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My mouth drops open. Is he... flirting with me?
Friends don’t stare like they want to devour each other.
Before I can respond, he’s parking next to an old red Subaru, the only other car in the lot.
We stretch for a couple minutes, and then I follow him up a set of stone steps, following the signs to the trail.
The breeze tickles the trees rustling the leaves over our heads. Birds chirp in the distance, their calls increasing in volume as we head up the path.
It’s too narrow for us to walk side by side, but Atticus keeps the pace slow and steady, and the silence is comfortable. Every now and again, I catch a whiff of his deodorant, mixed with sunscreen, pine, and fresh air.
I jump over a large rock in the center of the path. “How far are we going?”
“Just a few miles. Here.” He crouches down, pulling a leaf from a spindly, white-flowered plant and crushing it with his fingers. He sniffs it, then hands it to me.
Our fingers brush, and I do my best to subdue the rush of yearning incited by the small movement.
Friends.
I take a small taste and then my gaze flies to his in surprise. “Garlicky.”
“It’s garlic mustard.” He stands, wiping his hands on his pants, and grins at me. “Come on, there’s more.”
I follow and he stops occasionally to show me various edible plants. His eyes are bright, his face animated, and his enthusiasm is palpable.
He loves this.
I love that I get to experience it with him.
He plucks some bright green leaves from the forest floor that look like clover and hands me a pinch. “Wood sorrel.”
I pop a small leaf in my mouth. “Sort of lemony.”
“It’s good in salads.”
When we’re hiking up the trail again, I ask, “So, what do I do if I’m lost in the woods and you aren’t around? How can I tell if something is poisonous?”
“There is a universal edibility test. In general, though, you want to stay away from plants with milky sap, fine hairs, or shiny, waxy leaves. Green and white berries are usually signs of an inedible plant.” He holds back an overgrown branch for me to pass through ahead of him. “If you still aren’t sure,” he continues, “you can do a skin contact test. Rub it against the inside of your elbow, or your lips. If there’s no burning, put it in your mouth and then spit it out.”
“Huh.” I twist my head to look at him over my shoulder. “Spitting isn’t something most guys have recommended to me.”
He stops walking, throws back his head, and laughs, the sound echoing around us.
I turn around fully to take him in.
He’s gorgeous like this. Surrounded by greenery, happy, smiling at me with warm eyes. “Now I see where Jake gets it from.”
I bite my lip. “You love my sick sense of humor.”
“You know, heaven help me, but I do.” He searches my face, his smile dropping. His head dips and he clears his throat. “We only have another hour or so.”
Right.
Friends. The most annoying word ever invented.
I motion for him to lead the way. “So what made you get interested in hiking and eating plants and all this?”
“I used to hike a lot with my dad. He was really into foraging. He loved mushroom hunting.” His tone turns wistful. “He started taking me with him when I was around seven.”
