3. Tyler #4
We continue the trail, continuing casual conversation.
We’ve both relaxed since releasing some baggage, and I feel better.
It felt surprisingly pleasant to talk about my parents.
I try to avoid it because I think it will make me feel worse, or really, I think I’ll make things awkward.
But really, I feel happier to mention them.
Like Chloe said, they will always be with me and talking about them makes me feel like they haven’t left.
Chloe stops in her tracks and lets out a big gasp. “Oh my, Ty. This is beautiful.”
We make our way to a field of wildflowers. This is my favorite spot on the trail. The waterfall gets the crowd, but the field is a lovely surprise that keeps people returning. The flowers vary by season. I make it a point to visit several times a year to see the different flowers blooming.
“Let’s run through it,” Chloe says, grabbing my hand and pulling Scooter and me to run through the field of flowers.
Asters of vibrant magentas, pearly-white everlastings and rich goldenrod flowers sprinkle the area.
I let myself go, laughing and running through the meadow with her.
I let Scooter run free, knowing he won’t stray, and take Chloe’s other hand. We spin around in a circle, laughing.
“I haven’t laughed this much since I was probably ten years old,” I say to her bright, smiling face, our hands interlocked as we twirl around.
“Hang around with me, kid, and I’ll always have you laughing,” Chloe says, releasing one hand and hooking her thumb in her direction.
“Hey, what’s over there?” Chloe points behind me, and I turn around.
Just then, she leaps on my back, wrapping her arms around my shoulders.
I instinctively grab the back of her thighs so she doesn’t slide down.
The fabric of her leggings is buttery soft, and I restrain myself from caressing her leg.
She rests her head on my shoulder, and I turn my head, my eyes locking on hers.
“I’ve enjoyed this hike, Ty, but my feet are killing me. Carry me the rest of the way, please,” Chloe says. I chuckle as I lift her higher on my back. She yelps a bit. She got herself up here, and there’s a slim chance I’ll let her down.
“As you wish,” I say, and she wraps her feet around my torso. I feel her entire body on my back. It’s taking all my strength not to lay her down in this flower field and finish what I wanted to do with her on the couch a week ago.
Before I take things too far, I clear my throat and yell for Scooter to return.
I carry Chloe back, and Scooter follows as we return to the car. Chloe hops off my back and slides onto the passenger-side seat. On the drive home, Chloe pulls out her sketchbook and pencil again. She starts doodling as she looks through the photos she took on her phone.
“So, what’s your artistic process like?”
“Hmm, no one’s asked me that before,” she says, looking at me quizzically. “I guess I usually sketch the idea down first, especially if I’m far from my painting supplies. Then I’ll transfer the sketch to a larger scale on canvas before painting.”
I pull onto her street and over to the curb. “Can I see some?”
“Sure!” she says, handing me the sketchbook.
I’ve seen Chloe’s art, and it’s breathtaking.
Martin bought one of her beach landscape paintings and hung it in the waiting room of Parker Wellness.
I flip through her sketchbook, which only contains pencil drawings, but I recognize some that she’s turned into paintings.
Like scenes from redwood trail hikes and rolling hills.
“Chloe, you are really talented.” I look over at her and she shrugs and blushes. “I’m serious, you could make a career out of this.”
“Annika has told me that too, but I don’t know, it doesn’t feel right. I want to keep my art for myself. Putting a price on it loses the magic. I feel like I would relate my art to my livelihood when it’s an escape.”
“I understand, completely.” I say and continue flipping through her sketches. I notice a few scenes from our trail today: oyster mushrooms and mossy trees. I turn the page to see the beginnings of the waterfall, then again to see the wildflower field—except there’s a two-headed blob in the middle.
“What’s this marking here?” I point to it on the page.
“Oh …” she says, blushing, “that’s us.”
I look back at it and can make out two figures, one giving the other a piggyback ride, and a little dog galloping off to the side.
“Can I keep this one?”
“The sketch? But it’s not even that good.”
“You’re right, it’s not good, it’s great and will remind me of my perfect day with you.”
She laughs and rolls her eyes. She takes the book back and gently tears the page out. “Here ya go.”
“I hope you paint it, too.”
“I will.” She smiles and climbs out of the car but heads to the back passenger side, where Scooter has his head perched on the open window.
I can see that he’s been trailing his slobber along the glass with his tongue the whole time.
She grabs his head and gives him a big kiss on the forehead before waving bye to us both and heading inside her house.
I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to be on the receiving end of one of those kisses, but I shake my head to dispel the thought. Remember, friend-zone, Tyler.