Sometimes, I wish he would just…push a little. Nudge me out of my shell. Because as much as I like it in my shell, and as much as I’d get a little spiky and snotty if he DID nudge, part of me wants to be drawn out of myself. I think he’s afraid of hurting me. Of scaring me. Of getting too close too fast even for his own liking.

Just a little, at first, I’d tell him, if he asked. A walk, maybe. Take me fishing, because while it’s boring as hell, it’s something different, something to do besides try and pretend I’m cool, I’m fine, this is fine. I dunno. I just know he’s there and I’m here, and we keep sort of slipping off of each other, not quite connecting, because my hurt is deep and my shell is thick, and so is his. I think we’re also like two soap bubbles floating through the air, bouncing off each other, connecting for a moment, separating.

I read a bit more, another chapter, but I keep thinking about that part. Don’t push, just nudge a little.

All right. Let’s give it a whirl. I’m bored and lonely again, and I’d like to talk to her.

It’s early afternoon. She just quit painting and has packed up and gone inside. It’s a gorgeous day, one of those days that’s on the verge between late summer and not quite fall. Cool at night, but still warm during the day. I stuff a sweater in my backpack, a couple bottles of water, my hunting compass, and a package of jerky.

Before I can reconsider, I head over and knock on her door.

She opens the door enough to frame her body. “Hi. What’s up?”

“I was thinking I’d go for a little hike in the woods. Nothing strenuous, just…walk around the lake a bit. And I thought maybe you’d like to come along.”

I’m tempted to overexplain, to ramble, so I chew on the inside of my cheek to keep my mouth shut.

She just stares at me, thinking. “I…”

“If you don’t want to, I get it.”

She huffs. “No, I…I do. Actually. I could use the exercise.” She’s wearing short cloth shorts with ragged, rolled-up hems and a baggy T-shirt—painting clothes. “Let me just put on some jeans.”

I nod and turn away. She closes the door—a few minutes later she exits the cabin wearing faded blue jeans, a more form-fitting T-shirt, hiking boots, with a sweatshirt tied around her waist.

I indicate the shoreline heading away from my cabin, to the right of hers. “Done some exploring around my cabin, but haven’t seen much on this side.”

“I’ve barely left the cabin except for the dock and town a few times.”