I think my renewed laughter is killing any sympathy I might receive.

“Go on,” he says.

“You see, the difference here is that I don’t talk crap about where I come from, I just don’t bring it up.”

“Oh, will you just tell me.”

“Fine,” I say. “I’m from Waterloo.”

“Iowa?” he asks.

“Ontario.”

He’s unusually quiet.

“Canada?”

“Yeah,” I tell him. “It’s actually a really nice place to live.”

“People listen to death metal in Canada?”

And so the hilarity begins.

“People listen to all kinds of music in Canada,” I tell him.

“Wait, wait,” he says, trying to regain his composure. “Say ‘about.’”

“About.”

He’s disappointed and it’s lovely.

“I’m sorry, were you expecting something else?”

 “I thought you were going to say a boat or a boot. I thought you people had a real problem with that word.”

“What do you mean, ‘you people?’” I ask, feigning offense.

He flips on his turn signal.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“We’re in New Jersey,” he says defiantly.

“Yeah, I got that from the road signs. I mean, where are we going?”

He seems rather proud of himself. “We are going camping,” he announces.

“Camping?” I ask. “I really don’t think I’m prepared for that sort of thing.”

“Not to worry,” he says, “I have everything we’re going to need in the trunk.”

“You’ve been planning this for a while, haven’t you?” I ask.

“A few days, yeah,” he says.

I’m a little nervous, but it is quite the gesture.

We exit the freeway and drive for a little while, death metal still droning quietly in the background. Either Dane’s forgotten about it, or he’s just that into me.

 Eventually, we pull into a campground in what’s called South Mountain Reservation. There are a few occupied spots, but all in all, it’s pretty quiet here.

After we get everything unpacked, one thing becomes painfully clear: he forgot to pack a tent.

He offers to run into the nearest town and pick one up, but it’s already getting late and I’m tired.

The air is warm enough, and we have plenty of bug spray, so we just unroll our sleeping bags and spend the night under the stars.

As tired as I am, I can’t keep my eyes closed. The sky is filled with more stars than I remember existing.

For all its simplicity, getting to know Dane a little better and lying under such a bright canopy, this is quite probably the best night of my life.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Eyes of the Morning

Leila

My peaceful sleep is shattered by the piercing cacophony of an alarm clock.

With my eyes still closed, I reach over to hit the snooze button before I realize I’m not in my bed.

Dane is already up, and he’s quick to silence the alarm.

“Sorry about that,” he says. “I forgot to turn that off.”

I rub my eyes and look around.

The sky is growing brighter, but the sun’s not up yet. It looks like it won’t be up for a while.

“You know,” I tell him. “I love the camping idea, but I’m not so much for the early morning.”

“It’ll be worth it,” he says, “trust me. Are you hungry? I packed some food. We still have a bit of time before we need to get going.”

“Get going?” I ask. “Tell me they don’t actually kick people out of here this early in the morning.”

“No,” he says, “nothing like that.”

“Then why the hell am I getting up so early?”

He smiles.

“It’s a surprise.”

I don’t so much stand as I roll and stumble to my feet. Dane pulls a peanut butter sandwich out of the cooler and hands it to me.

We eat and Dane sprays us both with some more bug spray.

“We should probably get going,” he says. “It’s going to be a bit of a hike to where we’re headed.”

“And where are we going?” I ask again.

I realize I’m pestering him, but he’s the one who set the alarm for the pre-break of dawn wakeup.

“Just trust me,” he says. “I promise it’ll be worth it.”

For now, I trust him, but this better be going somewhere. In case it’s not apparent, I’m really not a morning person.

He puts on a backpack and we walk down the dirt path a while until we come to a trail. As I squint to see what’s written on the sign, Dane covers my eyes with his hands.

“No peeking,” he says.

“You know that I’m probably not going to be able to hike very well if I can’t see, right?”

“It’s just until we get past the sign,” he says. “It’ll give away the surprise.”

I walk slowly and can only hope that there aren’t too many signs along our way. This is pretty ridiculous.

After what feels like ten minutes of walking—probably closer to two—Dane removes his hands.

We hike on the main trail for a while before the sound of water gives Dane away.

It’s not quite sunrise, and he’s taking me to a waterfall.

I want to kiss him and praise him for his thoughtfulness, but he’s so adamant that it be a surprise, I don’t say anything about it.

“How are you feeling?” he asks and my heart skips in my chest.

“I’m feeling great,” I tell him.

“You sure?” he asks. “You seemed pretty tired back at camp.”

I shrug.

“I woke up,” I tell him.

As the sun comes ever closer to peeking over the horizon, my pace naturally quickens. Not knowing exactly where we’re going, I grab Dane’s hand to give me direction.

Ahead, there’s a sign for Hemlock Falls, and I feel myself growing warm at the thought.

“Oh shit,” he says. “Don’t look.”

“Okay,” I say, covering my eyes.

“You saw it, didn’t you?” he asks.

I remove my hands. “Yeah,” I tell him. “Trust me, though, it’s still a wonderful surprise.”

“Here’s another one,” he says. “That’s not where we’re going.”

“It’s not?” I ask. “Then why didn’t you want me to look?”

“Well, the cat’s out of the bag on the waterfall part of it, but we’re going somewhere a little further off the main path,” he says.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I found it one summer when my family camped up here. I’ve never heard anybody talk about it, but I know I’m not the only person who’s found it.”

“How do you know?” I ask.

“Well, for one, I’m not that profound a wilderness explorer,” he laughs. “For two, there’s a little handmade sign near the plunge pool. It’s called Winterberry Falls.”

The sky is getting brighter by the minute, and both Dane and I are jogging now.

He leads me down a tiny dirt path that all but disappears after the first hundred feet or so, but we keep going.

I can hear the water in the distance, and my heart is pounding in my chest.

“We’re almost there,” he says, but I don’t see anything.

It’s light enough that I should be able to pinpoint where the waterfall is, but for the life of me, I don’t know where we’re going. I can hear the roar of the water, but it seems to be coming from a great distance.

“Just a little further,” he says.

We’re lost. This is just great. After the way I teased him yesterday, he’s probably going to drag us both deeper into the woods until we can’t find our way back before he admits he doesn’t know where…

Just ahead, the ground drops sharply. Dane’s pace slows and we veer to the left, avoiding the steepest part of the slope.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, stopping in his tracks.

“I trust you,” I tell him.

“How much?”

“Enough,” I answer.

“Close your eyes,” he says, taking my hand.

I close them.

He leads me slowly down the embankment, taking care to tell me what kind of terrain is in front of my every step.

My eyes aren’t closed very long before the ground levels beneath my feet and Dane steps behind me.

“All right,” he says.

I open my eyes, and there, directly in front of me is the waterfall. The pool at the bottom is rather calm as the flow of water is somewhat light. There’s a deep alcove behind the waterfall which seems to be the reason the waterfall sounds so loud from where we’re standing.