"Good morning," he called, his voice warm in the early quiet. "You're ready. I'm impressed—Levi's never on time for anything."
"I've been up for hours," I admitted as he approached. "Couldn't sleep."
"Nervous?" He asked, a small knowing grin on his face.
"A little." There was no point in lying—he'd probably see through it anyway. "I haven't done anything like this in a long time. Hiking with someone, I mean. Or... any of it, really."
Garrett's expression softened, and he stopped a comfortable distance away, giving me space while still feeling present. "We can take it easy. The trail I picked isn't too strenuous—beautiful views, mostly shaded, with a nice spot for lunch at the top. If at any point you want to turn back, just say the word."
"I'm not worried about the hiking part." I shifted my pack on my shoulders, suddenly self-conscious. "The hiking part I can handle."
"I know." His smile was gentle, understanding. "The other part—the being-with-another-person part—that's what's scary. I get it, Daphne. I really do." He gestured toward his truck. "Ready when you are. No pressure, no expectations. Just a walk in the woods with hopefully some good conversation."
I took a breath, steadying myself, and nodded. "Let's go."
The drive to the trailhead took about twenty minutes, winding through increasingly rural roads that climbed gradually into the foothills. Garrett drove with easy confidence, one hand on the wheel, occasionally pointing out landmarks—a farm that sold the best honey in the county, a swimming hole he'ddiscovered as a teenager, the turnoff to a cabin his family had owned for generations.
"You grew up around here?" I asked, surprised. "I thought you moved from the city."
"We did, for work. But this area—it's home. Has been for generations, on both my side and Oliver's." He glanced at me, something warm in his eyes. "That's part of why we wanted to come back here. It felt like coming back to where we belonged."
"That must be nice. Having roots somewhere." I said, a flicker of sadness thinking about Margaret and Tom.
"You don't?" He asked, glancing at me from the corner of his eye before turning them back to the road.
I shook my head, watching the trees blur past my window. "I grew up all over. Foster care, mostly. Never stayed anywhere long enough to feel rooted." The admission came easier than I'd expected, the words slipping out without the usual defensive edge. "This cabin—the five years I've been there—that's the longest I've ever lived anywhere."
Garrett was quiet for a moment, and I appreciated that he didn't immediately fill the silence with platitudes or pity. When he spoke, his voice was thoughtful. "Then you’ve made your own roots. That's even more impressive, in a way. You didn't inherit a place to belong—you built one."
The observation landed somewhere tender, and I found myself blinking against unexpected moisture in my eyes. "I never thought of it that way."
"It's true, though." He turned onto a smaller road, gravel crunching beneath the tires. "The garden, the cabin, the life you've created—you did that from nothing. That is admirable.”
We pulled into a small parking area at the base of the trail—just a dirt lot with room for a few cars, empty this early on a weekday morning. The forest rose around us, tall pines and old oaks creating a canopy that filtered the morning light intodappled patterns on the ground. The air smelled different here—richer, greener, full of the secret life of growing things.
"This is beautiful," I breathed, climbing out of the truck and turning slowly to take it all in.
"Wait until you see the view from the top." Garrett grabbed a pack from the back seat—larger than mine, probably containing lunch—and slung it over his shoulders. "Ready?"
We set off down the trail, walking side by side where the path was wide enough, single file where it narrowed. Garrett set an easy pace, and I found myself relaxing into the rhythm of movement, the simple pleasure of putting one foot in front of the other. The forest was alive around us. Birds called from the canopy—I recognized the sharp cry of a blue jay, the melodic warble of something I couldn't identify. Squirrels chattered from branches overhead, and once, a deer startled from the underbrush and bounded away in graceful leaps, its white tail flashing.
"I love mornings like this," Garrett said as we climbed a gentle incline. "Before the world wakes up fully. When everything feels possible."
"Do you hike often?" I asked with curiosity in my voice.
"When I can. It's harder now, with the business and the renovation, but I try to get out at least once a week. Clears my head." He held back a branch so I could pass, the gesture automatic and thoughtful. "What about you? Do you ever explore the land around your property?"
"Some. There's a trail that follows the creek for a mile or so, and I know the woods well enough to forage. I don't usually go far." I ducked under a low-hanging branch, my boots finding purchase on the uneven ground. "I tell myself it's because I'm too busy with the garden, but honestly... I think I was afraid. Of going too far from safety."
"And now?" He asked, as he moved around another branch that was in the way of the walking path.
I considered the question as we walked, the trail winding steadily upward through increasingly rocky terrain. "Now I'm starting to think that safety isn't always where I thought it was. That maybe I've been hiding instead of living."
"That's a big realization." He gave me a grin, it was soft and warm making me smile back.
"Viola said something similar. She said I'd built a prison and called it protection." I laughed softly, shaking my head. "Everyone keeps holding up mirrors lately. It's uncomfortable but probably necessary."
"Growth usually is uncomfortable." Garrett's voice was matter-of-fact, not judgmental. "When I took over my family's construction business after my father stepped down from being the owner, I had to face a lot of things about myself I'd been avoiding. My tendency to take on too much, to think I had to do everything alone, to never ask for help because asking felt like weakness."
