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“You seem determined to prove otherwise.”

He laughs, then nods toward the fork to the left. “Which way are you going?”

“I hadn’t decided.”

“I was going to take the longer loop. Want to join me?”

I look toward the trail, then back at him. “Okay.”

For the first few minutes, neither of us tries very hard to fill the silence. It’s surprisingly comfortable. The trail narrows in places, forcing us closer together, then opens beneath massive trunks where the ground is soft with needles and damp leaves.

Zander looks up into the canopy. “I missed this more than I expected.”

“While you were touring?”

“Yeah. Europe has incredible places, but after a while it was airports, buses, hotels, venues. Even when we had a day off, we were usually in a city.”

“Not your thing?”

“I loved it.”

The answer comes quickly enough that I look over.

He shoves his hands into the front pocket of his sweatshirt. “I’d go back tomorrow if we got the call. But I also missed being somewhere where nobody’s honking, yelling, loading gear, or asking when sound check starts.”

“That sounds familiar.”

He glances at me. “San Francisco?”

We step around a muddy section of trail, and I tell him about Mateo’s call and the convention.

“You said no?”

“I did.”

“Did you want to go?”

The question surprises me because it isn’t what most people would ask. Not whether it was a good opportunity or whether the money would’ve been worth it, but whether I wanted it.

“No.”

He nods once. “Then that seems pretty simple.”

“It should be. It didn’t used to feel simple.”

“How come?”

I pick my way over an exposed root before answering. “Because saying no to something good always felt like I was falling behind. There was always another artist working more, posting more, traveling more. I got tired of treating my life like I had to keep proving I deserved the career I already had.”

Zander is quiet for a few steps.

“I get that.”

“You do?”

“Different version of it.”

He looks ahead as the trail starts climbing.