A Gentle Hiking Romance by Louann Carroll #romance #romance story #storybookromance

The trail had narrowed into a rough stone staircase, each step embedded in mud and not looking particularly steady. My thighs burned from the last uphill climb, and I wasn't relishing this one. My breath came in shallow gasps as I surveyed the flight of steps. Fortunately, I wasn't far from home, so I didn't have my backpack on, just a fanny pack with water and snacks.

Finally, a deep breath. I had to be careful with stairs because of a condition I have. I can get dizzy and faint. It isn't serious; I just have stubborn blood pressure that likes to stay low. I don't share this with just anyone, so asking for help was out of the question. As a result, the stairs presented a challenge. 

I started up and was almost at the landing when my boot caught an edge. My knee buckled, and I pitched forward, hands flailing, but momentum was winning.  

A gentle hand touched my back and the other my forearm, firm and warm, not grabbing but guiding. 

“Easy,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

I froze, every instinct screaming to yank away. Instead, I looked up.  He was a few years older than me or maybe younger. At this age it was hard to tell. His hair was damp with sweat, and he had steady blue eyes that met mine. There was no smirk, no appraisal, not flirtatious in any way. Just a quiet patience while I gathered myself together. 

"Thank you," I said surprised.  He didn't let go until I found my footing, but his hand rested just a half-second longer to make sure I was steady. Then he stepped back, giving me space I didn't ask for, but desperately needed. I brushed dirt from my pants with the palms of my hand. I didn't know what to say, so I said, "Thanks again." 

"No problem. These steps can be brutal if you are not used to them." He hesitated. "Do you mind if I walk you up? I won't crowd you, just in case." 

I should have said no. I always say no. Instead, I gave a short nod, even though blood rushed to my face and I questioned my sanity. One brutal relationship was enough to last an entire lifetime. I wasn't looking for another. 

We climbed in silence. He didn't pepper me with questions or try to charm me with compliments. He simply matched my pace, staying a step behind so I didn't feel cornered.  Once, when a loose stone skittered under my foot, his hand hovered near my elbow, ready but not touching until I glanced at him and gave the tiniest nod. Only then did he steady me.
At the top, the trail opened into a wide meadow. Wind moved through the grass like a sigh while flowers bent their heads in supplication. I stopped, breathing deeply, and realized my hands were no longer shaking. 

He came up beside me, keeping careful distance. “Nice view,” he said simply, looking out at the ridge instead of at me. 

That was nice. No direct staring, just a gentle glance now and again. I sensed that perhaps he was as nervous and I was. I took a chance and studied his profile. A receding hairline, a few sunspots, and glasses that sat on the bridge of his nose like John Lennon.  He was tall, well, taller than me and that's not saying much. He hadn't asked me my name, didn't turn and point his feet directly at me, but there was a shy smile that caught my heart on fire. 

​My throat tightened. I didn't understand it--this soft ache blooming in my chest. I'd spent years building walls, so high even kindness looked like a trap. Yet here was a stranger that hadn't touched me for more than a few seconds and somehow, those seconds ripped down every wall I had. My defenses had been breached, and I had no idea what to do next.

I swallowed. "I usually don't let people help me." A quick pause then silence. 

He turned his head just enough to meet my eyes. “I figured. You looked like someone who’d rather fall than owe anybody anything.”

The honesty landed like a stone. No pity. No judgment. Just recognition.

“I’m Eliza,” I said, surprising myself.

“Ben.” He offered a small, lopsided smile. “I’m just glad you didn’t go over the edge. Would’ve ruined my whole day.”

A laugh slipped out of me before I could catch it. 

We stood there a minute longer, wind tugging at my hair, sunlight warming the back of my neck.

Then Ben shifted his pack. “I’m heading left toward the overlook. You?”

“Same.”

He nodded once. “Then I’ll see you there. No rush.”

He started walking, not fast, not slow--just steady. I watched the space between his shoulders for a long moment, the way he moved like he belonged to the mountain instead of the other way around. 

I followed.

Not because I trusted him.

Not yet.

But because, for the first time in longer than I could remember, the idea of walking beside someone didn’t feel like surrender.

It felt like possibility.