He grins up at me before raising his camera. I expect himto take a photo of the flower, but he snaps a picture of me instead.
“I think the flower is much more photogenic.”
He shrugs. “Maybe you both are.” Lucas focuses the camera down and takes photos of the flower from different angles before standing and taking a few steps back.
I try to get out of the way, but he says, “No, no, step a little closer.”
I do as he says, and he takes another shot of what I think is only my feet and his tiny sign of independence.
He moves closer, and I watch from above him as he gets my foot and the flower in the same shot, watch him and think about him talking to the flower. I wouldn’t have done that. No one I know would have done that.
Lucas nods toward the trail, and I take that to mean he’s finished. As he passes the flower, Lucas says, “Good luck,” and my pulse speeds up. That was beautiful, and I think…I want to be the kind of man who talks to flowers.
“I’ve never known someone who talks to wildflowers before. Maybe a plant they own, but not that.”
“I’ve always been weird.”
“I don’t think you’re weird.”
He smirks. “Eccentric?”
“That’s closer. You’re simply…you. You’re also the only person I’ve ever known who doesn’t try to fit in with others, who doesn’t try to be what someone else wants them to be.”
He laughs, taking me by surprise. “You’re giving me too much credit.”
“I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit,” I counter. Lucas is strong and independent in a way that not enough people give him credit for, in a way I’ve never given him enough credit for.
“You keep being nice to me, and I’ll think you like me.”
“Oh God no. You’re an asshole. I won’t forget that.”
“Thank God. Being an asshole is my favorite thing about myself.”
We’re quiet for a while, Lucas stopping every now and then to take photos.
“What about you?” he asks.
“What about me what?”
“What’s your favorite thing—”
“About you?” I cut him off, and he chuckles.
“No, about you. I mean, I’m game if you want to give me a list of all my positive qualities, but that’s not what I was thinking.”
Does he know how many positive qualities he has? Because there are a lot of them, more than I ever took the time to see.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. My favorite things about myself have always been football and Ellis, but those answers feel wrong here.
“You’re not allowed to say football,” he adds.
“I figured that.” I chuckle. This comfort, this familiarity and friendship between us is such a surprise, and I don’t know what to make of it.
“So, you’ve got nothing for me?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s a shame, Hunter King.”
