“You came,” he said, almost surprised.

That last part — something you don’t mind getting wet — sent a small electric shock through me. Not just because of what it implied, but because of how he said it. Not as a come-on. As a dare. I changed into dark leggings, a long-sleeved thermal, and my sturdiest hiking boots. No jewelry. Hair in a tight braid. When I reached the fence line where our yard gives way to conservation land, Mark was already there, holding two small flashlights — red-lensed for night vision.

The question hung in the air like a dare. Not do you love me — that was easy. Do you trust me was the harder ask, especially in the dark, over a river that had already claimed one tree.

We clicked our lights on and stepped into the trees. Immediately, the world changed. The hum of our refrigerator, the distant highway, the neighbor’s barking dog — all gone. Replaced by cricket songs, the rush of current, and the occasional crack of a twig under our boots.