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From Sarah Lynde’s first encounter with Garrett Stone in Mountains Climbed:
Garrett, on the other hand, was an enigma. First, she couldn’t quite figure out how old he was. Like her confusion when she originally met James, it was hard to discern if he just had a youthful appearance for someone in his early thirties or if he was an old soul exuding a commanding presence not usually seen in someone in his mid- to late twenties. He was dynamic, passionate, magnetic, and she still couldn’t figure out why people called him “Nav.” She loved to watch the way his tall, lithe body moved through his blocking and choreography, his limbs fluid and controlled as if he had an internal energy that would send him careening off the stage at any moment if not held in check.
The day after Thursday’s music practice, Sarah found herself humming “Some Enchanted Evening” as she hiked down the hill to the library to return some books. She glanced inside the cafe to the right as she entered the building and immediately caught sight of his trademark shock of red hair crowning a bent head, his soulful eyes absorbed in his laptop screen. He wore ear buds, and she could see his foot tapping presumably in time with the music he was listening to. He was dressed in dark jeans and heavy black boots even in the thick August heat, sleeves rolled up on a flannel shirt his only concession to the steamy weather.
Impulse took over Sarah’s planned route to the circulation desk. I’m going to talk to him, she decided. She had not felt comfortable approaching him on “his” turf at the theatre, but the library on her campus, where she was faculty, seemed like “her” turf.
God, I hope he’s not a student, she thought a moment too late, her arms still full of the books she planned to return. She had already reached him. Before she had time to reconsider, he glanced up, a smile of recognition spreading across his lips. He tugged the ear buds out and let them dangle around his neck as he peered at Sarah expectantly.
“Mind if I sit down?” Sarah asked, feeling bold.
He grinned and pulled the chair adjacent to the small sofa where he sat away from his boot-clad feet. Sarah laid her books on the table and extended her hand to introduce herself. “I’m Sarah Lynde. We’re in South Pacific together.”
Garrett chuckled. “I know. Nice to see you. You a student here?”
After being momentarily flattered, a dread consumed her: he’s probably a student since he assumed I was. If he’s an undergraduate, I’m going to be nauseated. It was getting more difficult to distinguish undergraduate and graduate students given the increasing numbers of non-traditional aged students. And possibly because I’m getting old, she self-deprecated. She felt her stomach churning as she explained, “No, actually, I’m faculty in the Sociology department.”
His eyes widened. “Wow, how cool is that?” He looked impressed. And pleased.
She stared, waiting for him to reciprocate and reveal his own role. Wow, it would be awesome if he was faculty too, she considered, noticing how green his eyes were for the first time. Or even a TA, as long as it’s not in my department.
“I’m a PhD student,” he said finally. “At Hopkins, though, not here. I come here to do research sometimes. Great library you have here!”
Whew, Sarah thought with happy relief. Doctoral student at Johns Hopkins. Now she was the one impressed. “What are you studying?”
“Political science. Heading into my second year and really liking it so far,” he replied. “How long have you taught here?”
“I’m starting my third year,” Sarah replied. “I really love it too, even though I’m very far from home.”
“Oh, yeah? As am I. Where are you from?” His legs were spread, and she noticed how long they were, how high off the floor his knees extended when he’d shifted his feet to accommodate her. She observed thick reddish-blonde hair on his forearms tufting out of the rolled flannel sleeves.
She’d studied him from afar for two weeks, and suddenly his features were in focus. Details she had not noticed from a distance were emerging: his prominent Adam’s apple, the stubble along his jawline, a mole on his neck under his left ear, the hint of a tattoo peeking out from his chest. But she felt the same things she felt when he was on stage: a draw, a gravitational pull toward him, as if he had harnessed the energy of the sun and condensed it into a solid core within his body.
“I’m originally from Colorado,” Sarah finally managed, realizing she had taken too long drinking him in.
He laughed as if he was amused by how distracted she was looking at him. “I’m from the West as well. Washington state, specifically,” he shared, his eyes locked onto her now. “Still trying to get used to the heat and humidity out here.”
“Yeah, I bet; it took me a while too,” Sarah agreed. “My brother lives in Seattle.” She shifted in her chair for a moment, waiting for inspiration to direct the conversation beyond the small talky stuff. Then her eyes lit up. “Oh, hey, I have to ask you, why do they call you ‘Nav’?”
He chuckled again, his focus shifting to a point in the distance and then back onto her. “I got that nickname when I was in college,” he admitted. “It’s short for ‘The Navigator.’”
Sarah’s eyebrow rose as her mind explored the ways in which one might acquire such a moniker. He seemed to be relishing her confusion as he watched her brain try to unravel the mystery. He placed a hand on hers on the armrest of the green fabric-covered chair. She felt his body heat sear into her flesh like a red-hot iron.
It’s been almost two months since I felt the touch of a man, she thought, trying to hide her surprise and swoony feeling with an awkward laugh. “So are you going to tell me how you got that nickname?” she asked, feigning a bit of impatience.
“My initials,” he said at last, moving his hand back onto his thigh. “GPS. Garrett Patrick Stone.”
Sarah laughed genuinely this time, a silvery laugh that sparkled around his ears. “That’s very creative.”
He leaned in very close to her and said in a deadpan whisper: “Well, I’m a very creative person, Dr. Lynde.”
