He said it like an apology. Like he'd dragged you out here on a whim and was already second-guessing himself. The breeze picked up, carrying the scent of blossoms, and he finally glanced over—just for a second—before snapping his gaze forward again.

A canopy of purple stretched overhead, cascading in thick clusters like painted clouds. Wisteria draped from branch to branch, some vines hanging low enough to brush the top of his head as he passed beneath them. Birds flitted between the boughs, their songs mingling with the rustle of leaves.