Page 8 of Their Secret Hideaway

I yearn to be with him even more. His lack of openness isn’t the point where I want to tell him to put up or shut up just yet.

It does keep me wondering. Are his folks that vile? He seems to like his mother. Is his father just that repulsive where he fears I’m going to dump him on the spot?

Could there be something else?

Part of me just wants to get up and ask him, demanding a straight answer. But I’m also aware that it may well be a sensitive topic for him. He’s a strong looking guy with his head on straight, but it’s hard to grow up in today’s world without getting some trauma and something you feel anxious about not sharing with other people.

His truck pulls up, its persistent filth the proof he’s as much of an Evergreen Valley native as he says he is. He steps out of his truck, his hiking backpack at the ready. “You're looking absolutely as beautiful as ever.”

“Thanks. I think the brown boots and shirt with a million pockets really brings out the color of my eyes.”

“I mean, it’s more of you’d be absolutely beautiful in anything. Including nothing. Especially nothing.”

I giggle. “Wouldn’t mind seeing you in nothing myself.”

He offers his arm to me, an old timey maneuver meant to make me laugh. “Now where are we going tonight, m’lady?”

“First, never call me ‘m’lady’ again,” I say, pulling him along and heading down the path.

“I promise I will never seriously call you m’lady again, m’lady.”

I playfully pieface him with the palm of my hand. “Dork.”

“What, I can’t help but love the way you crack up.”

I had sold Fox on another one of my natural little getaways. While what I had dubbed as ‘Nature’s Cathedral’ was the most sacred of these spots to me, it didn’t mean that I didn’t have a fine list of a bunch of other fun little spots that I quite enjoyed.

Fox clearly didn’t do this as much as I did, but he’s settling into the hiking and outdoorsmanship hobby quite well. “Me and the boys used to do a lot of running around in the forests, but you take it to a whole new level, Tabitha.”

“I don’t expect many people to embrace being a bit of a flower child like I am. This was just my world through my teenage years and something I kept coming back to.”

We go deeper into the forests. It’s a bit past where the rangers say it’s safe for people to go, but I’ve always thought it’s more of a mark of ‘we don’t want to bother patrolling this far’ than any actual warning of its actual safety. Most people do obey such things though, and this means that I come across a whole lot of spots most folks would have never heard about before.

There’s no rush for either of us. We take our time, making sure to watch for any sudden branches that could trip us up, or poison ivy ready to punish us for daring to wear shorts today.

“Ah, there’s the stream,” I note aloud, and start using it as a marker for our path.

“Oh, we’re following the water today? Where could you be leading me, my dear Tabitha?”

Most of our destinations have been little clearings in the forest, or little hills that give us some fantastic views. Water usually isn’t involved.

Today, I lead him along this stream. A crystal clear one, the water fresh and with a unique taste I’d never been able to replicate. Soon, its sibling stream appears in my sight, letting me know I’m going the right direction. All until we finally reach our destination, a beautiful, secluded pool that I wholeheartedly believe hasn’t been seen by more than a hundred people in the past hundred years.

“Welcome to Old Gold Sifter’s Pond,” I say, my arms stretched out like I’m an overenthusiastic tour guide.

He cocks his head to the side. “Never heard of this place.”

“No one has. Someone found gold here once a hundred and fifty years ago. A bunch of people tried to find more. It wasn’t much of a gold rush, but it’s the most interesting historical thing about this little pond, so that’s how it got its name.”

He walks along to one of the smoother rocks perched along the creek. “Something tells me that you’re not here for the off chance of finding a gold nugget.”

“I mean, that’d be nice. I’d like to make a piece of jewelry with some raw gold,” I say, setting my bag down and perching on the rock beside him. “But this place? It doesn’t need gold to be beautiful.”

The moon is high in the sky. We’d been hiking for awhile, and the chill of the area is still nice and lovely. Just that point where it’s hard to break a sweat but you’re nowhere near thinking you ought to get a jacket.

It’s also bright enough tonight that we barely need anything else to see. It’s just the two of us, and no one else for miles.

“This is a pretty clean looking pond,” Fox says, looking down into it. He scoops some of the water into his hand and sips it. “You’d think it’d be tainted by one of the local factories.”

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