I showered, then soaked in the Jacuzzi tub and managed to soothe many of the aches, but I couldn’t do anything about my practically obliterated, blister-covered feet. I’d probably have to keep my socks on at all times for the next few weeks so I wouldn’t gross Emilia out.

I crashed in the early evening and didn’t stir until midmorning the next day when Peter called and asked when we were going to breakfast. Food. That I didn’t have to pull out of a pack, reconstitute and cook over a propane-fueled hiking stove and choke down. Breakfast that wasn’t mushy, watery oatmeal.

Bacon, eggs, pancakes, toast, and more bacon. I still had the shaggy look going on, but I no longer reeked of Eau de Roadkill. I was clean and I really wanted to see Emilia. I’d missed her every day of the five weeks I’d been gone. She’d stayed overnight with her mom to give me a chance to catch up with my sleep, but she’d be moving into my room today. I couldn’t wait.

During the longest, loneliest and remotest stretches on the Pacific Crest Trail, I found a voice inside me so loud and persistent that I couldn’t drown it out—especially on days of complete solitude. I went days at a time without talking. I had hours stacked on hours to think about life, Emilia, everything.

I’d made that journey to try and discover things about myself, to think, to pull myself away from the dangers of an addictive lifestyle that threatened my health and happiness. But I found I didn’t love being locked inside my own head as much as I’d thought I would. I’d proved I could live without my addiction. Twenty-eight days of reprogramming in a rehab worked well for drug and alcohol addicts. What better way for a work addict like me to reprogram than by unplugging himself out beyond the reach of cell phone reception, Wi-Fi and the other modern trappings of technology?

Well, it was done. I felt satisfied and I relished the sense of accomplishment. I’d pulled myself away from creature comforts and gained a new appreciation for the things that were truly important. Or so I hoped. I’d also come up with a fantastic idea for a new game I wanted to work on—a private little project that I’d keep secret for now because…well, it was my style to reveal things in my own time frame.

Once I’d gotten over missing my Wi-Fi and cell phone, I’d spent a lot of time thinking about Emilia and this new entity, us. My feelings had only grown stronger during my time away. And that next day, as we toured the Yosemite Valley, visited the tallest waterfall in the United States, and marveled at wonders in sheer granite cliffs like El Capitan and Half Dome, I couldn’t keep my hands off of her. Off the curve of her hips, the small of her back, her waist, her hands.

I couldn’t stand next to her and not touch her. The five-years-ago me would be vomiting at the sight of current-me. And I found myself cherishing these little things that I never even thought about before—the way she’d turn her head toward me and lean into me whenever I touched her. The way she ran her thumb over mine when we held hands. The way she’d smile and give me a fake long-suffering sigh whenever I’d lean in to kiss her neck.

While we stood admiring the rainbows that the late afternoon light threw across the frothy water of Bridal Veil Falls, I took a moment to study her lovely face. She looked thoughtful, a million miles away.

I tightened my hold on her hand. “You all right?”

She jerked her head toward me, features lighting up immediately. “Yes. I’m happy you made it safely. I worried about you every night. Kept logging in to the maps program to check where your GPS marker had you located.”

It was the only bit of technology I’d taken with me—that she had insisted I take. The locator showed her on a map where I was at all times.

“Anything interesting happen while I was gone?”

“Hmm,” she said turning back to the falls, frowning. “I got rejected.”

I frowned. “For med school? What idiots rejected you?”

She threw a half shrug, trying to blow it off, but I could tell she was bothered. I brought her hand up to my lips to kiss it.

“Davis,” she said.

“Bah. You didn’t want them anyway. That commute would be murder.”

She laughed. “They weren’t my favorite choice, that’s true.” She gave another stiff shrug and a brief frown creased her brow again. She looked away, but I squeezed her hand again to get her attention.

“No, really…you okay?”

She looked down. “Nervous, I guess. First response being a no. It’s just…kind of like blowing the MCAT all over again. Wondering if Davis is just the first in a long line of nos.”