I do some quick calculations. One, there’s the out-of-my-comfort-zone promise I made myself. Two, I’m moving back to the East Coast this fall, and when I do, trips like this will no longer be in my backyard.

“I’m in, I guess.”

He nods tightly and turns away from me, and that’s the end of our conversation.

“That went well,” I murmur to myself.

I survey the group I’m going to be spending the next two days with. Three couples, a group of four women in a tight we’ve-known-each-other-forever circle, a family of five, three men who arrived together, and the three Wilders: Clark, one of his brothers, and his sister Amanda.

Amanda it is. She’s going to be my friend by the end of the weekend, whether she likes it or not.

“Load ’er up!” an authoritative voice commands. Clark. He stands to the side of the mini-bus, supervising the trip goers as we thrust backpacks and other belongings into the undercarriage hold. When it’s my turn, I fumble. The backpack straps catch on the edge, halting progress. I struggle unsuccessfully to work my pack free.

My face is turning red with effort and the embarrassment of holding up the line when Clark grabs my backpack like it weighs a quarter of what it does and shoves it into the bay. He’s wearing a thin base-layer shirt and a pair of hiking pants that look like they were made for him, and the sight of him bent over and working breaks my brain. I’m still gawping when he turns around. I have to close my mouth and wipe away the drool.

Not really, but it feels like it.

I board the little bus, find myself an empty seat halfway back, and stare out the window, trying to gather my courage. It’s not like I’m on one of the primitive survival adventures. This is the Gilderness Adventure—the glamping version of survival. And even though I’m way more at home helping brides find their perfect dress or spec-ing wedding favors, I’m not notably uncoordinated or bad at the outdoors.

Well. I do have a lot of trouble working a compass or reading a map, but the description for this trip assured us we wouldn’t be on our own with any of that stuff this time around.

I take a deep breath.

Being uncomfortable is kind of the point, isn’t it? If you’re outside your comfort zone, it’s not supposed to feel easy.

The bus pulls out of the Wilder Adventures parking area, behind a small Wilder-Adventures-branded van. Sadly, Amanda is on the van—a lost opportunity to start my make-friends campaign.