“It smells like summer,” she said. Taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, as they drove along the foggy road.

“Hmm?” He glanced at her not turning from the road ahead, knowing it was at times like these that deer liked to dart into the road.

“It smells like summer.” She repeated, breathing in deeply again as if trying to pick out the notes of what exactly summer smelled like. “You know, it’s the scent of that chill that only happens late at night or early in the morning on a summer’s day before the sun has a chance to heat things up. When everything is still covered in dew and the air is moist. It smells like wearing shorts with a hoodie and trying to find dry firewood to make a bonfire. It smells like memory making and like bittersweet nostalgia. It smells like not wanting the nights to end. It smells like summer.” She sighed and leaned against the window.

He smiled at her and reached for her hand. She squeezed it tight and scooted across the bench seat leaning against him.

“That’s a very specific scent.” He told her and leaned down to give her a quick, soft kiss on her forehead.

“It is.” She agreed.

And they drove in silence the rest of the way to the carnival, lost in the thoughts of summer.