Page 32 of Romantic

“That’s fine. I don’t talk about it. But I’m glad you know.”

“It was really tragic.” Pepper makes a sad face. She says this line all the time. She can’t really comprehend the tragedy of losing her mom when she was a baby. It’s hard to mourn someone you don’t remember. Still, she senses the loss, and about the only perk of being motherless is the opportunity to shock people. And now I get why Pepper does it so often. It felt good to throw my loss in Jack’s pretty face. I take a deep breath. I’m not going to let Jack ruin this hike. Annie looks at me, and I force I smile.

“Why are you smiling?” she asks a little suspiciously.

“Why wouldn’t I be? We’re hiking under redwood trees through waist-high ferns.”

“I do like ferns,” Annie says, touching a nearby frond as we walk.

“As I recall, they signify magic,” I say.

“You were listening to the stories I made up with Pepper on our hikes last year?”

“I’m always listening.”

“That’s embarrassing,” Annie says. “No wonder you think I’m never serious. I was just making those up as I went.”

“I liked your stories. They’re charming.”

“They were good stories,” says Pepper, skipping up to join us. “Remember the one about Princess Annabelle and the flying squirrel.”

“Of course I do,” says Annie.

“I want to hear one,” says Jack. “Annie tells the best stories. They’re almost as good as her poems. Have you read any of her poems?” I actually haven’t read any of Annie’s poems. I would like to. But she’s never offered to share them, and I’ve never asked. I don’t know why, but it seemed like too personal of a request.

“I haven’t been so fortunate,” I say.

“They’re absolutely brilliant,” Jack says with conviction.

“Oh, they’re not that good,” Annie says, blushing.

“You’re just being modest,” says Jack. “They’re amazing. And I majored in poetry.”

“Did you?” No wonder Annie fell for him so fast.

“I did. It didn’t really matter what I studied in undergrad since I knew I was going to get my MBA.” I just nod along, numbly. Jack Willoughby majored in poetry. I’m not sure I have a chance.

“So how about it, Annie?” Jack gives her a disarming smile. “Will you tell me one of your Princess Annabelle stories?”

“I can’t make them up on demand. I have to wait for inspiration.”

“What about telling an old one?” Jack insists as he takes her hand.

“Sorry,” says Annie. “I never tell the same story twice. They’re each unique and ephemeral.”

“Nothing gold can stay,” Jack says ruefully. I’m not sure why, but when he quotes Robert Frost, I find it pretentious—yet when Annie throws out lines of poetry, I think it’s cute.

***

When we reach the waterfall, Jack immediately leaves the trail, stepping on rocks to make his way across the shallow river. Green moss and ferns cling to the rock wall of the sheer cliff while several fluffy white falls plummet down. Ducking his head under the rushing water, Jack lets out a victorious whoop. Rising out of the water, he tosses his wet hair back like he’s in a skincare commercial. “Come on in, Annie!” She glances back at me as if she’s worried I’ll feel left out.

“Go ahead,” I say.

“Are you going in too?” she asks.

“I might.” I am a little warm from the climb, but something about Jack going under the waterfall makes me want to do the opposite.

“C’mon, Daddy.” Pepper reaches for my hand, and it’s decided. If Pepper’s going under the fall, so am I. Pepper and I make our way along the trail to the rushing water with Annie right behind us. I wish I knew what was going on in her head. She steals up beside us and takes Pepper’s hand so that, for a moment, the three of us are walking to the falls holding hands like a family. It means nothing; after all, she was just exchanging smiles with perfect Jack who majored in poetry. But for me, it’s not nothing. The three of us—Annie, Pepper, and me. Pepper can’t stop smiling. Her head swivels between us. This is what she wants. This is what I want.