For the past hour, I've been thinking about how the hell me and Nova are going to pull this off. We barely know anything about each other, and the little things we do know mean absolutely nothing. I don't even know how old she is. Guessing her age is out of the picture because I'm shit at it – there are days where I think she could be twenty-seven and days where she could be twenty. I don't know her favourite colour, food, or hobby. I have limited knowledge of her family, minus her older brother Jordan. But I only know that because I was in a shitty mood and decided to answer her phone for her. I got a lengthy lecture about personal space after that call was over.

Nova Elliot is something else, that's for sure.

The strained silence between us has been prodding at my nerves since the drive began. I need information so I don't step into this act blind and have everything blow up in my face. I just don't know how to bring it up.

Fuck, if I'd known a fake relationship was going to be this hard, I would have concocted a different lie. Maybe something like –

"Warren?"

I blink, and then quickly glance at Nova. If I weren't driving, I'd be gaping at her. I must be hearing things. She's rarely the one to ignite a conversation between us. From the small glance, I can see that she's solely focused on me and it causes my grip on the steering wheel to tighten. I guess that's the kind of shit that happens when you have the hottest girl on campus crammed into a vehicle with you, though.

Speaking of Nova...I've got a sin I really need to confess: I'm attracted to her. She may have walls up to protect herself, but there have been several times where her façade has slipped. It's the way her eyes sometimes soften, offering a true glimpse of what she's really like beneath. She's grown on me, and I think I'm starting to grow on her. Through our irrelevant arguments and constant glares and lame-ass small talk, there's something between us. I believe it's attraction.

Sometimes, it's as if we enjoy the bickering, as if don't want it to stop. As if we can't get enough of each other. We've sneered, chirped, and poked each other since the day we met. And, beneath all that negativity, lies attraction.

Attraction neither of us wants to fully acknowledge.

I think Nova is secretly attracted to me – even if she'll never admit it. And I think I'm attracted to her.

It's a dysfunctional theory that would probably go up in flames, but it's the best I can come up with.

"Yeah?" I ask, my voice sounding dry.

"Have you ever been to Fundy National Park?"

I think back to when I lived in the Maritimes. Travelling with the high school volleyball team caused me to bounce around the area and visit some landmarks when we had spare time, but I never made it to Fundy National Park. I saw the Hopewell Rocks; visited Masstown Market; saw several lighthouses; swam in the Atlantic Ocean. I've heard many good things about the park, though, and have wanted to visit it for as long as I can remember.

"No," I reply, merging into the passing lane. The truck ahead of us is obviously filled with tourists that are not concerned about how their turtle-pace driving is affecting others. "Never made it there. Why?"

"Could we, um, go see it?"

I almost slam on the brakes. I almost burst out laughing. Nova Elliot wanting to go and act like a tourist? Have the aliens landed? I never thought I'd see the day. It's so out of character for her because she's always so...scheduled. We never discussed veering away from the original plan and she never mentioned wanting to visit places. Not to mention the fact that she also sounds somewhat nervous. Since when does Nova use "um" in a sentence? Her sentences are usually structured like an essay: precise and sensible.

"Hazel didn't say anything about us having to be there before Canada Day," she continues. "And I know you're displeased with the wedding being the main focus. So, what if we...postponed the arrival until Canada Day? It would subtract three days from the amount of time we already have to spend there. Look at my plan as a vacation in some way – we can do whatever we please until them. It would also minimize the amount of time we have to spend together as a fake couple."

Ah, there's the Nova I know – always laying out the facts to support her argument, which, if I do say so myself, sounds appealing. Her choice of words makes me chuckle. Postponed. I think the correct term is "avoiding" or "dodging."

Yesterday was a long day that involved too much sitting around and not enough energy release. Driving directly to the house would have the same effects. At least stopping at different locations would allow me to stretch out my legs and breathe in some fresh ocean air. There's no way Hazel would justify against this decision, either. In fact, she'd probably encourage the bonding time between me and Nova.

Focused on the road ahead of us, I see the turnoff to the park. I shrug, looking at Nova. "What the hell? Let's do it."

A small smile, one that looks slightly sad, spreads across her lips as I shift into the turnoff lane. As we drive, the trees become denser, providing a shaded canopy over the road. It becomes so shaded that I have to remove my sunglasses. We pass trailhead after trailhead, and I slow down each time to ask Nova if this is where she wants to stop. All she does is shake her head and tell me to keep going, adding in that she'll let me know when it's time to stop.

The road twists and turns for most of the drive, so when we come to a straight stretch, I use the given moment as an opportunity to look at Nova. She's focused on her iPhone, scrolling through something. It's an odd scene to observe – she's usually studying or reading a book. I want to crack a joke, but I bite my tongue. God knows how she'll react if I try to make her laugh.

Five more minutes pass before she says, "Turn right."

For the first time in my life, I listen to her and turn right, following the signs to the parking lot. Soon, we're at the trailhead of Dickson Falls. I silently snicker at the name. There are so many inappropriate jokes I could make with Easton and Sven if they were here.

I park in front of the information panel and kill the engine. Nova practically hurdles herself out of the vehicle. Glancing over my shoulder, I watch her open the back of the vehicle and rummage through our luggage until she finds her backpack. She dumps the contents out, reloading it with a pen, two bottles of water, some protein bars, and mosquito repellent. She slips her iPhone into the pocket of her leather jacket and then slams the trunk lid closed.

My frown deepens.

Is Nova...excited about something?

Unbuckling my seatbelt, I get out and lock the vehicle. Nova is already at the information panel by the time I'm finished, filling her brain up with what I would call pointless information. Who cares about the history of the trail and all that shit? I don't say a word, though. I'm worried that I might piss Nova off and end up having to drive to Halifax on the double.

After she's completed her reading session, Nova starts heading for the trailhead without a glance at me. I roll my eyes. I want her here about as much as she wants me here. Hiking is something I've loved to do since I was a kid, but I prefer to do it alone and under my own time limit. Knowing Nova, she's probably got a time limit set, water breaks and all pencilled in.

I follow her along the dirt trail, and the scenery instantly changes. The canopy of the Acadian forest is thick, blocking out most of the hot sun and cooling down the temperature by about ten degrees, which is nice. Summer heat is great unless you're hiking.

As we walk, the trail dips down into the valley and leads us to a boardwalk and lots of stairs. The wood is damp and covered in moss, much like the scenery. I look over the railing and gaze out in what I guess you could call awe. The area around us is stunning, with its vibrant green and rainforest-like theme; moss covering every crack; a swift brook winding around large roots of the tall trees. The terrain around the boardwalk is ragged and uneven, strewn with knotted roots and slippery rocks. I take a deep breath – the air smells musky with a hint of summer and salt water.

While Vancouver has its own natural beauty, it just can't compare to the Maritimes. I can remember why I loved living here.

In the distance, I can hear the sound of rushing water. We must be getting close to the waterfall. It's been a good fifteen minutes since we started hiking. In that time, neither of us have said a word. I think now is the time to start asking questions so I can get to know Nova a little better – she seems calm enough.

I'm just opening my mouth, tearing my gaze away from the forest, when I bump against her.

The contact doesn't seem to bother her, but it bothers me. Not because I almost stumble and fall. No – it bothers me because I reach out and grab her shoulder to steady myself. She's taken off her leather jacket and stuffed it into the backpack, leaving the skin of her shoulder exposed. When my hand makes contact with her skin, I feel this sudden jolt of electricity.

As soon as I've regained my balance, I tear my hand away and convince myself that it's just my body reacting to her. Nova's hot and I'm attracted to her. It's as simple as addition. There is no way I'm attracted to Nova in a way stronger than lust.

It also pisses me off a little that she doesn't react. All she's doing it looking at the screen of her goddamned phone.

"What the hell are you doing?" I ask, watching her tap away.

She ignores me and heads for the railing. I watch in utter disbelief as she climbs over. Just like altering our plans, breaking the rules is a shocker.

It's interesting.

So I follow her, curious to know what exactly she's doing.

We don't walk too far away from the boardwalk, maybe about five feet or so, and when Nova stops, so do I. I watch intently, head cocked to the side and arms across my chest, as she navigates her way around the thick trunk of a tree. She's clearly searching for something, but I'm not sure what.

After two more minutes, I'm ready to call her a lunatic and turn around. But, when I see her reach into a small hole beneath one of the knots and pull out a small container that's been decorated with camouflage duct tape, I bite my tongue.

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise and I can't stop myself from walking over to see what is inside this mysterious container.

"What is that?" I ask.

"Have you never heard of geocaching before?" she asks, looking dumbfounded.

"What the fuck is geocaching?"

"Geocaching is defined, on Google, as the recreational activity of hunting for and finding a hidden object by means of GPS coordinates posted on a website," she replies as she opens the box and pulls out a small, weather-worn notebook. "There are millions all over the world." She pauses and holds the container out to me. "Can you hold this for a second?"

I take it from her and look inside. There are several cheap items you would normally find at a dollar store – stupid erasers, stickers, small dinosaur figurines, and some keychains. I pull out one of the keychains. It's in the shape of a lighthouse, coloured silver, red, and white.

"What do you do with these geocaches?" I ask, looking at Nova.

"They come in different sizes," she replies as she writes something down in the notebook. "Some being micro – barely bigger than my pinkie finger – and some being large – the size of a paint can. If they're big enough, they're usually filled with trinkets. You're allowed to take one from it so long as you have something to replace it with. You also write your name and date in the notebook left behind. Typically, I only write my name and the date down, and avoid taking anything." She glances at me. "You also have to be sneaky because some of the Muggles that are around when you're hiking don't like the idea of plastic being hidden in the forest."

With my free hand, I rub my jaw. Out of all the time I've spent with her, that's the most she's ever said to me in one breath. It's nerve-wracking, but I have to admit, I kind of like it. This is a prime example of what she's like when her walls are inactivated. I think she'd be a much easier person to get along with if she relaxed more often.

"Wait," I say, "did you just use a Harry Potter term?"

"Yes," she shrugs. "That's what we call people who don't know about the geocaching world."

"So," I say, biting back a smile. "Now that I know about geocaching, am I still considered a Muggle?"

She narrows her eyes at me. "I guess we'll have to decide that at the end of the day. Let's see how many you can find, Ashford."

* * *

The Dickson Falls trail is only 1.6 kilometres, which should take less than an hour to do, but three hours have passed by the time Nova and I make it to the falls.

After she subtly challenged me, I asked her to download the app she uses onto my phone and sign into her account. The account part took some convincing, but she eventually gave in. I made the point of suggesting that if I ever went to, for example, Toronto and found a geocache, she would be able to take credit for it. I also took the keychain to mark my first encounter. Breaking the rules is kind of my thing.

The number of geocaches in Fundy National Park surpasses one-hundred. I didn't think such an activity would be something I'd get hooked on, but I like it a lot. You get a rush of adrenaline when you find the geocache.

We're now sitting on a large rock, sharing one of the protein bars Nova grabbed, as we stare at the waterfall. It's a fair-sized waterfall, sharing the same mossy theme as the rest of our surroundings.

"How did you come across geocaching? I ask.

The brightness in Nova's eyes fades into something that reminds me of grief. And, just like that, her walls are back, standing as tall and strong as ever.

"It was just something I liked to do when I was little," she says quietly, running her fingers over the rock surface. "I took a break from it for a while and I didn't realize how much I missed it."

I want to press for more information, but I don't. If there's one thing I've learned about Nova it's that her mood can swing easily. If talking about the origination of her liking for geocaching is a thin line, then I'm not going to walk on it.

When the protein bar is gone and our legs are burning from the number of stairs we've ascended, we're both sitting in the SUV trying to decide where we're going to stay. We're currently in Alma, meaning we're half an hour away from the Hopewell Rocks I told her about as we walked back. She wants to see them, but not today.

So, because we're both still recovering from burning muscles and a rough sleep, we decide it's probably best if we find a place to stay in Alma, and then continue on tomorrow.

During the drive to the hotel Nova reserved for us, I can't help but grin to myself. The whole time we were hiking and searching the forest high and low for plastic boxes, we didn't quarrel.

If that's not a step toward something believable, then I don't know what is.