Page 27 of Fate Fiction

He ran a hand through his hair and stood back up. I only realized I had been staring when he flashed me a quick smile and said, “all set.”

My cheeks heated, I turned around and kept walking. We were hardly over a mile into the hike, and I was already scared to so much as look at him.

Around mile two, whistling permeated the quiet. A trilling chorus of mostly off-key notes.

I knew that song, but why? What was the connection? Evan was whistling whatever song it was on a loop, but each repetition of the cycle didn’t provide more clarity.

It was yet another anecdote that I could bring back to Andrea and Caroline when I got back to society, “I managed to get annoyed by Evan McLeod whistling for an hour.”

To the benefit of my knees, the trail was relatively flat, but long. With each mile deeper into the woods, we came across more brush that had been lying in wait since last summer.

I remained deep in thought, trying to place the song, thinking of new ways I could avoid Evan, when suddenly I almost walked straight into the trunk of a felled oak tree.

I skidded to a stop and Evan nearly collided into me.

“Shit, sorry,” I muttered.

Evan peered over my shoulder at the blockade and joined beside me. We both stood with our hands on our hips, assessing the obstacle.

We had two choices, either climb over it or slide under. The trunk was a hair too big for me to successfully climb over without a slight struggle, and slithering under seemed degrading.

I was looking for a way around it. One side the trail dropped off into a steep ravine, and the other was a pile of boulders. I tentatively lifted a leg, thinking I could defy physics and float over this.

Evan stepped in front of me and hopped over the trunk with ease—his height proving to be a significant advantage—then extended his hand out toward me.

I could swoon. I really wanted to.

His outstretched palm hovered in front of me, waiting for me to grasp it. I stared.

“Are you going to let me help you?” Evan asked.

I not-so-subtly wiped my heads on my pant legs and gripped his hand. His calluses brushed my palm and his fingers tightened their hold. I swung a leg up, hopping a few times to get leverage when—a hand clutched onto my waist. Five solid fingers dug into soft flesh. Evan gently guided me over the truck. I reluctantly grabbed it and he pulled me over the trunk, steadying my shoulders. “Thanks,” I said nervously.

I would not be a damsel in distress, despite having been put in the most damsel-in-distress position I’d ever been in. I brushed some debris off my leg and kept walking.

Something crept in. This very scene was achingly familiar. Because I had practically written it.

The Court of Doves was falling as the entire kingdom had. Marble chunks crashed to the ground, crumbling upon impact. Sir Erwyn held tightly onto Lady Premble’s hand, he could feel the sweat on her palms through the woven silk gloves. She was terrified, as was he. Their escape was near. Suddenly, a pillar fell in front of them, blocking their path with a horrifying crash. They had to move quickly. Sir Erwyn needed to think, his thoughts were punctuated with the sound of falling stone. Time was swiftly running out. The bridge would only hold so long. He acted. He climbed over the pillar and reached his arms out to her. Damn being proper, he needed to save her. Two gloved hands landed in his, and he pulled.

My fic had ended with a kiss once she returned to the other side. In the real world, we continued to walk in silence. Until the whistling picked back up.

Without turning back I mused, “what song is that?”

The footfalls behind me suddenly stopped.

“Just a little ditty, I didn’t even realize I was doing it,” He sputtered out.

Now I needed to mentally place it. I couldn’t match lyrics to the tune or assign it to a commercial jingle. It didn’t matter now, anyways, he stopped entirely.

“You can keep it up, I didn’t mind the break from the quiet.”

Truthfully, I very much did mind it. In fact, the song was scratching away at my insides, but I couldn’t tell Evan McLeod that his whistling was driving me mad.

“We can also talk, you know,” he replied with a bit of snark.

“I didn’t want to disrupt your quest for solitude and anonymity.”

As rude as I sounded, I truly, genuinely believed it. If I were to keep my distance I would solidly plant myself as nothing more than a non-playable character in this game.