Page 55 of Meet Me Back Here

A hush has fallen over the plane, and it feels like even the rumbling engines have quieted. Every face is pressed to a window as we collectively share in the incredible presence the Grand Canyon has. This is unreal.

I think I spend the entire duration of our flight over, around, and even into the canyon making different sounds of awe, but if it annoys Forrest, he doesn’t say anything. I can barely peel my eyes away from the view, struck by the beauty created over literally millions of years, but when I do, I catch Forrest smiling back at me. I probably look like a kid let loose in a candy store. But this is a thousand times better.

When we land and make our way over to the south rim, I’ve become no more normal about this whole day. Standing there, looking out, I feel the kind of wonder I didn’t realize was still out there for me.

“Well, Viottolo, what do you think?” Forrest asks from beside me, a light breeze cooling us.

“I actually don’t know that I have a single thought in my head. There are no words. Thank you for doing this,” I say.

We stare for a while, but when I look up at Forrest, I find him looking pensive.

“What is it?” I ask.

“I’ve done projects for work at historical sites before, back East,” he starts. “One of the biggest complexities of being an architect is remembering that no matter where I help build something in this country, it’s on stolen land. Being here, I can’t help but think about that.”

After letting us all stare for a while, a guide from the tour company calls our attention and starts telling us some of the history of the Grand Canyon, the surrounding land, and the people who have and still do live here. Eleven tribal communities are associated with the Grand Canyon, and when we visit, we are stepping on their ancestral homelands. As a member of the Havasupai Tribe, she’s passionate about how important the land beneath our feet is and how resilient the people who live here are.

After she finishes speaking, we have a bit more time before we need to head back to the plane, so Forrest and I walk for a while. As we get near some foliage, a bit further from the rest of our group, a rustle from a nearby bush draws my attention. The cutest little squirrel with the biggest, most pleading eyes, tentatively emerges.

Before I can get any closer, Forrest’s hand closes around my wrist.

“Don’t you dare,” he warns, tugging me back gently.

“I wasn’t going to!” I insist.

Before we got off the plane, the guide warned us about the gumption the squirrels around here have, honed from conning countless tourists out of their snacks. We were given strict instructions not to interact.

“You’re going to look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want to pet him?” Forrest asks, skepticism laced with every word.

“Oh no, I want nothing more than to scoop him up and put him in my pocket,” I admit. “But out of respect, I won’t.”

Forrest still doesn’t release me. Instead, his hand slides down to mine, and our fingers intertwine. I’ve got to say, I’m really loving how much hand-holding we’re doing today.

“Just call this insurance then,” Forrest says with a smile.

Suddenly, he pulls me against his side and wraps his arm around me so he can tip my head toward him. He presses a kiss to my hair and says urgently, “Happy Birthday, Cam. You’re my favorite person.”

“Happy Birthday, Forrest. You’re mine, too.” I say the words automatically.

I’ve told him he’s my favorite person about a million times, both before and since he came back into my life. It’s been my replacement for I love you as of late. Of course I still love him, just like I loved him before our relationship turned romantic. But it feels different now, like it’s crossing a line to say those words. So, I haven’t.

But Forrest feeling his feelings and expressing them so abruptly and so forcefully is unexpected. Very un-Forrest-like. I try to remember if he’s said something like that in the last year, and I can’t.

He drops his hand to my shoulder and squeezes me again. But with as little warning as when he initiated contact, he releases me, crossing his arms like he wants to remove any temptation to touch me again.

And I’m left wondering what just happened.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

and straight on till morning

After food, once we get back to the hotel, I shower and lay down, determined to take a nap since my birthday surprise for Forrest is an evening endeavor, and I woke up before the sun this morning. But I stare at the ceiling—still covered in streamers—unable to stop thinking about what happened before.

The remainder of our tour, the flight back to the East Valley, eating, and the ride to the hotel were all normal as ever, except for me repeatedly stealing glances at Forrest to see if anything was different.

Lucky for me, he never caught me. Unlucky for me, I still have no explanation for what was going through his head. Is it possible this was all just a little menty b about getting older? Turning twenty-eight and being solidly in our late twenties?

Unsurprisingly, my mind gallivants away, thinking of the way he volunteered to come here, the warmth of him every time we’ve been close, the way his voice dropped when he said no to the cowboy at line dancing.