Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
And the cake, what the fuck had that been? It’s not like I never indulge, but for some reason, it felt like more than simply eating cake.
“You like hiking,” I say, trying to shove those thoughts from my mind. Being with Lucas seems to make all the other shit in my head quieter, and I want to keep seeking that silence, no matter what truths and guilt I bury to do it.
“Fuck yes, but I have to be contrary. Come on, Hunt, you know this.”
I snicker because it’s true. Lucas does like to be contrary.
“Mostly so I can take photos,” he adds.
“You do a bit of everything, I’ve noticed.” I pull into the lot at the park. They have four trails to choose from, each with lookout points. It’s quieter at this location, and usually, no one notices me. Or if they do, they don’t care enough about me to say anything.
“Yep.” He gets out, and I grab the bag I keep in the back seat, which has a few bottles of water in it.
We pick a trail, heading toward the wooded canyons that feel like a whole other world.
“What’s your favorite?” I ask, unsure why I’m so curious about this man I’ve known for almost fifteen years.
“My favorite what?” He’s already pulling his camera from the bag on his arm.
“Thing to photograph—people, nature, sunsets?” I don’t know why, but I grin at the last one…and also, aren’t sunsets a part of nature? “That was really beautiful, by the way.”
“I know.”
“Cocky motherfucker.”
“Hey, I told you it was beautiful before you even saw it.”
He had, and he’d been right.
“Thank you, though, and…I don’t know that I have a favorite. I like taking photos of things that make me feel, and I never know what will do that.”
Lucas’s answer is both surprising and not. He thinks about the world so differently than anyone I know. He’s not strategizing to accomplish goals; he’s thinking about what would make him feel alive, and I envy him that.
He puts his hand on my arm, pulling me to a stop. I worry I did or said something wrong, but all he did was stop me from stepping on a yellow flower growing in the middle of the dirt path. One lone flower standing strong amid rocks, dry dirt, and footprints.
“Independent little thing, aren’t you?” Lucas says, kneeling, and it takes me a moment to realize he’s talking to the flower.
“Did it answer?”
He grins up at me before raising his camera. I expect him to take a photo of the flower, but he snaps a picture of me instead.
“I think the flower is much more photogenic.”
He shrugs. “Maybe you both are.” Lucas focuses the camera down and takes photos of the flower from different angles before standing and taking a few steps back.
I try to get out of the way, but he says, “No, no, step a little closer.”
I do as he says, and he takes another shot of what I think is only my feet and his tiny sign of independence.
He moves closer, and I watch from above him as he gets my foot and the flower in the same shot, watch him and think about him talking to the flower. I wouldn’t have done that. No one I know would have done that.
Lucas nods toward the trail, and I take that to mean he’s finished. As he passes the flower, Lucas says, “Good luck,” and my pulse speeds up. That was beautiful, and I think…I want to be the kind of man who talks to flowers.
“I’ve never known someone who talks to wildflowers before. Maybe a plant they own, but not that.”
“I’ve always been weird.”
“I don’t think you’re weird.”
He smirks. “Eccentric?”
“That’s closer. You’re simply…you. You’re also the only person I’ve ever known who doesn’t try to fit in with others, who doesn’t try to be what someone else wants them to be.”
He laughs, taking me by surprise. “You’re giving me too much credit.”
“I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit,” I counter. Lucas is strong and independent in a way that not enough people give him credit for, in a way I’ve never given him enough credit for.
“You keep being nice to me, and I’ll think you like me.”
“Oh God no. You’re an asshole. I won’t forget that.”
“Thank God. Being an asshole is my favorite thing about myself.”
We’re quiet for a while, Lucas stopping every now and then to take photos.
“What about you?” he asks.
“What about me what?”
“What’s your favorite thing—”
“About you?” I cut him off, and he chuckles.
“No, about you. I mean, I’m game if you want to give me a list of all my positive qualities, but that’s not what I was thinking.”
Does he know how many positive qualities he has? Because there are a lot of them, more than I ever took the time to see.