Read Waking Up to Love for Free Online Page B

beautiful his home was. Other times—times like these—he knew exactly how beautiful it was. He took special care to notice the dramatic rock formations, the light blue sky, and the clusters of ducks watching him curiously. This land was a paradise, and if he just appreciated it long enough, he would stop thinking about Ramona.
    Scott’s muscular body was crouched like a warrior on the makeshift dock his crew had made last week. Under the dock, the river itself rushed and churned. As always, the rest of his crew was by his side: new guy Miguel, ex-surfer dude Terry, and retired Navy vet Quinn.
    “Hey, bro,” Terry said to no one in particular. “Hand me a pocketknife, ’kay? This branch is too long.”
    All four men worked tirelessly over piles of donated Christmas trees, some plastic pipe, and coils of twine. As the only BLM crew in the Farber City area, their territory included most of the desert terrain outside the city, two small lakes in the mountains, and a three-and-a-half-mile stretch of the Colorado River. Dealing with the river was especially tricky. Every year, they had to construct fish habitats to boost local populations of trout, whitefish, and bonytail for the upcoming fishing season.
    The project started six years ago, when the habitats were made entirely of tubes and pipes. They looked great, but the fish ignored them. That was when Scott had the idea to make the habitats partially from plant matter. He had some old Christmas trees out back, and he thought they’d be put to good use. The fish went nuts. Farber had its best fishing season in years. Who knew that the bonytail’s favorite food was old Christmas tree branches?
    This year, Scott and his crew had the project down to a science. They each spent an hour piecing the pipes together and wrapping branches around the edges. Then, once Scott checked everyone’s handiwork, they sank their new creations to the bottom of the Colorado, clustering them in strategic checkpoints where the targeted fish were known to spawn.
    It sounded simple enough—and it was certainly easier than relocating endangered tortoises or trekking through the desert in cooperation with border patrol—but it was still hard work. Quinn had already sweated through his shirt. Everyone else had opted to go shirtless and let their muscled torsos bronze in the sun.
    Scott bound more branches together. Three branches down, two more to go. Then he’d be able to chuck this one into the water.
    In his head, Scott replayed the events of yesterday. The car ride. The housework. The hug that was more than a hug. It was the first time he and Ramona had been together, just the two of them, in a long time—definitely since the wedding three months ago. There were some phone calls here and there, and a few overlapping visits to the hospital, but nothing like yesterday. They’d laughed together. They’d joked together. He’d even managed to distract her from her motion sickness, though she probably didn’t realize he’d noticed. Whatever wall they had built between each other three months ago was officially starting to crumble. It was just ironic that he finally got his old friend back as soon as she started pretending to be somebody else.
    But then there was the moment at the house, when she had steadied his shoulders and comforted him. In that moment, he’d needed her. But it was more than just friendship that he needed.
    No, it felt intimate. Not like Scott hugging his book-reading, water balloon-throwing next-door neighbor. Ramona was still those things, but yesterday was the first time she’d felt like more than just the neighbor girl. And that was why he told her she could go home. He couldn’t handle the confusion. At the time, it felt like the right thing to do. Now, he wasn’t so sure.
    Because now, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get her out of his head.
    If he hadn’t been thinking so hard, he would’ve noticed earlier that Miguel had used the wrong knot to