Ben
The sign readButtercup Lake Loop – Scenic Trail 4.5 mi, with a little sketch of wildflowers dancing around the lettering like they were proud of themselves. Someone had clearly painted it by hand. Maybe Fifi. Maybe her sister. Maybe a person who believed wildflowers could heal emotional trauma.
Had to be Fifi.
It was… a lot.
The air was warm but not hot. The sunlight filtered through the trees in long, dappled beams. Birds trilled in the background, and the path was soft underfoot and well-maintained, clearly cared for.
Sienna and Fifi hadn’t been lying.
Wildflowers wereeverywhere.
Soft pinks, yellows, and blues spilled out from the edge of the trail like nature had gone a little overboard in an Etsy moodboard. Lupines, daisies, something that might’ve been Indian paintbrush. I didn’t know the names. I just knew it waspretty.
If a person were into that.
I wasn’t.
Obviously.
I wasn’t walking this trail because it was scenic, charming, or cathartic. I wasn’t doing it for the fresh air or the exercise or the wildly soothing scent of blooming honeysuckle that kept catching on the breeze.
I was trying to obtain some semblance of calm since I arrived in the middle of nowhere.
I was doing it to get Fifi out of my head.
Which, of course, meant I thought about herevery stepof the way.
She would’ve loved this trail. She would’ve stopped every few feet to point out a flower or a weird-looking pinecone or a cloud shaped like a goat. She’d have told some story about Sienna falling into the lake or how their mom once got into an argument with a duck. She’d have talked until the trail looped back around, and it wouldn’t have felt like time had passed at all.
Instead, I had silence. Trees. Flowers. My own thoughts were bouncing around like a bunch of wired squirrels in a wind tunnel.
And still, it was… nice.
About a mile and a half in, the trail curved around a particularly thick grove of firs and opened into a clearing. There was a wide log bench nestled off the path, sun-warmed and weathered smooth by time.
And sitting on it, legs crossed, foot tapping like a ticking clock, wasFifi.
My steps slowed.
No.
No, that wasn’t…
But yes.
She looked up at the sound of my boots on the path. And when she saw me, her whole face lit up.
She stood.
Beamed.
“And here I thought you stood me up,” she said, mock offense in her tone.
I stopped walking, confusion tightening in my chest. “What?”
She cocked her head, smile faltering. “You know… for our hike.”
