Bo ran the conversation through his head, swallowing gulps of still, lukewarm summer air. Thinking left him hot and uncomfortable. He absolutely refused to believe, even consider, that he had a moment of weakness, where he reached out to a stranger for conversation, that he had perpetually embarrassed himself by being too blunt or thickheaded. Or even worse, that he actually enjoyed it. That this random guy settled something in him and that he was handsome didn’t help his case, either.

‘Fuck,’ Bo thought, hissing through his teeth. The way the shorter guest agreed to help him, without hesitation, suggested something he didn’t want to think about. That meant hope. He was sure Bo wouldn’t recognize himself the next time he looked in a mirror. Walls had to go up faster, and Bo wouldn’t let himself get sucked into that easy smile and those flowing words. He would be on guard next time. That’s what he told himself.

He returned inside as mains were being cleared. No one looked at him as he headed back to his table. Bo was grateful for that – that invisibility. Even so, it made him cold, uneasy.

Especially when all he could see was the shorter guest’s nape, patterned gently with dark hairs.

He turned away and scoffed, chastising himself as he sat back at his table. ‘He was just being nice,’ Bo thought. ‘It’s all for Ada. Just talk to him every so often to keep her off my back. Don’t take up so much of his time being a nuisance, then go home.’ Bo felt his resolve evaporate the moment he fell back in his seat and started tapping out the rhythm to The Barber of Seville’s Overture in an attempt to calm himself. In retrospect, he should’ve picked something a bit slower.

In the end, it only irritated him. Unnerved him.

“Welcome back,” Ada whispered, her words thin and tense. “I saw you were talking to someone.”

“Shut up,” he said through his teeth.

Ada frowned and ignored him.

Bo plunged himself into continued empty small talk with such vigor it surprised him and his sister. The conversation shifted from jobs to where they wanted to vacation, memorable places they’ve gone. The topic was enough to intrigue Bo, though the cliché answers of the Caribbean and Mexico were well-worn. Some lauded New York City, nearby Allisport.

“Why not the Redwoods?” Bo threw out under his breath. “Something not so – ”

“The Redwood Forests?” someone asked.

He froze. “Y-yeah.” Bo’s memories were color-saturated, decorated with light and height. He was smaller, and the world was covered in green. Everything stretched so high into the heavens that it made him dizzy. Bo had never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

“Why there?” the guest from L.A. asked.

Bo locked eyes with the guest and clenched his jaw. “Y-you look up, and...” He was there again, swimming in the dappled shadows, listening to the music of woodpeckers and grouses. Somewhere, the ocean crashed, and the wind sighed through the branches. The smell – a mix of sea salt and dry earth, gentle spice and sweetness – could never be captured, no matter how desperately he searched for it. Music played through the trees, and birds sang along with it to such a degree he nearly started crying right then and there. A chill ran through him, remembering. “...I don’t know. Y-you’re swallowed into this, like, rabbit hole of the trees. This swath of green and it’s so...” Bo sat forward, his eyes glossy and distant. “I would kill to go back there.”

Some cooed at him, similar sentiments met.

“I love how you said that,” the author said, withdrawing their phone from their pocket. “I need to write that down.”

“Have you ever been to the Sequoia National Forest? Absolutely gorgeous.”

“‘You look up, and you’re swallowed into this rabbit hole of trees, this swath of green’,” the author whispered. “Stunning.”

“Hey, has anyone actually been in town? I’m looking for a gift for someone, and the gift shop doesn’t...seem like the place for an authentic Lake Yerkes gift, y’know?”

“What’s an ‘authentic Lake Yerkes’ gift?”

Bo pressed a hand to the side of his head, tired and drifting away. He turned his eyes just enough to catch the guest from the terrace in profile, leaning forward in animated conversation at another table; the expression on his face suggested less interest and more anxiety. Bo shot his eyes back to the table, cheeks flushed and trying not to embarrass himself further. “I haven’t been,” he stammered, though the conversation had moved on already.