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I move my cart to the side with a loud rattle to give her space. “Absolutely, I’m so sorry.”

She smiles and pushes her cartby us, and I turn back to Bo.

“Have you noticed I’m complicated?” I say, attempting to lighten the mood.

“You know, until you brought it up, I hadn’t,” he says easily, grabbing a jar of peanut butter from the shelf.

I shake my head, nose scrunched. “Do you even consider what kind of oils that’s made with?”

He grins. “Of course not, that’s what I have you for.”

And like I didn’t just rip open an old wound and nearly bleed out in front of him, he spends the next half hour quizzing me on ingredients as we walk through the grocery store.

In the parking lot, bags loaded into the back of my minivan, Bo leans against his Jeep parked in the space beside me as I open my driver’s side door and lean in the doorway.

“Can George Strait and I come to church with you on Sunday?” I ask.

He gives me one of his slow-to-grow smiles. “I thought you’d never ask.”

I smile, nod, and drop into the driver’s seat, window rolled down.

“And Birdie?” he says as I start the ignition. “Wear a bathing suit.”

Thirteen

George Strait and Imeet Bo at a trailhead Sunday morning, and he’s waiting in swim shorts, a T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, and a backpack.

“Hi,” I say, tugging the leash to keep the dog from pouncing on him.

“Hi,” he says with a slight lift of his lips, void of a toothpick today. He squats down next to the slobbering goldendoodle to give him an ear scrub and high pitched, “Hey, buddy! There’s a good boy!”before standing and flicking his eyes back to me amusedly. “Nice hat.”

I am, as usual, in my wide-brimmed straw hat, shorts, and cropped T-shirt. But today, per his request, black bathing suit ties peek out at the neckline.

“I brought this for you.” He pulls a blue ball cap out of his bag and tosses it to me, Monroe Cabins written on the front in scripty font.

I shoot him a look that makes him laugh. “You can’t keep hiking in that ridiculous thing.”

“Why not?" I demand.

“Because it’s huge and you’re constantly stuck in branches.”

He’s not wrong. The hat is a pain in my ass. I consider wearing it anyway to prove a point, but his simple hat offering—with his last name written on it that excites me way more than it should—is the obvious far better option.

“Fine,” I mumble, tossing my straw hat into the van and putting the one with his name on my head. I know he likes it because he smiles, which makes me smile.

Without another word, we’re on the trail, the familiar roots and rocks under my feet. This time, instead of being surrounded by thick woods, we hug the bank of a river on one side the entire time. We find a rhythm easily in the silence and he takes the dog’s leash like it’s something he’s always done. I fall into step behind him, and the soothing sound of the water rushing around rocks becomes our soundtrack.

“How did you start this?” I ask. “Hiking to church?”

He doesn’t slow down, just looks over his shoulder slightly as he continues up the trail. “I’ve always loved it out here, but like most things in life, I didn’t do great at making it a priority. When Mandy left, Gran wanted time with Lucy, so she started taking her on Sundays. Most people go to church at that time, which has never been my thing—but out here?” He shakes his head, and I hear the happiness in his voice when he continues. “Out here, I feel it. My head is clear, worries dissolve, and I know what’s important.”He lifts the hand not holding a leash in a half-shrug. “Maybe it’s God or maybe it’s just disconnecting in a world that feels the need to constantly plug us in, whatever it is, it’s my sacred spot—holy ground, whatever you want to call it.”

“Do you ever bring Lucy?” I ask, stepping over a large protruding root.

He shakes his head.

“I never bring anyone.”

Maybe it’s his conviction about what he’s said—how sure he is out here, regardless of how different. Or maybe it’s because he’s welcomedmeinto this space for some unknown reason, but it’s beautiful. Special. A gift to be herewithhim.