Chapter 24 #2
“Well, if you’re really asking,” I start, my brows raised in inquiry.
“I’m serious. The term sounds familiar, but that might be because I did lawn care when I was a teenager.”
“I remember those days.”
Weekends were the best back then. Reed pushed the mower, pulled weeds, and got dirty in half the yards in the neighborhood.
I begged my parents to hire him so I could watch from the air-conditioned comfort of my house. I had the best seat picked out in front of the dining room window. But nooo. Dad insisted on doing our yard himself to save money.
Frugal jerk.
I had to resort to physical exertion to creep on Reed. I’d insist Kenzie and I take the longest bike rides those days. It was worth the sore tush to watch the Reed Hayes lawn care show.
He’d have his ball cap turned backward and dark sunglasses on. Typically, he’d start the day wearing a tank top. But that usually got taken off by the second yard. His skin glistened with sweat as he worked. I memorized every muscle of his upper body. And who knew calves could be sexy?
Did I distractedly ram into a parked car once or twice?
I’d love to say no, but I don’t want to lie anymore. I already have to do that enough for everything else lately. Can you be my safe space about this one thing? K. Thanks.
“So, a rake is?” he prompts me to answer, yanking me from my lustful memories.
“A rake is a term used in eighteenth-century literature to describe a man of ill repute, usually of a sexual nature.”
“Like a man whore?” He places his palm against his chest, feigning offense. “Wow. That hurts. And what’s with the slut shaming?” Chuckling, he leads me along the boardwalk.
Meanwhile, my happy thoughts dive off a cliff into frigid water.
Reed being a man whore? Rings a bit too true, considering what happened five years ago. Kenzie warned me that he wasn’t the relationship type and to be careful. But I didn’t believe her.
Until I saw the proof with my own eyes.
I ache to release his hand and storm away so I can process my feelings in privacy.
Yet I can’t do that. The clock is ticking on my freedom, so I lock those tainted memories away. I’ll have to do what I do best: Suck it in, suck it up, and smile through it.
Fortunately, our surroundings make it easier for me to disassociate from the past.
The sounds of nature fill my ears as we meander deeper into the forest. Grasshoppers and crickets sing their familiar songs. Wind rustles through the leaves in the tree canopy above us. The weathered wooden boards beneath us creak occasionally.
Leaning to the right, I survey the area beyond the railing. The boardwalk stands around three feet above the marshy ground.
I easily spot frogs, turtles, and several wading birds called White Ibises. They’re busy digging their long, pointy bills into the mud to find little critters to fill their bellies.
I don’t bother writing that species down for my life list since I’ve seen hundreds of them before.
Before I annoy Reed with all my ornithological glory or attempt to ply information out of him, I linger in the serenity of nature.
After all the stressors of the last few months, I could use some silence.
So rather than talking or listening for individual bird sounds or squinting at the treetops to appease my hungry eyes, I inhale, exhale, and simply exist.
Peace engulfs us out here. It’s solace and tranquility.
And I finally have someone to share it with.
Reed pulses my hand at that very second as if his thoughts mirror mine.
Reed’s the first to break the comfortable silence. “All right, cookie. What do I need to know about birdwatching? I want to do this right.”
Oh, this man is going straight for my heart.
I honestly thought he was gonna grow bored within the hour, probably complaining about the humidity or bugs the entire time.
Reed Hayes is full of surprises.
With only one exception, many moons ago, nobody has ever cared enough to take an interest in my silly little hobby.
Never.
If my smile were any wider, Reed could drive his motorcycle into my mouth. I can’t string together enough words to make a sentence—neither a real one nor a nonsense one.
“Well?” His obnoxiously sexy dimples pop on both sides. “Can you teach me how to be a birdwatching enthusiast?”
Nobody has ever spoken those words to me. Or possibly to anyone.
My eyelashes must resemble a hummingbird’s wings, considering how fast they’re fluttering. His sincerity leaves me stupefied and tongue-tied. “Um. Yes. Okay. I just. Uh. Well. This is. Huh.”
“I’ve always adored your eloquence.”
“I didn’t expect you to ask that. Nobody has ever cared enough to—” I bite my tongue mid-sentence to avoid dwelling on negativity. “Anyhow, I’d be thrilled to teach you.”
“Let’s start with the basics. There’s no single method to spot birds. For me, I typically use my ears, then my eyes, and then I’ll get the binoculars out.”
“Makes sense. Once we spot a bird, what do we do next?”
In contemplation, I nibble at my lip. “Although that seems like a simple question, the answer is complex.”
We stop walking at the same time, perfectly in sync.
As I gather my thoughts, I lean against the railing and let my gaze fall to the greenery. Reed copies my posture, resting his forearms atop the railing.
“I suppose your question gets to the heart of birding. Everyone does it for different reasons. Some people want to be more present in nature. Some do it for the photography aspect. Others are simply bird lovers and enjoy being outdoors, and this is a fun activity that combines those things. Then there are those who do it simply to tick lifers off their life list. Like it’s a contest. And—”
“What’s a life list and a lifer?”
“Oh, sorry.” I gently palm my forehead. “Like most niche hobbies, birding has its own language. My bad.”
“You’re easily forgiven.”
If only that could be true for all my crimes.
With how honey-coated his voice sounds, I can’t resist looking his way. His eyes burn into me with affection I don’t deserve, so I face the trees. It’s safer that way.
“A life list is exactly what the name implies. It’s a list of all the birds you’ve identified during your lifetime.
The very first time you spot a particular species, it’s called a lifer.
Some people keep their lists electronically, some use apps, and others have journals.
Without a life list, you’re more of a bird watcher than a birder. ”
“I assume you have a life list.”
My smile spreads impossibly wider. “Naturally.”
“What type of birder are you?”
“I have a life list of just shy of 900 bird species. And I keep it in an actual journal.”
It’s a tad dusty these days.
He shifts his body so he’s facing me instead of nature, which seems like a poor decision on his part. “That doesn’t sound like the Lila Kent I know.”
My neck cricks as I shoot him some serious side-eye. “Excuse me?”
He clicks his tongue, drawing my attention to his mouth, and looking is a poor decision on my part. I do it anyway.
“You’re not that type of person, cookie. You don’t have a competitive bone in your . . . body.”
His velvety emphasis on that word steals my focus away from his lips. His eyes lick up and down my frame, which I dutifully ignore. If I acknowledge his hungry expression, I’ll never get out of this date with my heart intact. It’s already in grave danger as it is.
Thinking fast, I fling randomness at him. “Hey, you know lots of stuff, and there’s something I’ve been wondering. If you smoke pot in the ocean, would that be called sea weed?”
Without reacting to my superb wit, he closes the space between us, brushing his arm against mine. “Is it a love of nature or the outdoors? I doubt you’re into photography. So why do you really do this? No way it’s all for some list.”
“Oh, is that what you meant?”
“Yeah. I asked what type of birder you are, and your reply implied you’re the type who only cares about the list.”
An embarrassed chuckle escapes me. “Sorry. I misunderstood your question.” Probably because his covetous focus on me is everything I ever wanted and nothing I’m allowed to have.
I sigh, scooting away from him to reclaim the space he invaded with his unfairly sexy presence. “You’re right. I’m not a lister. I thought you were asking specifically about my list.”
Running my words back, I add an explanation for the lingo. “A lister is someone who only does this to tick birds off their list.”
“That one I was able to follow.” He chuckles quietly and looks away from me. Finally. “Still waiting to find out why you do this.”
“Well, I love birds and the beauty of nature.” Pausing, I search for the words to articulate my motivation without revealing my darkest secret. “Even though I’m alone, I don’t feel alone when I’m birding.”
She’s with me in spirit.
Although true, those aren’t my only catalysts. Just because he wants to know doesn’t mean I have to tell him.
My reasons are mine and mine alone.
As if aiding me in escaping a heavy topic, a familiar bird call reaches my ears. I straighten my body, pushing off the railing. “Reed, do you hear that?”
“I hear a lot of things out here. More specific, please.”
While scanning the trees for the source, I imitate the sound, using the same staccato rhythm as the bird. Reed releases a call of his own, which is something between a choke and a cough. I don’t need to see him to know he’s holding back a laugh.
I’m such a dork.
But that’s on him. If he wanted cool Lila, he shouldn’t have brought my fantasy date to life.
“Oh, that sound. Yes. Do you know them by ear?”
“Occasionally. Judging by the rhythmic chirpy song, it’s probably a warbler, and some of them have stunning colors. I hope we can find it. Can you hand me the binoculars?”
He opens the bag and passes them to me. “Anything I can do to help?”