He's looking at me and I'm looking at him and the four hours of trail are sitting between us like a thing with weight. His camera bag strap cuts across his chest and I am having thoughts about that chest that are not appropriate for a public street corner and I look at his face instead, which is not significantly safer.
"I should get back," I say. I don't move.
"Yeah," he says. He doesn't move either.
The afternoon light is long and warm on the street behind him and he's so close I could close the distance in one step and I am genuinely considering it, which is not something I've considered about anyone in two years. My whole body is leaning toward him in a way that has nothing to do with conscious decision-making.
He looks at my mouth.
It's brief. A second, maybe less. Then his eyes are back on mine and his expression has gone very still in the way that means he's working something out, and I know what he's working out because I'm working out the same thing.
The moment stretches.
Then a truck rolls past on Main Street and we both come back to ourselves, a small recalibration, half a step between us that wasn't there before.
"Tomorrow's trail might be good," he says. His voice is even but there's something in it that wasn't there at the start of the morning. "If you want."
I want to say:I want a lot of things right now, the trail is not at the top of the list.I don't say that.
"What time?" I say instead.
"Six."
"I'll be there."
He nods and holds my gaze for one beat longer than necessary. Then he turns and walks away up the street, camera bag over his shoulder, unhurried as always.
I stand at the corner and watch him go and do not pretend I'm not watching.
four
Shaw
Wemeetontimeand get right into the hike. We don’t speak much, but the silence is comfortable. Just being with her feels right.
An hour up, I take the fork toward the upper viewpoint. I've brought two people here in my life. Neither of them said the right thing.
She doesn't say anything when we get there. Walks to the edge of the outcrop and stands with her hands loose at her sides and looks at the whole valley spread below, the river catching morning light, the town small in its ring of mountains, and she's quiet in the way of someone for whom this is enough.
We sit on the rocks. She brought coffee. I have food. We eat and look at the valley and the silence between us is the same quality of silence I have up here alone. I didn't know that was possible with another person in it.
After a while, she asks: "Do you ever get lonely up here?"
I think about the real answer. She's given me that habit. "I thought I didn't," I say. "I think I've been confusing lonely with something else."
She doesn't push, just sips coffee from her Thermos.
"I chose this," I say after a beat. "The ridge, the work, all of it. Right choice. I just stopped questioning it at some point. Stopped checking if it still fit."
She looks at the valley. "I know that feeling."
On the way back down, Lara lets out a breath and wipes sweat from her face. “Any chance there’s a good swimming spot around here?”In hindsight, I missed the tone of her voice.
I stop walking. The question is simple. The pause I take isn't.
There's a bend in the river above town where the water pools deep and slow in the summer light. I've gone there alone for years. Never taken anyone.
The river is cold and green, and the afternoon light comes low through the cottonwoods, turning the water gold near the surface. The sound of it fills everything. We're the only ones here.
