“Arizona,” he said promptly. “No trees. You can see the sunset formiles.”
“And yet here you are.” I motioned at the abundance of forest around us. “Fascinating. Favoriteband?”
“Uh… I don’t know. Do thirty-three-year-olds have favorite bands? I like a lot ofthings.”
“Favorite band I’ve never heard of then,” Icountered.
He studied a nearby tree, frowning, then looked back at me, like he wanted to judge whether I wasserious.
I noddedencouragingly.
“Okay, um. Drever, McCusker, andWoomble.”
“Who?”
“They’re a folk act. Scottish. They haven’t recorded in years, but they’re what I listened tomost.”
“Listened? Pasttense?”
He looked surprised. “I guess I haven’t listened to them for a while. My laptop is still packed up in a box, and I basically put my phone in a drawer when I moved up here.” He smiled wryly. “Fascinating?”
“Yes, kind of. Why cut yourself off from things youenjoy?”
He looked away. “We should keep walking, Ithink.”
“Yeah, okay.” I stood up and dusted off my shorts, putting my wrapper in my pocket. “Leadon.”
We walked in silence for a few minutes while I puzzled over Daniel Michaelson. Hewasfascinating—both in the things he revealed and the things he wouldn’t. I didn’t want to pry into his history, but… okay, no, Ireallywanted to pry, but I didn’t want to make himuncomfortable.
“Favorite author?” I asked after a minute, thinking this was neutral territory, atleast.
He shot me an amused glance and I rolled myeyes.
“Fine, then,onefavorite. And make it a real one, not something you think you should say. I don’t want to hear about howHeart of Darknesschanged your life or I might vomit on thispath.”
He laughed again, loud and strong, and once again he almost seemed surprised by the sound of his own laughter. “Tell me yours, then, if it’s such an easyquestion.”
“It is easy. JD Pritchard. He’s a mystery writer.Contemporary.”
Daniel stopped and turned to look at me like I’d grown threeheads.
I shrugged. “I told you! I’m not gonna sit here and talk about magical realism or whatever. I like a good, solid mystery, preferably with a romantic subplot. But Pritchard’s more than that. He’s insightful. That guy knows more about the human condition than… well,anyone.”
“If you say so.” Daniel shook his head. “I’ve never found him particularly insightful. He’s kind of an idiot inperson.”
My jaw dropped. “No way. You’vemethim?”
Daniel hesitated, then shrugged. “We ran in some of the same circles, once upon atime.”
“Well, if he’s a jerk in real life, don’t tell me,” I insisted. “I prefer to believe that if I ever met him, he’d somehow find me cool and we’d become bestfriends.”
Daniel snorted. “You’re way cooler than heis.”
“Oh, right. Of course I am,” I agreed. “No one knows animal trivia like I do.” I hesitated for a second, then asked, “So you lived in the city? I only ask because you said you knew Pritchard, and I’m pretty sure that’s where helives.”
Daniel was silent for a longmoment.
“I mean, not that it matters,” I said as we passed out of the thick forest and into the rockier terrain near the top of Jane’s Peak. “I just wondered how you came to be here, you know? A guy who’s met my favorite author, but somehow prefers living on the outskirts of this tiny little town, hiking up a mountain and eating my imaginary non-mushroompizza.”
