"Maybe." I watch the water lap against the dock pilings. "Or maybe I needed to figure out who I was outside of it first. Wade—my brother—he always knew he'd take over. Born for it. I wanted something that was just mine."
"Flying."
"Flying." I nod. "First time I went up, I knew. It's the only place my brain goes quiet, you know? Everything else falls away. Just me and the sky and the machine."
She's quiet for a moment. "I feel that way in surgery sometimes. When it's complicated, when everything has to go exactly right. The rest of the world disappears."
"Yeah." I turn to look at her. "Exactly like that."
We trade more stories as the sun continues its descent. She tells me about vet school, the sleepless nights and the impossible exams and the professor who told her she didn't have what it takes. I tell her about flight training, the first time I nearly washed out, the instructor who believed in me when I didn't believe in myself.
By the time the sun hits the mountains, painting everything in shades of orange and pink, I'm mostly dry and completely gone.
"I should head back," Callie says, but she doesn't move.
"Probably."
"Special early appointments tomorrow."
"Makes sense."
Neither of us stands up.
Ranger's passed out on the shore, exhausted from his squirrel chase and subsequent betrayal. The lake has gone still, reflecting the sunset like glass. Somewhere across the water, a loon calls—a mournful, beautiful sound that echoes off the mountains.
"This was nice," Callie says quietly. "Despite the lake incident."
"Because of the lake incident."
She laughs. "You're never going to let me forget I laughed at you, are you?"
"Absolutely not. That laugh is going in my permanent memory."
"Great."
"It's a good laugh. You should do it more often."
She turns to look at me, something shifting in her expression. For a second I think she might say something—something real, something that changes things—but then she just shakes her head, a small smile playing on her lips.
"We should probably go before it gets dark."
"Probably."
This time we actually stand. I pull on my still-damp shirt, grimacing at the cold fabric, and whistle for Ranger. He bounds over, refreshed from his nap and apparently ready for round two with any squirrels foolish enough to cross his path.
We walk back to the parking lot slowly, neither of us in any rush. The trail is quiet now, the families all gone home, just the sound of our footsteps and Ranger's panting and the evening birds starting their chorus.
At her car, Callie pauses with her keys in her hand.
"Same time next week?" The words are out before I can stop them.
She turns to look at me. I brace for the no, for the excuse, for the reminder that this is all professional and she doesn't date military and she's not interested in complications.
"Same time next week," she says instead.
Something in my chest loosens. Expands. I didn't realize how much I wanted her to say yes until she did.
"I'll try to keep Ranger away from the squirrels."
