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I look around the shop. “Yeah. I am.”
“Then I guess that answers it.”
Relief comes so quickly I almost laugh. “I’ll come down and guest eventually.”
“You better.”
“I will. Just not next month.”
We talk for another few minutes before hanging up, and when I put the phone down, I don’t feel like I turned down anything important.
That used to be hard for me.
For a long time, every opportunity felt like a test. If I said no, someone else would say yes. If I slowed down, somebody else would move ahead of me. If my calendar wasn’t full, maybe I wasn’t doing enough.
I don’t want to live like that anymore. I still want to grow, to be good enough that people seek out my work, but I’m starting to realize not every good thing has to come from chasing the next opportunity.
The next morning is cool and damp, the kind of weather that makes staying home tempting, but a chance to spend some time in the redwoods sounds better.
I pull on jeans, hiking boots, and a baggy sweatshirt, tie my hair back, and drive toward Arcata.
I’ve been to the Community Forest a few times since moving north, usually when I need a few hours where nobody expects anything from me. The trails are close enough to town to be easy, but once I’m under the trees, it feels like I’m in another world.
Everything is muted today.
The ground is dark from overnight rain, and drops still fall from high branches every time the wind moves through the canopy. Ferns crowd the edges of the trail, bright against the wet earth, while the redwoods disappear upward into a layer of pale fog.
I breathe a little deeper, and it reminds me why I moved. Not specifically for this trail, but for this feeling. Space. Quiet. Somewhere I can walk for an hour without checking the time every five minutes.
I’m about twenty minutes in when someone rounds the bend ahead, walking toward me from the opposite direction.
It takes me a second to realize it’s Zander.
He’s alone, wearing faded jeans, hiking shoes, and a charcoal sweatshirt with the sleeves shoved up his forearms. His hair is messier than usual, probably from the damp air, and there’s no guitar case, band equipment, or crowd anywhere near him.
He spots me at almost the same time, and a smile appears.
“Well, this is unexpected.”
I slow as we meet in the middle of the trail. “You’re ruining my peaceful morning.”
“I haven’t made any noise yet.”
“You spoke.”
“That seems harsh.”
I smile despite myself. “What are you doing out here?”
He glances down the trail behind me. “I come out here sometimes to clear my head. Used to a lot more when I was younger.”
“Interesting. I didn’t picture you as a quiet walk-through-the-redwoods type of person.”
He puts a hand against his chest. “You’ve misunderstood me completely.”
“I’ve lived beside you long enough to have evidence.”
“Noise and nature can coexist.”
