A group of teenagers whooped and hollered as they pulled their big truck into the parking lot. A row over, a family was folding a stroller into a minivan. Behind them another couple, this one older by several decades, made their way to a dark sedan. All around, people were peopling, but standing there next to Zeke felt more. Just more.

She always felt that way when she was with him. Like she could be enough. Like she was a person who had weight and substance. When she was with Zeke, Chase London felt changed. But soon she would go back to who she was. Would that world remold her into what she used to be, the way a stream carved a path through the land? Was she strong enough to resist, to be unmoved?

“Let’s not worry about the future. Let’s do the present. Come on,” he said, tugging her toward his truck.

She let him lead her, open the door for her, and help her into the truck. For the next few minutes, they drove back to the cabin, the fluffy frog between them, her half-eaten cotton candy carefully wrapped up because she could need it at some point. She was nearly certain cotton candy could be a not-healthy-but-better-than-cocaine coping strategy. Zeke tuned the radio to a station that played love songs. Lionel Richie and Diana Ross teamed up for one about love lasting, like, forever, and it seemed to be sending a message to them.

Or not.

She wasn’t sure what to do with Zeke.

But she wasn’t ready to walk inside the cabin without trying to figure it out, so when they pulled into the driveway, she pointed toward the edge of the woods that hid the stream. “You want to take a walk?”

Zeke raised his eyebrows. “A walk?”

“The moon is pretty, and I don’t want to go inside and make small talk with Neve.” I’d rather spend more time with you.

He glanced over at her. “Sure.”

She didn’t wait. Just bailed out, leaving her frog and new coping food in the seat. He met her halfway across the yard, catching her hand in his. They crunched through the traitorous leaves that had the audacity to fall and repopulate the front yard. The warmth of his hand was little respite against the coolness of the evening. October had arrived to deliver the first kiss of winter.

They walked toward the stream, led by its gurgle. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted and flapped. They picked their way around several rocks that gleamed almost phosphorous in the moonlight and found one large enough to sit on. The hardness of the rock was cold on her bottom and thighs, so she eased her knees up and clasped them.

“Are you cold?” Zeke asked.

“A little.”