Sunshine, a hand-written note, and the day I created a rom-com meet cute IRL

Sun filtered through the shivering needles of ponderosa pines and western larches that loomed above me. The slight breeze did little to cool my warm skin turning pink from the tail-end of a long hike out and back through the Rattlesnake Wilderness. The morning started cool but was swiftly burning off into something bright and beautiful.

Ahead I spotted the last of the mid-wilderness outhouses signaling that I’d be reaching the dirt parking lot in another mile. Walking past, a man. I spotted him rounding the trail well ahead of me. He looked warm in his hoodie, clearly not aware of how cold Montana mornings turn into hot days. As he passed the outhouse, he took off his hoodie and set it beside a tree likely hoping that he’d remember where he put it on his way back.

As he rejoined the trail, I got a good look at him. A well-kept beard. Thoughtful glasses. Smile lines crinkling around his kind eyes. As we passed each other, we gave customary nods and hellos, something I’d been sharing with everyone I’d passed on this popular hike on the outskirts of Missoula.

Now, I know what you must be thinking about. What are you doing, Trisha? Bears vs. men. Who would you want to come across in the woods? The classic debate. As someone who had regularly met both on woodland walks while I lived in Montana, I’ll always choose the bear. But that’s a story for another time.

As we passed each other, ships in the night, I couldn’t help noticing the opportunity blossoming before me. He was handsome. I knew where he left his things. And, after shuffling through my bag, I had a piece of scrap paper and a pen. I couldn’t let this moment pass.

I stopped by his hidden hoodie and scrawled a note: “You’re handsome! Text me if you want to talk!” along with my name and phone number. I folded it up and slipped it in so it was half-hidden underneath the edge of a sleeve.

As I reached my car, I felt accomplished. Even if nothing happened from this, if he never texted me, I still did something brave, something worthy of the rom-coms I loved.

An hour later, I got a text.

I’m not one of those women who treat romantic comedies as a kind of primer, expecting nothing short of the life-changing love that happens on the screen. In fact, I don’t know if any women truly do, although that’s the argument you’d often hear from rom-com-haters. “You think you’ll find the perfect man and will only accept fairy tale love as if it exists in real life. It’s unrealistic,” they say before blaming us for the “male loneliness epidemic” in the next breath.

Truth be told, I treat romantic comedies kind of like horror movies. They’re fun, they’re a fantasy, and you’ll enjoy them more if you suspend your disbelief.

Do I expect real love to feel like a romantic comedy? No. But do I still wish for a bit of magic thrown into my gritty reality? A bit of longing and pining? A bit of hope and friendship and mutual respect?

Definitely. And in that way, rom-coms help me believe in love.

I was sitting in my cold basement apartment, my limbs now cooling after the hike, when my phone vibrated.

He found the note. It was clear he didn’t quite remember me, but it was also clear that he thought this moment, of finding a note from a pretty girl when he least expected it, just as fun and magical as I did. We chatted, we exchanged Instagram handles, and he asked me on a coffee date for the next morning.

But that’s when the luster started to dull its shine. He was in town only for a few days, traveling across the country, living out of his car. He was nice, but was there anything more?

In the end, I canceled that coffee date. Reality isn’t quite like the movies. I saw this for what it was: A fun moment that I’d always remember fondly, but also a reminder that it isn’t perfect in real life, and sometimes you’re actually just talking to a handsome, friendly drifter that perhaps you should just wave to from afar as he moves on to the next place.