Connor stops at a rack of postcards outside a stationery shop, thumbing through them lazily. “These look fake,” he says. “Like stock photos.”
“They’re real,” I counter, picking one with a watercolor of the lake and holding it up to the actual view behind us. “See? Perfect match.”
He huffs a laugh. “Fine. Real. Still feels like a movie.”
At the edge of the square, a narrow path cuts up a gentle hill, wildflowers stippling the slope. Edelweiss cluster low to the ground, pale against the green. A little ahead, Camila and George slip up the trail, their heads tipped close together.
“Want to?” he asks, nodding after them, a smile tugging at his mouth.
“Obviously.”
He laughs lowly, like he expected me to say no. The path is barely wide enough for two, so we fall into step side by side, arms brushing now and then. The air smells like grass warmed by sun, and for once, nothing feels sharp or heavy.
“What’s the deal with those two?” he asks after a stretch of quiet, nodding toward Camila and George a little way ahead. She shoves him off the path, laughing so hard she nearly folds in half, and he catches her by the waist, spinning her in a circle. Their laughter carries down the valley, loud and wild.
“I have no idea,” I admit. “She mentioned something about her immigration stuff, but I don’t really know how they even met. Or why. The real why.” I pause, watching them. “She’ll tell me when she’s ready.”
“You didn’t know she was seeing someone?”
“Not a clue.”
“How do you know her?”
“She’s my roommate.”
He stops midstep, blinking at me like in surprise. “Get the fuck out of here. That seems… statistically improbable.”
“Agreed.” The smile slips out before I can stop it.
He grins back, shaking his head like he’s still trying to make the math work, and we keep climbing. The slope steepens, and our shoulders knock once, then again.
Halfway up, he pulls his phone from his pocket. “We should prove we were here,” he says.
He angles the camera, and I lean in. The screen catches us framed by wildflowers, wind pushing my hair into his face. We both laugh, breathless from the climb.
Connor doesn’t move for a moment after taking the photo. Just looks at me like he’s still memorizing this—like he wants to keep it.
I swallow, suddenly aware of how quiet it is. How far the others feel from here.
Then he tucks the phone away, brushing his thumb across my knuckles as our hands find each other like it’s nothing.
We don’t say anything for a while.
The path flattens near the top, spilling out into a small grassy overlook. The village shrinks below us—red roofs clustered like puzzle pieces, the lake glittering just beyond. Bells echo faintly from somewhere on the far side of town, thin and distant, like they’re meant for someone else.
Connor lowers onto a smooth boulder and pulls me down beside him. Our knees brush. I let it happen.
A breeze tugs at my hair, and I push it behind my ears, suddenly aware of how still he is. Usually, he’s always in motion—tapping a finger, shifting his weight, checking the time like he’s bracing for the next thing. But now… nothing. Just quiet, like he’s not waiting to be anywhere else.
“Feels like we’re a million miles from them,” I say, nodding vaguely toward the square far below.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “Kind of nice.”
The sun warms my shoulders. I curl my fingers more firmly around his, and he lets me.
It’s not big or dramatic. Simply… steady. Like he’s here, really here, and not halfway in his head the way I’ve seen him sometimes. And it does something to me. Makes my chest feel both heavy and light at once, like I don’t quite know what to do with it.
He glances sideways, the corner of his mouth tilting. “You’re quiet.”
