Lia’s phone vibrated in her pocket, and she fished it out. Devon had texted her:

Peter started birdwatching after New Year’s, and I bet he meets up with that club.

My mom can drop me off at your house and we can walk. I’ll bring breakfast. You bring binoculars.

And the game was on.

Lia wasn’t sure how Devon knew where she lived. She opened the door before he could knock, slipping out into the dark with him. The morning was cold, colder than it usually was in March, and the wind ripped through their coats like shears through paper. Devon was bundled up in a black wool coat and burgundy scarf, and his hair was curled from the wind. He clutched a small white bag in his left hand, and Lia stayed on his right. Despite the chill, she kept a few inches between them. If Devon wasn’t interested in dating, she shouldn’t push it.

“You cold?” he asked, and pulled his right hand from his pocket. “Here.”

He held out his hand and Lia took it. He tucked her hand into his pocket. At the bottom was one of those hot packets that stayed warm after snapping, and he closed her fingers around it. Lia crossed her other arm over her chest and shoved it under her arm. Devon’s fingers curled around her hand.

“Thank you,” Lia said, ducking her head against the wind and hoping the cold hid her warm cheeks. “So Peter bird-watches? Even on days like this?”

“Especially on ones like this.” He squeezed her hand. “It’s a matter of pride, I think? I don’t know. He likes birds.”

It was a while to the park, and Lia’s parents had agreed to let her walk there since Devon was with her. The dark, though, closed in. The silence made the back of her neck itch.

“Stop.” Devon stopped at the edge of a small parking lot, a lush green park full of frost-ridden evergreens and a trail lined with rosemary bushes leading into the dark. The sun was peeking over the horizon, and he untangled his hand from hers. “We have about fifteen minutes before they show up. Some kid leads it. He’s trying to make it a thing.”

“How do you know?”

He handed her the white bag. “If I tell you I tried it last year, how much will you laugh?”

Lia grinned.

“I hated it,” he said. “Here. You like cinnamon rolls, right?”

“They’re my favorite,” she said, following him into the park. “For this, I won’t laugh.”

“How kind of you,” Devon said, and he hid his smile behind a hand.

They settled into a little thicket far off the trail but close enough to watch Peter arrive. The light filtered through the trees and barely lit their little spot. Devon walked behind a large tree trunk, and the branches rustled. Somewhere, far off, a dog barked. Lia froze.

“Lia?” Devon asked. “You okay?”