“Looks like we lost Gavin.” I check and am surprised that I don’t feel disappointed.

“Not my doing,” Will jokes. Then, "Is that okay?”

“I guess. I mean, he wanted to enjoy himself biking. He has to move faster than my snail pace if he wants to do that.”

“I’m enjoying myself,” Will says. “I like your snail pace.”

I give a small smile that he can’t see. I don’t tell him, but I’m enjoying myself too. The mountain is beautiful in the summer. There are boulders and stony outcroppings covered in moss and ferns and the glistening of small natural springs leaking from the rocks. The smell of sun-warmed leaves and freshly biked-over dirt fills the air. A bird calling zee-zee-zee ascends in high notes.

“That’s a warbler,” I say. “Hear that call? They’re common in New York. Prairie warblers, Canada warblers, chestnut sided warblers—”

“Wait,” Will says. He pedals closer. "You really do go bird watching? With binoculars?” He sounds surprised and slightly embarrassed.

“Oh, so now you believe me? You think I really was birdwatching in the oak tree?”

I look back and grin. When he sees my smile, his expression shifts. “Nope. You’re still a peeping Tom.”

I look forward again. "We had a bunch of birdcall CDs at the library. I did a community program on New York birds one summer.”

“Hence, warblers.”

“Mhmm. They’re funny birds. During courtship they perform dances in the air to show off their skills and chase after their chosen female.” I don’t know why I’m bringing up courtship with him.

“Fascinating.”

I shiver at the way the word rolls off his tongue.

“They also sing to mark their territory and fight off other males.”

“Hmmm. Do they?” There’s a thoughtful note to his voice.

I carefully steer around a cluster of rocks. Gavin’s tire tracks are on the trail, so he’s still somewhere ahead of us. Maybe I should try harder to catch up with him.

“You didn’t have to try very hard today,” I say.

“Try what?”

“To separate me and Gavin.”

There’s a rickety-looking bridge, three wooden planks that are eight feet long, laid over a small rocky stream. I pull to a stop.

Will pulls up beside me. He steps off his bike. I look over in surprise. He lays it in the grass at the side of the trail.

“What are you doing?” I scoot my bike backwards.

“Trying harder,” Will says.

A warm heat pools in my abdomen. It’s a delicious melting feeling that says yes. That, more than anything else, scares me.

“I don’t want to kiss you,” I say, shaking my head.

His eyes flash in challenge.