He remembers every word. I can hear a melody and replicate it easily enough, but Eric has never met a song whose lyrics he can’t remember. He throws out dramatic hand gestures like he’s on some imaginary stage, then grins sideways at me every time he nails a run like he’s hungry for my praise. I give it to him, of course, but when he gets too cocky, I sing along off-key on purpose and drag his pristine harmony into chaos.
“Admit it,” he says during a break between tracks. “This is better than your usual silence-and-contemplation commute.”
“It’s… certainly a lotlouderthan my usual drive.”
“Oh, stop it. You’ll have plenty of time to be contemplatively broody later.”
“Sincewhenam I the broody one?” I demand.
He smiles again, so widely his eyes crinkle at the corners. “We’re all terrible at self-assessment, D, but don’t worry. I’m here to keep you honest. No tall, dark, and mysterious on my watch.”
I snort. “No, your watch involves a private concert from someone who thinks he’s already famous.”
He clutches his chest. “Harsh. I’m wounded.Deeplywounded.”
“You’ll survive,” I tease, reaching over to jostle his knee. “Eyes on the road, superstar.”
He laughs and dials the volume down just enough for real conversation. Mid-week traffic is light, and soon the landscape shifts from strip malls to rolling green hills dotted with pines. Eric’s as excited as a puppy, bouncing in his seat and pointing out random landmarks like he’s seeing them for the first time.
We’ve both driven this route before, we’ve just never done ittogether, and that difference feels significant.
“Is this weird?” he asks after a quiet stretch.
“You’re going to have to bewaymore specific than that,” I say. “When you’re around, the answer is almost always a guaranteed yes.”
He swats my leg with a chuckle. “I dunno… everyone else was heading to the beach or the city to spend the week in a drunken haze, and we’re hiking at the lake.”
“And?”
He casts me a sideways glance. “I just… this felt more like us, even if it is a little different.”
Sunlight shifts across his profile, catching the golden strands of his hair, and the nervous way he bites his lip is so endearing it hurts my heart. “If it’s weird, it’s in a good way, I think. Do you really see us enjoying ourselves at some giant beach kegger?”
“No,” he agrees as he drums his fingers on the wheel. “Good weird, then.”
Another ache tears through my chest at his quiet affirmation. “Yeah, Eric. Good weird.”
We pull into the park entrance around midmorning. The air is cleaner than the city, laced with pine and the faint metallic tang of lake water. Eric parks near a trailhead that hugs the shoreline, where a wooden sign points toward the start of the five mile loop.
We grab water bottles, sunscreen, and the small daypack Eric claims holds our lunch, then start down the path. The ground is soft with pine needles, andsunlight casts dappling shadows through fresh green leaves. Mid-week keeps it quiet, and there are only a few others here. Bird-watchers and the occasional jogger, with long stretches of just us.
Eric is adorably excited when he spots a great blue heron in the shallows. He launches into a rambling explanation about their seasonal patterns and how it affects the ecosystem. His hands fly around as he tells me about a river island near his hometown that serves as a migration stop, then explains how his family would take an annual day trip to watch hundreds of them fly in at once.
“How did I not know this?” I ask, grinning.
“What, that you needed this fascinating heron intel?”
“No, that you watch nature documentaries like it’s a compulsion.”
He laughs, a little self-conscious, then shrugs. “Guilty. My mom used to put them on when I couldn’t sleep as a kid. Guess it stuck.”
“That’s actually kind of sweet,” I say, bumping his shoulder.
“I’m always sweet,” he argues.
I hum, unconvinced, and he laughs as he playfully shoves me away. My toe hits a root and I stumble, but he catches my hand and stabilizes me with a cheeky grin.
“That was the universe telling you to agree with me.”
