He didn’t say anything, as we continued to stroll along the wooded walkway and he snapped a few pictures. Others walked around us—families, couples and even a few school groups pointed toward the heavens as they looked at the giant redwoods. The drive out from the city was only about thirty minutes, but stepping out here was like visiting another world. So vastly different from the hustle and bustle, the forest breathed solitude and serene tranquility. Even as the school-aged kids ran up and down the wood walkway, nothing could sway the sense of peace I felt when I came here.
“What else?” August asked.
“What?” I asked, looking up at a piece of sky through the trees.
“What else do you like about this place?” he asked softly.
I looked around, trying to pick just one thing. I loved everything, really. The solitude. The way I felt when I was here. The time I’d spent with him in this place so long ago.
“Oh, here—let me show you,” I said, pulling him along the path. We came to one of my favorite markers. So many trees had fallen over the years, whether due to drought or storms, and rather than trying to move them the forestry department usually left them where they fell unless they interfered with a path or caused a safety hazard. In this spot, they’d cut one of the oldest fallen trees in half to demonstrate the incredible lifespan of a giant redwood.
“Here,” I said, pointing to the many rings within the tree. There were several markers there, designating historical events which went back nearly a thousand years.
“When I look at this tree—stand in this place, I feel almost insignificant.”
“What?” he said, confusion crossing his face.
“Let me continue.” I grinned. “Before this tree fell, its life span was over 900 years. You and I would have been a speck of time—a blip, barely noticeable to its existence.”
“This is depressing.”
“Shut up. I’m talking.” I laughed. “Sometimes, when life is chaotic and intense, and I feel like it just can’t possibly be any worse, I like to come here and remember that I’m not the only one in the universe. That in the nearly ten centuries of this tree’s life, hundreds of thousands of people lived and died feeling exactly the same way I did at some point in their life…and chances are their lives were worse than mine because I at least have indoor plumbing and a blow dryer.”
He chuckled and rolled his eyes.
“There are a ton of reasons I love these woods, but one of the biggest is that one. It puts me in my place.”
“And it smells good,” he winked.
“Yes, and it smells incredible.”
“You just geeked out over air and trees,” he said with a grin.
“Yes, and?”
“It was fucking adorable.”
“Just wait until you hear me talk about waterfalls. I love waterfalls…oh, and streams!” He laughed.
We continued down the path, talking the entire way as I pointed out my favorite spots and even shared a few memories.
“You kissed me there once,” I said, pointing to a tree along the path that had a large hole in the trunk. It was a favorite of the tourists for pictures and usually had a line, but luckily due to our slow pace, we’d missed the huge rush of people and it was just us as we arrived.
“Right here?” he asked, pushing me against the tree.
“Yes,” I answered, gulping audibly as our eyes met.
“Like this?” His hand cupped my jaw as his lips slowly grazed my own. The heat from his breath rushed along my neck and sent shivers down my spine.
“Happy Birthday, Everly,” he whispered as his mouth captured mine. Butterflies fluttered in my belly as I clung to him, wishing I was suddenly anywhere but this very public setting. The only thing I wanted for my birthday was him. Alone.
Now.
When he pulled away, his smirk was nearly heartstopping. I saw a few young tourists skirt by us, the blushes on their faces apparent. I looked up at him, my eyes wide with embarrassment. He just laughed it off and held up his camera, showing me the images he’d just caught without my knowledge.
Hell, with that man’s lips on mine, a semitruck could have come crashing through the woods and I probably wouldn’t have noticed.
“I wanted to get this new kiss on record,” he explained as I looked down at our very indecent public scene.
“Those poor teenagers are probably scarred for life,” I said.
“Those poor teenagers probably have done that and more,” he corrected.
“You’re probably right. When I was their age—”
“Stop! Don’t need to know.” He held up his hands in protest as we roamed back to the welcome center.