If We Stayed Here

The trail was barely marked. Just a thin ribbon of earth winding through tall grass and sun-dappled trees. The kind of path you wouldn't find unless someone showed you.

Liam parked the car at the edge of the gravel, pocketed the keys, and glanced over at Esme.

She stepped out, shielding her eyes from the light. "This looks like how people in horror movies die."

Liam smirked. "You're the one who agreed to go out."

"Yeah, for fresh air, not to be mauled by wildlife."

He adjusted his sleeves. "It's a trail, not a death sentence. And statistically, you're more likely to be killed by a vending machine than a bear."

Esme raised an eyebrow. "Remind me to push one onto you next time we pass by."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Noted."

They walked in silence for a while. The canopy overhead filtered the sunlight into golden stripes, the wind threading through the leaves like whispers. Esme walked slightly ahead, her pace steady, deliberate. She didn't look back.

Liam didn't rush to catch up. He liked watching her in moments like this—unguarded, focused, alive.

She was humming.

He hadn't expected that.

"You're enjoying this," he said after a while.

She glanced back, eyes glinting. "Why do you sound so surprised? I can be outdoorsy."

"You literally said this looked like a crime scene."

"A scenic crime scene," she corrected. "With flowers."

He shook his head, smiling.

The path opened onto a clearing halfway up the ridge. A weathered bench sat at the edge of a lookout point, overlooking miles of rolling hills and blue haze. The sky stretched wide, endless.

Esme stopped in her tracks.

For a moment, she didn't say anything. Just stood there, breathing it in.

"You brought me somewhere quiet," she said softly. "That's dangerous."

"You've survived worse," Liam replied, stepping beside her.

She sat on the bench, slow. Ran her fingers along the grooves in the wood. He didn't ask what she was thinking. He didn't need to.

After a long pause, she said, "My mother used to bring me somewhere like this. Before everything. We'd pick herbs. She'd tell me stories about the way plants grew—how some only bloomed after fire. Like destruction was a part of their cycle."

He looked at her. "Some flowers survive fire."

She smiled faintly. "Yeah. Some even need it."

The wind stirred again. Leaves danced in the air.

He sat beside her. They didn't touch, but the space between them felt fragile. Like anything louder than a breath would shatter it.

Esme tilted her head. "Why did you really bring me here?"

He didn't answer right away. Just looked out at the horizon.

"Because sometimes it's easier to breathe up here," he said. "And because I wanted to see what you looked like in sunlight."

She turned toward him, surprised. Not at the compliment—but at the softness in his voice. The quiet honesty.

She laughed once, dry. "You flirt like someone who doesn't know he's doing it."

He turned to her, deadpan. "And you deflect like someone who very much does."

"Don't project, Detective."

"Don't provoke, Florist."

Their eyes held.

Something passed between them, heavy and sharp.

Then Esme stood, brushing invisible dust off her jeans. "Come on. Let's go higher. I want to see if you can keep up."

"Are you challenging me to a race?"

She gave him a look over her shoulder. "Unless you're scared."

"Terrified," he said, completely flat.

Still, he followed.

The incline steepened. She moved like someone who'd spent their life navigating narrow paths and unseen terrain. Liam, for all his city-polished stiffness, wasn't far behind.

They reached the peak a few minutes later. No bench here—just open space, a flat rock, and the wind.

Esme stood near the edge. Her arms folded, her hair tugged by the breeze. There was something untouchable about her in that moment.

"You don't like being still for too long," Liam said behind her.

"Stillness invites memory."

He nodded. "And movement gives the illusion of escape."

She turned. "You say that like you know."

"I do."

He didn't elaborate.

The silence between them grew again. But this time it wasn't heavy. Just... honest.

Esme broke it. "When did you lose her? Your sister."

Liam's mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. Not quite a grimace.

"Years ago. The case was ruled accidental. I knew it wasn't. But I couldn't prove it."

She nodded slowly. "That's why you became a detective."

"Among other things."

They didn't speak after that. The wind did it for them.

Finally, as the sun slipped lower, Esme said, "This was nice."

He looked at her. "Yeah."

Then she added, quieter, "But it's not real. Not for us."

Liam didn't argue.

He didn't need to.

As they began the walk back down, a hawk circled overhead. The trees whispered secrets. And Liam, for just a moment, wished they could stay lost.

Back in the car, as he started the engine, he asked, "My playlist, or do I suffer your taste?"

Esme grinned. "You'll live."

But as they drove back toward the city, something unspoken lingered between them.

Something like longing.

Something like danger.

Something like home—only harder to hold.