Birding with Benefits

Chapter 3

“Holy shit.”

Celeste glanced at the crowd as they convened around the woman who’d just made the announcement. They were armed to the teeth with binoculars and cargo pants. Of course, these weren’t just random people at a park early in the morning. This was a community.

A birding community. And Celeste had just claimed to be one of them.

She liked birds fine. They chirped and flitted around playfully, or sat stoically on telephone poles, stark against the constant blue of the Arizona sky. And they were… everywhere, she realized. Celeste paused the panic alarm in her mind to listen to the subtle background of birdsong all around them.

As if on cue, a drab sparrow landed near her feet and hopped toward the remains of her scone.

A sparrow.

It probably had a more official name, but that was all just details. She’d known it on sight.

She was birding.

The sparrow grabbed a hefty crumb in its little cone beak and gave Celeste a quick once-over, cocking its head.

A familiar feeling stirred in her belly. The wonderful, buzzing swirl of butterflies that came with new things. The sensation she’d been chasing as she sought out the parts of herself she’d never gotten to know, waiting for something to settle and show itself, to tell her This is you.

She leaned forward slowly, careful not to spook her little messenger, and rested her elbows on her knees. “Okay, little guy. Let’s do this.”

Beside her, John cleared his throat. “Um, excuse me?”

For a man who looked like he could fell a tree with little help, his low voice was blanketed in softness like the rest of him. Rugged and strong but quiet and gentle, and probably disoriented as hell. He’d played along well, all things considered—those things being that Celeste had appeared out of nowhere, pretending to be his girlfriend.

She grabbed his hand as she stood, her fingertips scraping the roughened calluses along his palm. Peter’s hands had always been pampered and baby-butt smooth—not that she’d felt much of them in their final years together. Or much of anything from anyone else since.

Which explained why it had felt so good to dive into character in front of Breena, letting her fingers settle into the warm spot at the back of John’s neck where his hair held a tiny curl, or explore the ridges of his kneecap through the fabric of his pants. No doubt it was why she swiped her thumb over John’s palm now, bumping over each small ridge.

All she needed to do now was switch modes—goodbye fake girlfriend, hello birding partner. And what was she all about now if not reinvention?

John stuttered as she pulled him to the edge of the crowd, directing her attention to the fearless ornithologist on the table. Celeste admired her look—practical clothes, a long gray braid thrown over one shoulder, and a wide-brimmed straw hat.

“You’ve all received the rule books with your registration, but I’ll review the main parts here.”

Celeste stepped beside John, their shoulders rubbing. “You have our rule book?”

He gripped her elbow and turned her to face him. “What are you doing?” His voice was raspy, just above a whisper.

“As always,” the woman continued from her makeshift stage, “we’re doing a total bird species count for the next six weeks. And this year we are throwing in a few new events where you can boost your score even more. We are proud to announce the first ever Bird Brain Trivia Night! It will be in three weeks, so start studying now.”

Murmurs went through the crowd at this announcement. Celeste turned back to John, her confidence boosted further. “I’m great at trivia!”

He guided her a few feet away, then dropped her arm and rubbed a hand over his beard. “You’re not doing the contest with me.”

“I said I would, didn’t I? And you don’t have any other options. This is important for your whole future.”

John opened his mouth, but closed it again, sucking air like a fish.

“Hear me out. My weekends are mostly open because that yoga class was canceled and my daughter goes back and forth to her dad’s. I love being outside, and I’m ready to learn.” Celeste just knew that not doing this bird contest was an unacceptable outcome. “And I have this feeling in my stomach, this excited feeling. It’s clichéd as fuck, but I’m in this period of postdivorce self-discovery, and new things make me feel alive. Make me feel—”

Like some new parts of her might be out there, waiting to peek into the sunshine. Like there could be more to her than anyone, even she herself, had seen for a long time.

The tension in his jaw softened, but he shook his head again. “This contest is more than just a morning at the park. Most people involved at my level have years of experience.”

The happy buzzing in her stomach went slow and sticky. “You don’t want to take me on.”

His face fell. “No, it’s not that at all. You’re—”

“Too much?” Even now, she heard Peter’s voice in the words and twinged as they twisted her like a worn-out dishcloth. “I know I can be a lot.”

“Enthusiastic,” John countered. “And very generous. But this wasn’t anything close to what you agreed to do for Chris, and you don’t need to go along out of a sense of duty.”

“It’s not duty, I swear.” Celeste knew all about duty—to family, to work—and how it could blanket everything until she couldn’t separate what she wanted to do from what she was expected to do. But this birding thing? It was a want. It was random, and unexpected, and the Celeste of a few years ago would have shrunk from how her husband might react if she took this plunge.

But this Celeste? She was fucking free, and she wanted to be in this birding contest. She wanted to help this nice bearded guy—out of desire and kindness, not duty—and she wanted to bask in the warmth of something brand-new.

So she straightened and let her smile drop, hoping John would take her seriously—if it was possible for him to take her seriously after she’d swept in with pastries and a fake relationship. “I know it would be a lot for you, dragging me around. But I promise to do my best, and if you’ll have me, I want to be your partner.”

John’s brows tightened as their eyes locked, and Celeste held his gaze. If he thought he could make her doubt her decision with a staring contest, he’d never been in a middle school classroom.

“It’s a six-week contest.” His tone was serious, but the corners of his mouth tilted up. “It would mean birding every weekend, putting in some miles on trails. Lots of early mornings.”

She’d have to move some stuff around in her schedule, but she could do it. “I love trails and early mornings.”

The buzzing in her stomach grew to a roar as Celeste watched John’s last bit of hesitance give way.

“If you’re sure you really want to—”

“Yes!” she squealed, running in place on her toes. John laughed, his cheeks lifting higher than she’d seen them all morning, as his cinnamon beard caught a glint of sunshine. She thrust a hand out, eager to seal their deal.

John’s hand closed around hers gently. It was a tease of a touch, and had no right to make Celeste feel so damn curious. The amplified voice behind her rose to a crescendo, and she quickly dropped his hand and turned to listen.

“And so it is with immense excitement and gratitude for your involvement”—the woman swept her arm out toward the assembled birders, and Celeste—“that I declare the Bird Binge officially underway!”

And just like that, the crowd scattered, breaking away in pairs as teammates took off together, heads huddled close.

Everyone was on the move except Celeste and John. Thirty seconds into the contest and she was already behind. She hated being behind.

“What do we do? Everybody is rushing around. I probably need to order a guidebook and some binoculars and maybe those pants with the pockets?” There were a lot of pockets at this park. She turned back to John, ready to follow him into battle. “Why are you just standing there? Did I mention I’m really competitive? How do we win?” When John chuckled, she groaned. “You just told me your future is hanging in the balance here.” Celeste’s foot drummed a hurried rhythm on the ground. “Teach me birding so we can get started!”

John simply glanced to their left, where a palo verde was in full bloom. Its gray-green trunk and twisting branches snaked their way to a crown of bright yellow papery flowers, the ground around it covered in a buttery confetti of dry petals.

He took some steps toward it, motioning for Celeste to follow. “You were just telling me how much you like learning new things. Don’t lose your excitement about it because everybody is running around with their notebooks out.”

“I also like winning,” she said, pouting.

But his eyes were on the tree, a subtle smile playing on his face. “Ever since I was a kid, watching birds has been about being outside and discovering something. Eventually, you get to know one bird so well that you can identify it easily, or know its song, but it all starts with that initial curiosity. If I do start guiding, that’s what I want to convey to people.”

Silence sat between them as Celeste watched the tree, letting all the flowers blur together into a cloud of yellow.

John continued, “If you come out of this thinking that birding is about running around with your nose in a guidebook and making lists, I’ll be ashamed of myself. Contest or no contest, we’re doing this right. We start with discovery, and we go from there.”

Start with discovery. She should put it on her mirror.

She nodded to the tree. “So, can we discover a bird in there?”

John scanned each branch. “Yes, but let’s not worry about what it is. Worrying about making the identification is going to stop you from really seeing the bird.”

“But the list—”

He shook his head. “There’s nothing here today we won’t see again, I promise. Don’t worry about the count today. Just see the bird.”

She glanced sideways at him. His broad shoulders were relaxed, his neck forming a smooth, strong line to his jaw. Celeste had guided their bizarre ship all morning, but this was clearly John in his element.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “This is a good one to spot. Once you start noticing it, you’ll see it all over town.”

Her eyes darted along the branches and through the flowers, but she didn’t see a thing. She grumbled to herself. She was going to be bad at this.

John chuckled lightly. “You’re going too fast. You have to be ready to take your time with this. Birding takes a lot of patience.”

“I can be patient,” Celeste huffed, crossing her hands over her chest.

He stepped behind her, leaving space between their bodies, and laid his hands gently on her tensed shoulders. “Is this okay?”

She swallowed, the warmth from his breath fanning across her neck. “Sure.”

He pushed down on her shoulders, easing the tension out of them. “You want your shoulders and your neck to feel loose, otherwise you’ll be hurting in no time. Staring up at trees can put a real strain on this part of your body.”

She released her arms at her sides, shaking them out.

“Good.” He lifted his hands off her shoulders. “Now settle your eyes at the base of the tree and move them up the trunk. Do you see where the first branch goes off to the right?”

She nodded, tracing the curve of the branch with her eyes.

“Now follow that branch out.” John’s voice drifted back into her ear. “Just a couple of feet.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And go up a little, into the flowers. You’re looking for a small bird, even smaller than a house sparrow. It’s mostly gray but it has—”

“Yellow.”

Bright yellow on its face, like it had dipped its head into the confetti flower and come out painted. It hopped from side to side on the branch, pausing to poke its tiny beak under its wing every few seconds.

He gave a satisfied hum behind her. “You found it. Don’t forget to breathe.”

She was holding her breath, her heart thudding. And while a tingle had traveled down her spine as the warmth from John’s breath hit her ear, most of her body was still and alert.

“What is it?” she whispered, already enamored with the little creature.

He chuckled quietly, the warmth of his body enveloping her. Apparently birding was a whole-body experience. “It’s a bird. That’s all it is right now.”