The question catches me off guard.
Because she sounds genuinely unsure. Like the idea of being attached to me publicly still feels fragile. Temporary.
Something sharp twists in my chest.
“I wouldn’t have brought it up if I didn’t want you there.”
A heavy, warm silence settles between us again.
Leaves crunch beneath our boots while we continue down the trail.
“You know,” Peyton says lightly after a minute, “most people ease into relationships.”
I nearly trip over a tree root.
Relationship.
Jesus Christ.
“We accidentally hard-launched ours through social media and bathroom scandals.”
I stare straight ahead. “Yeah.”
“And now we’re discussing hockey seating arrangements like an old married couple.”
“That feels dramatic.”
Peyton snorts. “Gram literally asked when we’re getting married during yoga.”
A deep groan leaves me. “Don’t remind me.”
“She’s looking at leopard print bridesmaid dresses.”
“I’m moving to another country.”
That finally earns a real laugh out of her.
God. I’d do almost anything to keep hearing that sound.
The realization hits hard enough to make my chest feel tight again.
We reach the overlook near the edge of the property a few minutes later.
The mountains stretch endlessly before us beneath the bright autumn sky, while orange and crimson trees cover the valleys below.
Peyton slowly steps closer to the wooden railing. “It’s beautiful.”
I should be looking at the view, but I’m not. I’m looking at her.
The cold wind catches strands of her hair while sunlight filters through the trees behind her.
Something deep in my chest settles. Like this moment belongs to something permanent.
My brain immediately rejects the thought.
This is temporary.
Except… nothing about us feels temporary anymore.
