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The deer delicately steps into the clearing, her ears pricked and alert. The sun filters through the forest canopy in dappled patches, highlighting her soft, tawny hide. She moves with a graceful elegance that is both captivating and enchanting, every step measured and deliberate. She reminds me of Mariah in a way, her dark eyes holding a sense of wary curiosity as she surveys her surroundings. The fawn, with its white-spotted coat, frolics around its mother, playfully prancing in the sprinkling of sunlight without a care in the world.
"And right on time too," I joke, checking my watch. "This day is all going perfectly to plan."
She chuckles, resting her chin in the palm of her hand as she watches the scene outside. "As wonderful as you are, cowboy. I don't believe for a second you planned for us to see a doe and her fawn."
"Why, Mariah, are you doubting the lengths I'd go to impress you?" I say, pressing my hand to my chest in mock offense. "Maybe I've befriended all the wild creatures around here. Wait and see, maybe next a bear will come by to say hello."
"I'll believe that when I see it." She laughs, picking up her burger and taking another bite.
Just as the words leave her mouth, the shrubs move near the edge of the forest, and the doe, sensing danger, quickly turns to guide her fawn out of sight. I squint my eyes toward the rustling leaves, hardly able to believe what I'm seeing when emerging from the green is a bear. A big, black bear.I can't believe it.
"What the actual fuck, Clark!"
"Quiet!" I hiss, stifling laughter and shock that this has even happened. "I wouldn't want to offend my friend. Do you know how hard it is to train a bear to show up at a specific place and time?"
Mariah nearly chokes on her burger, staring at me with wide eyes. "You're insane," she whispers, the bun of her sandwich dropping onto her plate with a soft ‘plop’.
"I've been called worse." I chuckle, keeping my eyes on the bear as it slowly ambles back into the thick of the trees.
"Just...don't train any cougars or wolves to pass by next, OK?" Mariah teases, eyeing the forest dramatically.
"As you wish," I sigh, dramatically throwing a hand up in surrender. "But you're ruining my well-laid plans. Guess we could move onto the next thing a little early."
"And what might that be?" Mariah asks, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.
"Can't just outright tell you. That would ruin the mystery." I smirk and offer her my hand. "You'll have to wait and see."
Bellies full and hearts even more so, we hop on the motorcycle for the ride down through the wooded hills back to Oakwood Falls. At Star Custom Bikes, we return the Harley toHarper, who tries not to inspect the bike for damage in front of us, but can't help but have a little look.
"I promise you it's pristine," I say.
"Thanks for taking good care of her," Harper says before Mariah and I head back to my truck.
"One more stop left," I say as I help her into the front seat, eager excitement buzzing beneath my skin because I know this next part is something she'll really love.
"You're spoiling me, Clark. How am I ever going to have a normal date when you've planned an entire day?"
"Oh, darlin'. I don't think you're gettin' it. That's precisely the point."
The bike shop is on the outskirts of Oakwood Falls, right on the border before the land transitions into Cedarwood Valley. While Cedarwood is all farmland and ranches, Oakwood by comparison—while still a small town—is like a thriving metropolis. One of my favorite places to visit in town is their music hall, Alto's. It's run by one of the founding members of the uber-famous rock bandCrash, Rewind. So we get some amazing artists who wouldn't normally visit a tiny place like this, playing intimate shows that are just amazing.
When I park outside the old, restored building, surrounded by cars and glowing with neon lights. Mariah glances at the rustic facade and gasps.
"Alto's? I've heard of this place! My favorite indie bands have played here." She turns to me, eyes shining. "This is really cool, Clark."
I grin. "Cooler than forest animals showing up on cue?"
"Maybe," she responds, her voice filled with playful skepticism. "But I'll have to see what's inside before I make that call."
As we walk hand-in-hand toward the entrance, the vibrant sounds of live music reach us. It's a local folk singer whohas some serious talent, the melancholic strums of his guitar weaving seamlessly with his raw, gritty voice. A few patrons at the bar are tapping their fingers in rhythm with the music, others completely engrossed in conversations with their companions over pints of beer, and a few like us just standing at the entrance, soaking in the atmosphere. The scent of aged wood and spilled liquor mingles with the faint waft of wings from the kitchen out back.
“Enjoy the show,” says a burly, tattooed man at the entrance as he stamps our hands. I steer Mariah toward a small table near the stage, where we order some drinks. As the waitress leaves us, the singer starts to strum the opening chords of a classic country song. The moody ambiance of the place is instantly picks up with a lively, electric energy that makes your feet tap and your heart pulse in sync with the bass. Mariah's face lights up as she recognizes the song, and she sings along, voice clear and sweet.
"I thought country was too maudlin for you," I tease, recalling that first night in my truck when she got me to change the station.
She grins. "Only sometimes," she retorts. Her laughter is lost in the sudden applause that fills the room as the folk singer finishes the song, and our drinks are delivered.
"To a night of music and magic," I propose, raising my glass of beer.
