Page 128 of Seale the Deal

Brandt chuckles. Every year, there’s someone.

Is there someone? I ask.

He pauses for a second, then answers, Not in the way you’re asking.

Again, I nod.

My whole life, people have acted like marriage and babies are something I should be working toward, he continues. When it happens, I want it to sneak up on me. I want to suddenly realize that her texts are the ones I look forward to. I want to put down the book I’m in the middle of just because she walks in the room and my eyes can’t focus on anything but her. I want her to be so woven into my life that there is no future without her in it. You know?

My mind instantly goes to Wrenley and how much I dread when I next have to spend a day without her. How she is the first person I want to talk to in the morning and the last face I want to see when I close my eyes at night.

Yeah, I say quietly. I know.

We round a corner and see Remi and Wrenley stopped beside a large boulder. Wrenley is crouched, focus on retying her shoe, some of her loose curls falling forward, while Remi leans against the large rock, drinking from her water bottle.

Everything okay? I ask.

Wrenley stands up. Everything is now. She gives her boot an experimental stomp.

Let’s go, Remi says, starting back along the trail.

Brandt falls in step beside Remi, and she immediately picks up the conversation like nothing has changed. The switch in hiking partners doesn’t seem to faze her in the slightest.

I watch them head up the hill for a moment, then turn to Wrenley. You good?

Yeah. Crisis averted.

I nod, and we start walking again. My hand finds hers naturally, our fingers threading together like we’ve done this a hundred times before. She squeezes gently, and it makes me feel so settled having her close.

How are you liking the hike? I ask.

It’s great, she says. A little long. It’s been what? Two hours?

I clear my throat, attempting to cover the small laugh that wants to come out. Maybe twenty minutes.

Her eyes widen. That’s it?

That’s it.

Her eyes travel up the trail before swinging over her shoulder toward the path we already covered.

But we’ve been walking forever.

Only twenty minutes, I say, tugging her closer so I can press a quick kiss to her temple as we walk.

Go on a hike, they said. It’ll be fun.

A smile tugs at my mouth. Are you not having fun?

No, I’m having fun, she says quickly. It’s just shocking that twenty minutes here is the equivalent of two hours anywhere else. It’s like I’m in some kind of time-space continuum.

I don’t think you’re using that right.

Physically, I am.

Unable to stop myself, I laugh.

You’re ridiculous, I say, looking at her and smiling. But you’re my ridiculous.