Hiking Boots and High Heels

Roy stayed close to Elaine as they walked back toward the van, their hands linked, swinging lightly between them. The trail sloped gently now, the forest thinning just enough to let sunlight filter through in warm patches. The tension he had carried with him all day had loosened, replaced by something quieter. Something steadier.

They talked as they walked. About music, mostly. About childhoods. About small, ordinary things.

She mentioned a band she had loved in her twenties, one he had not thought about in years.

"The Northern Pikes," she said, almost apologetically. "I doubt you've even heard of them."

Roy stopped walking.

"No way," he said, turning toward her. "The Northern Pikes? Nobody ever remembers them. I had every album."

Her face lit up, delighted and genuinely surprised.

"You're kidding."

"I am not. 'She Ain't Pretty' was basically the soundtrack to my early twenties."

She laughed, and the sound of it felt easy. Natural. For a moment, the strangeness of his situation slipped away. There was no wish. No magic. No impending transfer. Just two people discovering an overlap they had not expected.

The van came into view through the trees.

Roy felt his chest tighten. This was the part where it usually happened. The moment where the universe corrected itself. Where the hairs on his arms stood up and everything shifted sideways. Charlotte. Tabitha. The apartment. The gas station. He had learned the pattern whether he wanted to or not. And he knew who was waiting in the van, who would take ownership of the relationship.

Claire was a beautiful young woman. There was no denying it. But part of him hated the idea of the change. This wasn't the guilt he'd been feeling for the past day, an existential guilt threatening his moral fiber over issues of consent. Now, this was something deeper. It was hard for him to admit, interloper as he was, but he liked Elaine.

They slowed as they approached the vehicle, and Roy stopped walking altogether.

Elaine turned to face him, a curious look on her face.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. His thoughts were tumbling over each other, urgency tangled with dread.

"I... uh..." he started.

She waited, patient, her hand still in his.

"This time we had together,” he said, words clumsy but sincere, "I want you to know that it's been great. Like, really. You're fantastic. In case I don't get a chance to tell you again."

She laughed, leaned in, and kissed him quickly on the lips.

"What are you on about?" she said. "I'm not planning on going anywhere. You'll have all the time in the world to tell me how wonderful I am."

Roy smiled, but he could tell that it did not quite reach his eyes.

"Just in case."

They reached the van. He held his breath, waiting for the moment, waiting for the change.

Nothing happened.

No static. No vertigo. No invisible hand rearranging his life.

Roy climbed into the back seat beside her, heart pounding, waiting.

Still nothing.

The hairs on his arms stayed flat. Relief hit him so hard he almost laughed. Why not? he wondered. Why this time?

The van started moving. Road noise filled the space, and Evan and Claire began talking quietly up front. Elaine leaned closer to Roy, her shoulder brushing his arm.

"Thank you," she murmured. "For agreeing to stay tonight. I don't think I want to be by myself."

Roy froze for a fraction of a second. He thought of their time on the bench in the forest. Of the way she had looked at him when he pulled away. Hurt. Confused. ****. He thought of how real this was to her, no matter how artificial it was to him.

He also thought of how easily he could justify staying. How comforting it would be to tell himself he was doing the right thing. How tempting it was not to question his own motives too closely.

Was he protecting her? Or protecting himself? He didn't know if the distinction even mattered anymore.

"Of course," he said finally, forcing his voice to sound easy. "I'm glad to."

She smiled and drew small circles on his hand with her thumb. They spoke more on the drive, their conversation falling more and more into the comfort of couples, familiar and safe in each other's company. No hidden agendas, no manipulations, just two people who had found each other, who felt good to be together.

The drive blurred by. Trees gave way to open roads, then to neighbourhoods, then to familiar suburban streets. They talked quietly, comfortably, bodies angled toward each other. Roy had never been in a relationship before. He wondered if he was doing it right. He wondered if that even mattered.

They pulled into her driveway.

Evan parked, handed the keys to Elaine, and said his goodbyes with a **** casualness. Claire hugged her mother. Both kids got into their own cars and drove away.

Roy headed to the back of the van to grab his bag as Elaine beelined for the house, saying that she needed to clean up.

"I'll leave the door unlocked," she called as she entered the house. "Make yourself at home. Grab a beer if you want."

Unsure of what would be waiting for him, he carried his bag into the house that Elaine had bought with Mark, locking the door behind him out of habit.

From the inside, the house felt big. Clean. Quiet. An upscale suburban home that suddenly felt far too large for one person. He could imagine how empty it must feel at night, how suddenly lonely Elaine must have been.

As he wandered down the hallway, he passed framed photos. Elaine and Mark on their wedding day. Elaine radiant. Mark tall, broad-shouldered, handsome. Photos of Evan and Claire growing up. Smiling. Happy.

Roy shook his head.

What am I doing with this man's wife?

He found the kitchen. Sure enough, along with an ample supply of food, the fridge held neatly arranged bottles of beer. He poured one into a glass and took a long drink. It was cold and bright and deeply refreshing.

The kitchen reminded him a little of Charlotte's. Clean. Ordered. He wondered, briefly, what Tabitha's kitchen would have been like. Probably chaotic. Half-finished projects. Dishes in the sink. Remembering her on her knees in the gas station restroom, he smiled. That woman had given off wild energy. He doubted she spent too much time worrying about things like being tidy.

He pushed the thought away.

He would probably never see her again. Her or her sister. And if he did, they wouldn't remember him.

He took another drink, his mind then moving on to his work.

It was Saturday. Normally that would be a relief. Now it just meant more time to stew about Tom. About ultimatums. About dismantling his own career because a small, petty man wanted to blame someone else for his own failures. Tom was awful. And lazy. And stupid.

Roy knew that if Tom had put in half the effort Roy had, he would have surpassed him years ago. Instead, he schemed. He plotted. And now Roy would pay the price.

He drained more of his beer, fighting down his anxiety.

"Roy!" Elaine's voice called from down the hall. "Baby? Can you come here for a second?"

He set the glass down and followed her voice into the living room.

There she was. Kneeling on the rug. She wore a black bra and panties, stockings, heels, and a sheer black robe hanging open, framing the intensely arousing image of his magic-induced girlfriend.

Roy stopped dead.

His jaw dropped.

She smiled up at him, eyes bright, a little wild, one hand squeezing a breast, the other touching herself through her panties.

"I'm still feeling pretty riled up from our time on the bench, babe," she said. "I was hoping we could pick it up where we left off."

She tilted her head, playful and daring.

"Unless", she added softly, "you have somewhere else you need to be."

Roy swallowed hard.

He didn't.