“If you’ll just look to your left,” Max started, hovering over Sloane’s shoulder, and she turned toward him, their faces inches apart.
“I believed you,” she said, though Max didn’t think she had, at least not until he’d tried to make the bet.
“Burrito’s getting cold,” he said.
It was a short walk along an asphalt footpath that was obvious once you knew where to look. The four wooden picnic tables were hidden from the parking lot, around a bend and past a stand of scrubby little trees clinging to the side of the mountain. They had it all to themselves, like Max knew they would. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone else at this overlook.
They sat on one of the tables, surrounded on three sides by the tall fir trees, feet on the bench, and looked out at the view while they ate their burritos. It was early afternoon, but the sun was low in the sky, making the moody cloud cover even moodier, mountain peaks invisible behind the swirling gray. There was patchy fog in the deep hollows and the last of the brightly colored fall leaves still hung on, though most of the forest was the gray-brown and deep green of oncoming winter. Max wondered if it was going to rain.
“I can’t believe I didn’t know this was here,” Sloane said, her burrito half-finished. “I’ve never stopped.”
“Well, I make it my business to know every nook, cranny, and secret hiding spot between Sacramento and Last Chance,” Max said, and licked mole sauce off his thumb.
Sloane glanced over at him, mouth full, and he laughed.
“Not really. I pulled in here a couple years ago because there was a can of Coke rolling around in my trunk and driving me crazy, and I found the picnic area then. Not that it’s a secret. It’s on the sign.” It felt secret, though. It was only an hour—maybe ninety minutes, with traffic—between his house in Sacramento and his parents in Last Chance, but he always stopped by here. A chance to shift gears, one way or the other.
Sloane just nodded, and they finished their burritos in warm silence, knees bumping together. Max crumpled the tin foil into balls, put them back into the bag, and put the bag on the table behind them.
“We should probably go,” Max said, even if he didn’t want to.
“Yeah,” agreed Sloane, and neither of them moved, just sat there, staring out at the mountains beyond the trees. He was going to have to say goodbye to her in Last Chance, when she dropped him off with his parents, and then again on Sunday in Sacramento when she drove back to Los Angeles, and he didn’t want to do either. He knew he was just putting off the inevitable, but was else was he going to do?
“Thanks for letting me crash,” Sloane said suddenly, still facing forward. “And for dinner and everything.”
He looked over at her, in profile, dark hair clipped messily on top of her head, leaning back on her hands, wearing leggings and a chunky knit turtleneck sweater. He’d watched her put them on this morning, the sweater over three other layers, and teased her about going soft in Southern California.
“I’m glad you decided to come.” He didn’t know what to say next that didn’t sound stupid. “I liked getting to see you some more.”
Sloane was quiet for a long moment before she finally turned her head, took a deep breath, and looked Max in the eye. “I only came up to see you,” she said, like she was bracing for impact.
Max hadn’t let himself think about that. He hadn’t let himself have any thought besides I’m incidental to her Thanksgiving trip. He’d done his very best not to think about Sloane, all the way in Los Angeles, at all. He’d failed, but he’d tried.
“Oh,” he said, stupidly, and felt like a house with the roof blown off, everything inside suddenly exposed to light and air. He didn’t know what to do.
“We should date,” he said, and realized it was what he’d been trying to say for weeks.
Sloane didn’t move, but her eyes shifted between his. She looked careful. “I live in Los Angeles,” she explained, like he didn’t know.
“I know,” Max said, just to make sure. “It would be long-distance.” He wasn’t sure why he was explaining any of this.
“You’d do that?”
“Yes.” Max was starting to think he hadn’t been clear. “That’s why I just said We should date.”
“Even though you hate the drive?”
“It’ll be better if I’m looking forward to something at the end,” he pointed out, and nudged her knee with his. She pushed back. “Also, there’s this neat new invention called, I believe, an aeroplane?—”
“Oh, my god, shut up.”
“We can meet up for weekends in Fresno. It’ll be fun,” Max went on, and now he bumped her with his shoulder while Sloane pretended she wasn’t grinning back at him. “I hear it’s beautiful in the spring.”
“There’s also, like, the Sequoias,” Sloane pointed out. “It doesn’t have to be Fresno.”
She leaned her head against his shoulder, which stuck the intricate knot of her hair right in his face. He maneuvered around it to kiss the top of her head.
“Is that a yes?” he asked, and she sighed.
