who would take clients up Mount Veil. And if he could, Easton always accepted the climbs for Mount Veil every time.

He loved that mountain. Tasha knew it too.

The coffee shop was a tiny place, constantly busy with only a few bistro tables and mismatched chairs to share between the customers. Usually Easton got his coffee and drank it in the park, but Tasha had either the luck to get the table in the corner or had bribed—or driven—someone to vacate their seat. Normally, he would have offered to buy her a coffee, because coffee generally turned into lunch, then dinner, then his place. This time, he bought his own coffee, only felt a little guilty about not offering to buy hers, and then sat down with her.

Tasha took a sip, eyes locked on him. “So you’re heading up the Old Man again. Are you excited? This is the second time this season, right?”

He nodded, remaining silent.

She knew fully well Easton had done a run at Mount Veil at the start of the summer, escorting a small group of hikers out of Anchorage up the mountain before taking a group up Denali at the end of May and then another in June. The Denali trek was three weeks long, and most guides didn’t take a second trip up there like Easton had. The Denali money was good, and no one had expected him to go for a fourth summit that summer.

Easton hadn’t planned on it either, but River Lane had a way of messing with his plans.

Tapping her fingernails against the handle of her coffee cup, Tasha pursed her lips. “Aren’t you worried you’re pushing it? That’s a lot of high-altitude climbing in one season.”

“I’ll manage.”

Tasha chuckled. “Short, succinct answers. I really got you on the piece, huh? It wasn’t personal, Easton. You know we’re always good.”

Even as she sat across from him, a table safely between them, Easton could see the way Tasha was fidgeting in her seat. She had two modes: a hundred miles an hour or sleeping. At one point, it had seemed cute. Now, he recognized it for what it was. She was ready to pounce.

He just didn’t know if it was the verbal pouncing or the other kind.

“I’m trying to keep myself out of more trouble,” Easton replied. “And the Old Man isn’t the tallest peak in the state. I’ll be fine.”

“Do you ever get tired of taking peak baggers up there? Because if this documentary is at all successful, you’re going to get overrun with groups wanting to add our mountain to their list of conquests. Isn’t part of being a hidden gem staying hidden?”