My chest tightens, and I look away first.
I’m not used to anyone being interested in me. I’ve locked people out. Who wants to look at a freak like me?
At the end of the street, she turns slowly, capturing one last sweeping shot.
The sun catches her hair, her dress, and the tiny dust motes floating in the air.
I stand there quietly, analyzing every detail of her, memorizing the freckles that dance across her nose, the way her eyes crinkle when she smiles, and how they reflect the natural light, honey and amber swirling in the vast blue.
She’s everything I could have ever dreamed of, but she isn’t mine to want.
“Thanks for bringing me,” she says, slipping the camera down into her purse.
I nod, my hands buried in my pockets, grounding myself. “Yeah.”
The truth settles in anyway, watching her discover Ruby Ridge feels a lot like watching her find a place in my life.
She keeps drifting farther from me, rummaging in her bag before pulling her camera out again, capturing chipped fences and tall grass brushing the pavement’s edge.
“This feels like a secret,” she says, half to herself.
“It kind of is,” I tell her. “Not many people walk this way.”
She hums, pleased, as she scans the horizon.
Suddenly, she stops so abruptly that I almost bump into her again.
“Oh.”
I follow her gaze, and it lands just beyond the road, past a low wooden fence.
There’s a patch of land that never developed. I’ve driven by it a hundred times without a second thought.
Right now, sunflowers bloom. Just a scattered burst of them, their faces tipped toward the sun.
She makes a soft, breathless sound.
“Reed,” she whispers.
Before I can answer, she grabs my hand.
Not my sleeve, not my wrist. My hand. My fucking hand.
Reed, relax, she’s just a friend, this means nothing.
Her fingers curl around mine, and then she pulls me, actually pulls me, off the road and toward the fence.
“Wait, Layla—” I start, but she’s already laughing and tugging me forward.
“Come on!” she says, breathless. “Please, please, please.”
We run awkwardly at first, then we find our footing, my boots thudding on the dirt, her laugh ringing out.
I vault the fence half a second after she does, landing hard and still holding her hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
She doesn’t let go as she drags me into the middle of the sunflowers, spinning once, then twice, her hair catching the light, laughter spilling from her as if she can’t contain it.
“Oh my god,” she says, breathless. “This is—this is perfect!”
