We drove with the windows cracked, cool mountain air filling the cab. The road climbed away from town into denser forest—the kind where the canopy closed overhead and turned the asphalt into a green tunnel. Evan drove one-handed, relaxed, pointing out landmarks as we went—a creek where he and Dash had built a footbridge last fall, a pull-off where you could see four mountain ridges layered on top of each other on a clear day, a gravel road that led to his business partner Ridge’s property up on the mountain.
“Ridge is the third co-founder,” he said. “Though he’s been pretty scarce lately.”
“Scarce how?”
Evan was quiet for a second, like he was choosing how much to say. “He pulled back from the business a while ago. Moved up the mountain. Keeps to himself. We still co-own everything, but Dash and I run the day-to-day.”
There was more to that story. I could hear it in the careful way he chose his words. But he didn’t offer it, and I didn’t push.
The Blackrock trailhead was unmarked—just a widened shoulder with room for two vehicles and a break in the tree line. Evan parked, and we headed in on foot. Within minutes, the trail narrowed to something that barely qualified as a path. Ferns brushed my calves on both sides, and the canopy filtered the light into shifting patches of gold and green.
“This is the bypass,” Evan said over his shoulder. “Runs parallel to the main trail but about two hundred feet higher. It reconnects past the washout. Almost nobody knows about it because it’s not maintained.”
“How do you know about it?”
“Dash and I flagged it two years ago when we were scouting new tour routes. Never ended up using it because it’s too technical for group hikes. But for someone who knows what they’re doing, it’s the best way to reach the upper Blackrock drainage.”
He held a branch back for me as I ducked under it. His hand hovered near my shoulder without quite touching, and I was aware of that almost-contact in a way that made my skin warm.
We hiked in a comfortable rhythm—him slightly ahead where the trail was too narrow for two, side by side where it opened up. He pointed out species as we went, but not with the polished, tour-guide delivery he’d used earlier. This was quieter. More personal. Like he was letting me see the mountain the way he saw it instead of how he packaged it for tourists.
“Hepatica,” he said, crouching beside a cluster of pale purple flowers near a mossy log. “They’re one of the first to bloom in spring. Most people miss them because they’re small and grow close to the ground.”
I crouched beside him. Our shoulders were nearly touching.
“Are they on the scavenger hunt list?”
“No. They’re too common. But I’ve always liked them. They don’t need to be rare to be worth noticing.”
He said it casually, but something about the words settled deeper than they should have. Maybe because I’d spent weeks chasing rare things. Rare flowers. Rare coordinates. Rare opportunities.
We kept climbing. The terrain grew steeper, and at one point the path crossed a narrow rock ledge with a drop on the left side that made my stomach tighten.
Evan went first, then turned and extended his hand. “It’s solid, but the moss is slick.”
I took his hand. His grip was warm and rough and steadier than the rock under my boots. He guided me across, and when we reached the other side, neither of us let go immediately. When he finally released my hand, I felt the absence of it all the way up my arm.
The trail opened into a clearing about forty minutes in, and I stopped walking. Below us, the valley stretched out in a quilt of green, the creek glinting silver where it caught the sun. Above us, the ridge climbed into a sky so blue it looked painted. And directly ahead, growing in a sunlit gap between two boulders, was a patch of flame azalea in full bloom—clusters of orange and gold that looked like they were burning.
“That’s on the list,” I breathed.
“I know.”
I looked at him. He was watching me, not the flowers.
“You brought me here on purpose,” I said.
“I brought you here because I told you I’d show you the bypass. The azalea being here is a bonus.” He paused. “Though I’d be lying if I said I forgot it was here.”
I pulled out my phone and checked the GPS coordinates against my checklist. Match. I photographed the colony from multiple angles, making sure the GPS tag was embedded, thenlowered my phone and simply looked at them. They really were stunning—vivid and fragile at the same time, blooming in a place most people would never see.
“Thank you,” I said. “Seriously.”
“You’re welcome. Seriously.”
We sat on a flat rock near the overlook and split a water bottle. The sun was warm enough that I’d pushed my sleeves up. I caught Evan glancing at my forearms before he looked away, and I wasn’t sure why that made my pulse kick.
“Can I ask you something?” he said.
