Birding with Benefits

Chapter 2

When John was ten, he and his dad had been hiking in the Santa Ritas when a monsoon hit. It was one of those microbursts that filled streambeds and washes in an instant, the rainfall so thick that for a few dizzying minutes, John lost all sense of up and down. All he could do was let the sheets of water sluice off his face and wait for the world in front of him to clear.

Some thirty years later, he felt that way again, even as the sunshine glimmered brightly just beyond the shadow of the ramada. The last few swirling minutes were a blur of sensation—Celeste thrusting pastries at him as her earrings swung to her rhythm, then crowding him on the bench, smelling of peppermint. A park full of birdsong, nimble fingers at his waist, the clench of his stomach when Breena approached, and the surprise at how it was eased by the small circles Celeste drew on his knee.

But none of these pieces completed the puzzle. He had no idea what was happening. Only that Breena was puffing out a short “huh” as she stared at Celeste’s outstretched hand just long enough for John to think a rebuff was coming. And that Celeste straightened even more against his body and drew in a breath, keeping her arm outstretched until Breena finally met her hand for a shake. And that when Celeste’s hand returned to his knee, fingers relaxed, he had the sensation they’d all passed a test of some sort, even though he didn’t even know the subject.

Chris was behind this. John’s best friend was always loyal and supportive, but he’d been overboard lately, funneling his own professional malaise into jump-starting what he called John’s “long-ignored dreams.” It was Chris who’d signed them up for the contest, promising John a fresh start. And when he’d had to drop out at the last minute due to ill-timed snail mating, he’d convinced John to “persevere” and had promised him a new partner.

“Don’t let this stop you!” Chris had pleaded when he’d broken the news. “I’ll find the perfect replacement. Please, this is what you need, just do this for me.”

“Girlfriend?” Breena’s tight voice yanked John back in the blurry scene as he blinked, trying to bring it all into focus. “I didn’t realize you were seeing someone, John.” She snapped one set of fingers close to her thigh. “Nice to meet you, Celeste.”

Celeste simply hummed in response, turning away from Breena to give John a beaming smile. Her fair skin contrasted with the rich brown of her hair, and a fan of freckles dotted the curves of her cheeks. Laugh lines framed her mouth in a look he could only describe as conspiratorial. He shouldn’t have liked it so much, but he found himself smiling back.

Above them, Breena cleared her throat. “So, does this mean you have a partner after all?”

Celeste gave a breezy nod, her brown ponytail swinging in time with her dangling purple beaded earrings as she kept the full force of her attention on John. “Obviously, that answer is yes. Right, babe?”

“Um.” John mumbled, scrubbing at his beard. Somewhere behind him, a Lucy’s warbler trilled, its frenetic call a mirror to his quickened heartbeat. Celeste’s fingers on his knee switched from the gentle circle to a dig of nails. “Right,” he squeaked.

Breena drummed her fingers on her hip, watching Celeste. “Well, you must be good. John doesn’t go birding with just anybody. I should know, since we were champs together three years in a row.”

Celeste’s hand froze on John’s knee. Somewhere across the park, a northern mockingbird cycled through a series of high, cheerful songs.

“Birding.” She nearly chirped the word, swallowing the last syllable. John registered the loss of heat from her palm as Celeste reached for her cup and took a long sip of her coffee, closing her eyes. She opened her eyes and smiled. “Yes. Birding. I do that.”

Breena nodded, but the rapid staccato of her fingers on her hip gave her away. She rarely showed nervousness, but this drumming was one of her tells. He didn’t doubt she’d been triumphant when word filtered down that John wouldn’t be in the contest this year. Chris had been sure to bring it up when convincing him that his layoff from his steady job was “a sign from the universe” that this could be the breakthrough he needed. “You know, an extra perk is that Breena will see you don’t need her,” he’d said with a conspiratorial smirk.

And even though John preferred birding for the joy of it over the scramble of the annual contest, he didn’t hate the idea of showing Breena what he could do without her.

Not that he’d get a chance. Chris’s snails were mating, and whatever had brought Celeste to the park this morning, it clearly wasn’t birding.

“Good luck, B,” he said as a goodbye, ready to sort things out with Celeste so he could head home and put in some hours in his shop. It was second best to how he’d planned to spend the morning, but it would do.

Ignoring John’s hint that their conversation was over, Breena held her ground and watched Celeste carefully, her nervous tic giving way to a stillness she’d always had in the field. For a moment, it brought John back to when they’d met, both eager wildlife grad students grateful to have a shot at honing their passions, bonding over microscope slides and invasive species studies. And birds.

But that was a long time ago, and Celeste was no specimen for examination. He wasn’t sure who she was, but she’d come to help, and it irked him to see her in Breena’s sights.

“Well, Breena, we don’t want to keep you,” Celeste piped up just as John was working up what else to say to get Breena to go. “Please—” She waved a hand in a gesture of such clear dismissal that he forced down a laugh. “Carry on with your morning.”

Breena’s eyes narrowed, but then she nodded and turned without a word, heading toward a long table set up under a lanky mesquite tree. Celeste unwound herself from John, the crisp breeze whisking away the warmth of her hands. On the bench, their thighs still touched.

She took a long sip from her cup before turning to John, squinting. “I don’t really know what’s going on, do I?”

He slid away, creating enough space to turn and face her more directly. One of her fingers traced the plastic edges of the drink top. Ridiculously, John felt a phantom touch on his knee. “What exactly did Chris say about meeting me today?”

Celeste pulled on her ponytail, running it through her fingers as she bit her lip. “The truth is, I’d had a glass of wine and was concentrating a lot on my teapot. Chris was going back and forth between telling me all about how guilty he felt for abandoning you and flirting with the painting instructor. But what I gathered was something about snails.” She paused, pursing her lips. “Is that right, is it really snails?”

“It’s really snails. They’re his life’s work.”

Celeste took the fact in stride. “So whatever was happening with his snails meant he couldn’t help you out with something, and he was afraid he’d really left you in a pickle. And I remember that part because I just did The Tempest with my students, and that phrase is there—How camest thou in this pickle?” She picked up her scone and took a bite, nodding to herself as she chewed. “I may have missed a few details. But then I perked back up when he started talking about your ex, because I’m petty like that. ‘Brilliant but cold,’ he’d said. And something about cheating with some genius or something. Was that really her?”

She motioned to where Breena stood talking to Marisol, a small pitbull of a birder known for playing birdcalls on her phone to throw other people off.

John nodded and sighed, rubbing at his beard. Leave it to Chris to tell Celeste about the stupid genius, but not give her any details about the actual contest.

Celeste whistled. “Wow, she is gorgeous. Sorry about the cheating.” She gave his knee a little pat, a far cry from the trail she’d drawn along his kneecap during her surprise performance, not that he expected that again. “And then he says—” She held her finger in the air. “I remember this clearly, he said, ‘And his ex will be there on Saturday, and I’d really like her to see John with another partner. This is important to help John move forward.’ So that’s when I said I could come and help.”

Understanding dawned as the pieces clicked together. “And when he said ‘partner,’ you thought—”

Celeste dropped her face into her hands before looking back up, blushing. “Romantic partner.” She pulled at her hair. The hues of brown streaming from her ponytail reminded him of the grain of the black walnut he’d used in a recent project. “But that’s not actually what you needed.”

John shrugged, almost laughing. If you asked his mother and some of his friends, he was certainly in need of a romantic partner, but he felt otherwise. “No.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Celeste stood, smoothing her dress over slim hips. She was tall, probably only a few inches shorter than John’s six feet, and pacing energetically. “I am so embarrassed. Even for me, this is a lot.”

“Really, what you did was very kind, and I appreciate your jumping in to help.”

The pacing paused as Celeste smirked. “She did seem a little off-kilter seeing you with someone new.”

The truth of it surprised him. From the beginning of their relationship, everyone had acted like John had won the lottery. Breena was beautiful, brilliant, and a clear rising star in their field. Always networking and looking five years ahead, she was a study in contrasts with John, the quiet guy in the corner with a book in his hands. When John had finally ended things, she’d told him he’d regret it. “I’m special, John,” she’d spat. “You think someone like you will find somebody like me again?”

She hadn’t had to go into detail about the someone like you part, not when she’d made it clear enough over time what somebody like John lacked—ambition, drive, and forward thinking, among other things.

But for someone who’d sworn she’d washed her hands of him, Breena had paid a lot of attention to Celeste, and it hadn’t felt terrible. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Though it might be more about the contest thing than the…” He motioned between them, suddenly feeling ridiculous. “Other thing.”

“Right.” She nodded. “The contest. It’s something with birds?”

Birds. Finally, something about this morning John could understand. “Every year, the Arizona Ornithological Society organizes a bird-watching contest. People enter in pairs, and the object is to count as many bird species in our region as possible.”

Blinking, Celeste cycled through expressions until she settled on a smile. “Wow. A bird-watching contest. That’s a thing.” Snails, bird-watching, Breena. Nothing seemed to shake this woman. “That sounds fun, but she was kind of intense about it. Is it a big deal?”

He wished it weren’t, and yet. “Not in the grand scheme of things, but over the years the event has taken on more significance within the regional birding community.” Her brows lifted at the phrase “regional birding community,” but he continued. “Winning is a real badge of honor, bragging rights and all that. And this year the winners will be featured in Arizona Beauty magazine and get a speaking role at the next Arizona Bird Festival. Chris entered us because—” He cut himself off, not having meant to go into even that many details, which were of no interest to Celeste anyway.

But she leaned in close, bringing a whiff of peppermint with her. “Because?”

Best to get everything out at once. “A lot of people travel here to go birding, and sometimes they want a local expert to help them make sure they can make the most of their time here. I’ve thought about starting my own business, doing private bird guiding.”

She nodded, looking interested. “Amazing, what a cool job. And what’s been holding you back?”

Celeste couldn’t know her simple question hit an already battered target, but John winced nonetheless. What was “holding him back” was a regular topic of debate among his family and friends, whether it was his prolonging his stay at home after college, choosing not to pursue a PhD like his peers, settling for an office job in Tucson he’d never loved, or taking too long to pick an item off a restaurant menu.

“Well, most of the established guides in town are experts, and they have the advanced degrees to prove it. I’m not sure I’m qualified.”

“You don’t have fancy letters after your name?”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t. I’d imagined myself going that way, and I did start graduate school, but—” John paused, hearing an echo of Breena’s voice in his head. How could you just drop out? You’re embarrassing both of us! “It didn’t work for me,” he said simply. “I’ve always birded as a hobby, but I went in a different direction professionally.”

Celeste tented her fingers together between her bouncing thighs. With each bounce, her knee sent a rush of air against his.

“But you’re a good… birder? Is that what I would call you?”

“Yeah.” His eyes caught again on Breena, who’d once graced John with the compliment that if he just applied himself, he’d be one of the most impressive birders in the region. “And yes, I’m okay at it.”

But Celeste tapped her cup and shook her head. “I think you’re being humble. When she was over here, Breena said something about being three-time champions.”

“Yeah.” John gnawed on his lip. “But that was together, and now—” Even with Chris, who knew more about snails than birds but was a beast on the trail, Breena would be tough to beat. But with Chris out, and Celeste showing up as the wrong kind of partner, John was clearly out of the contest.

It was probably for the best. He could search for a new job, keep his life simple, and maybe try again next year.

Celeste twisted her fingers in her ponytail to tug on it again. He watched three faint pulses in the side hollow of her neck, just below the swing of her earring. “You said something before about losing your job?”

John directed his gaze at the blue sky over Celeste’s shoulder. He hadn’t been this close to a woman in a while, and it was throwing his already confused system for a loop. “I managed donation records for the Southern Arizona Land Conservancy, but we merged with another nonprofit, and my job was eliminated in the process.”

“So why are you smiling?”

He rubbed his beard to confirm it, then let out a short laugh. “It was good work. All stuff I cared about, but it was hard being at a desk in an office all day. I’d known for a while it wasn’t a good fit for me, but it seemed wrong to leave a good job.” So he’d stayed. For years.

“In that case, please accept my congratulations for being fired.” She gave a serious nod, smiling broadly. “Are you looking for something else?”

He should be. And he meant to start every day, but then instead he sat on his porch and watched the birds, or practiced something new in his workshop. “I have savings to live off for a few months, and I make some income off the woodworking. But Chris thought that with the contest, maybe I could finally—” He stopped and ran a hand through his hair.

Celeste slapped her thighs. “Do the bird thing! You have time to plan, because you’re out of work, and the contest win would give you the boost to get new clients, right?”

Celeste was channeling Chris even in his absence. That paint night must have been quite a scene. “That was the idea, but it’s really okay that it’s not—”

Celeste interrupted him with a wave of her hand. “So obviously you have to do the contest.” She leveled her eyes at him. “This is the moment.”

John pictured her at the head of a colorful classroom, arms outstretched as she talked enthusiastically about whatever it was middle school language arts teachers talked about. She was probably the kind of teacher who worked to make each kid feel special, the kind who’d find a way to get that quiet boy in the back row to participate.

But he wasn’t one of her students. “It’s a moot point. You’re required to enter as a team, and I don’t have a partner.”

“We’ll find you one,” Celeste answered quickly. “Someone who actually knows their stuff.” She closed her eyes tightly, but only for a moment. “This is perfect.” She hit John’s leg. “My friend Layla, she’s the science teacher at school. She wore a T-shirt the other day with birds on it. Maybe she knows stuff. I can call her.”

“That’s nice of you to think of her,” John said. “But there’s really no time.”

“Oh, I’m sure we can make it work.” Celeste grabbed her bag off the ground and started riffling through it, muttering to herself. “I’ll call and have her check her schedule. When does the contest start? And how long does it go?”

“It lasts six weeks. But it starts—”

Screeching microphone feedback hit them from a nearby ramada. Linda Sanchez, one of his longtime mentors, stepped up onto a picnic table. Her brown skin contrasted with her gray hair, pulled into its signature braid, which trailed over her shoulder and lay across her gray Natives Bird Best T-shirt.

“Good morning, everyone.” People clustering under trees began coalescing in a semicircle around Linda, who stood straight-backed, beaming out at the crowd. “I am so happy to see you all here this morning. I’m Linda, current president of the Arizona Ornithological Society.”

Celeste’s hands froze on her phone as she looked back at John. “You’re kidding.”

Linda continued, “I am thrilled to welcome all of you here today to the kickoff for our annual contest, the Arizona Ornithology Bird Binge!”

Celeste dropped her phone back into her bag, looking inside like it might hold answers. “The contest.” She drew her eyes up. He’d thought them a simple brown, but when the light was just right, there was a hint of gold right at the pupil. “The contest your dreams hinge on, that one Chris said I would do with you—it starts right now?”

He took a swig of the coffee she’d brought him. “It starts right now.”