The hike takes about forty minutes. He sets an easier pace than usual, pointing out landmarks and explaining the terrain as we walk. Teaching, even when we're not formally training. I file away information about water sources and natural shelters and how to navigate by sun position.
The trees thin as we climb, the trail growing rockier. And then, suddenly, we break through to a clearing that steals my breath.
We're on a ridge overlooking a valley I didn't know existed. Mountains stretch in every direction, snow-capped peaks catching the morning light. Below us, a river winds through dense forest, glinting silver where the sun hits it. The sky is enormous, blue, clear and endless.
"Oh," I say. It's inadequate, but words fail me.
"I come here when the cabin feels too small." Deck stands beside me, looking out at the view. "When the walls close in and I need to remember why I'm here."
"It's beautiful."
"It's perspective. When you can see this much of the world, your problems feel smaller."
I turn to look at him. "Is that why you brought me here? To make my problems feel smaller?"
"Partly." He sets down the pack and pulls out a blanket, spreading it on a flat section of rock. "I also wanted you to see it. No one else has."
"No one?"
"Not even the team. This is my place. My..." He shrugs, uncomfortable with the sentiment. "My sanctuary, I guess."
The significance isn't lost on me. He's sharing something private. Something precious. Inviting me into a part of his world that's been his alone for five years.
"Thank you." I sit on the blanket, tucking my legs beneath me. "For trusting me with this."
He sits beside me, close enough that our shoulders touch. "I don't know why I do. Trust you. It doesn't make sense. I've known you less than two weeks."
"Maybe trust doesn't follow a schedule."
"Everything follows a schedule. Trust is built through consistent behavior over time. Repeated positive interactions that establish patterns of reliability."
"You sound like a psychology textbook."
"I sound like someone who's learned not to trust easily."
"And yet here I am. In your secret sanctuary."
He's quiet for a moment, staring out at the view. "Here you are."
I lean into him, resting my head on his shoulder. He tenses for a moment, then relaxes, his arm coming around me.
"I've spent five years keeping people at a distance," he says. "Telling myself it was safer. Smarter. That I couldn't afford to care about anyone because caring makes you vulnerable. Now I'm sitting on a mountain with a woman I can't stop thinking about, and all my careful distance seems pretty fucking pointless."
"You think about me?"
"Constantly. It's extremely annoying."
I laugh. "I think about you too."
"Yeah?"
"Constantly. Also extremely annoying."
He pulls me closer, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. We sit in comfortable silence, watching the light change across the valley as the sun climbs higher. A hawk circles in the distance, riding thermals with effortless grace.
"Tell me something about yourself," I say. "Something you fight yourself to not tell anyone."
"I told you about the interrogation. That's not enough?"
