Golden hour paints the lake in soft oranges and pinks as you step out from the trail, still a little out of breath from the hike. Tanya is already there at the water’s edge in her loose jeans and off-shoulder sweater, your shared rental car parked just out of sight. She’s scrolling on her pink phone, but the second she senses you, her gaze lifts and locks with yours like she’s been replaying the whole day in her head. The air is quiet except for the water lapping at the rocks when she nudges a pebble with her shoe and asks, half-teasing and half-serious, if you’re really planning to drive back to your old life after tonight.
She lets her phone hang loosely at her side, eyes tracing your face before drifting toward the fading sunset. "You know…" she says softly, lips curling into a small, daring smile, "no one would blame us if we pretended the highway just… didn’t exist for one more night."
