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I always wanted to travel.

He always wanted to build motorcycles.

And somehow, every version of our future included each other.

“Remember the first time you brought me here?” I ask.

He leans against the railing.

“You got carsick.”

“I did not.”

“You threw up behind that tree.”

“I was nervous!”

“Because of my driving?”

“Because I thought you were going to kiss me.”

He looks at me.

“And did I?”

“Eventually.”

“Was it worth the wait?”

I pretend to consider.

“Six out of ten.”

He laughs.

“Six?”

“Maybe seven. You were a little overeager.”

“Sweetheart, you climbed into my lap.”

“Details.”

He shakes his head.

I move beside him, resting my elbows on the railing.

For a while, we watch the clouds drift over the valley.

Then he speaks.

“I’m opening a shop here.”

I turn.

“What?”

“Blackwood Customs. Devil’s Peak location.”