Chapter 9
Stevie
When Marlow told me my blind date was meeting me at the diner, I should’ve known it would be a comedy of errors.
First of all, half the population of the Eastern Seaboard is here gawking at us. It’s tourist season in our seaside town, and the diner is packed tonight. Muffie Horowitz is taking notes. Marlow is spying shamelessly from the pass-through into the kitchen.
Second, my parents showed up to get takeout, which is something they never do.
They definitely scoped out my date. My mom raised her eyebrows with a shrug that communicated a generous “Maybe?” My dad shook his head and made a slashing gesture over his throat with his thumb.
Then they left, abandoning their only daughter.
Third, Chuck is currently listing all of the reasons sasquatches can’t exist.
“Where are their bones?” He takes a long drink through his straw.
Yep. He’s another dainty straw sipper. I’m not nitpicking, only making an observation.
“There would be evidence. We have evidence of dinosaurs, and they lived thousands of years ago. Giant Bigfoot bones would literally be all over the place.”
While Chuck yaps, I wrap the last of my French fries in a big pickle slice I saved from my hamburger, then dip the whole thing in my little metal dish of ranch dressing. This is going to be incredible.
“Literally?” I ask around a bite of my French fry creation. I was right—this fry-pickle combo is divine. “Literally all over the place means there would be sasquatch bones in this diner. In the White House. Inside every Bath and Body Works. And dinosaurs lived millions of years ago.”
Okay, I am nitpicking now. We had a good run, but Chuck and I are obviously not soulmates.
On the bright side, the dizziness from my concussion is mostly gone. I still get headaches, especially when I look at bright light or move too fast, but I’ve planned a full day of Bigfoot tracking tomorrow. I’m back, baby.
It’s only been six days since I recorded my podcast and started my social media account to go with it.
It found my people—several thousand of them—and they’re invested in me finding my man.
Bigfoot, that is. My newfound Squatch Watcher groupies are passionate and staunchly opposed to my friends winning our wager.
It’s fun having a deranged group of strangers in my corner.
Plus, a handful of my Squatch Watcher T-shirts sold during my shift at the diner this morning.
Marlow let me set up a little display by the register.
I netted thirty-six bucks, and this date is almost over. Today hasn’t been a total loss.
Chuck motions at the back of the room. I turn, following his line of sight, and an older woman approaches the table with her purse over her shoulder.
“All set?” she asks Chuck. “Did you pay the bill?” When he shakes his head, she says, “I’ll get it while you say goodbye to your date.”
The woman walks toward the register.
I hold up one hand, gesturing at the gray-haired woman with my mouth hanging open.
“My mom.” Chuck wipes his mouth with his napkin, tossing it on the table with an air of finality. “She drove me here.” He slides out of the booth.
“What?” My mouth is hanging open again. My eyes snap to Marlow in the kitchen right as she scrambles away from the pass-through.
“It was . . . fun getting to know you, Stevie.” He holds out a hand to shake.
I take his hand, pumping it up and down numbly. “Uh, tell your mom thanks for the hamburger.”
What is happening? I could’ve paid for my food. I’m making Bigfoot T-shirt money now. But before I can offer, Chuck leaves with his mom, and I’m left in the red pleather booth, staring at our empty plates with my mouth agape.
My brain is short-circuiting.
Marlow plops into the booth across from me. “Stevie,” she says, her tone full of censure.
I gulp the last of my ice water. “Where did you find Chuck?” Cape Georgeana is a small town, and I thought I’d met everyone after living here my whole life.
“He lives in York and came in the other day. He was nice.” She frowns. “You, on the other hand . . .” Marlow raises her eyebrows.
“What?”
“This is why we set this up here.” She gestures around the diner. She’s on the verge of laughter but still shaking her head. “So I could observe and analyze. And it’s even worse than I thought.”
I hold my palms up. “You’re right. Chuck didn’t check any of the boxes.”
But why does she seem annoyed with me?
“All you talked about was sasquatch.” Marlow raises an eyebrow.
“That is untrue.” It might be true. What can I say? It’s a huge part of my life right now. I mean, I saw one.
“Did you talk with food in your mouth?”
Maybe. “I plead the Fifth.”
“Did you correct every minor factual error he made?” Now Marlow is really worked up.
Absolutely. But seriously? “Chuck thinks dinosaurs lived thousands of years ago, Marlow. Come on. How can you expect me to spend the rest of my life with a guy who thinks the T-rex was alive at the same time as Julius Caesar?”
It’s easy for her to be open-minded. She has the perfect boyfriend who knows the basic history of planet Earth.
“I don’t expect you to spend the rest of your life with him—”
“Then what’s the point of all this?” I motion to my made-up face and my cute outfit. “I already have friends. I don’t need some guy hanging around being wrong all the time.”
My phone pings in my purse. It’s been blowing up all night, and like a good date, I’ve ignored it even though it’s probably my brothers.
They were supposed to listen to the podcast and get back to me.
All three of them are busy guys, so I’ve tried not to pressure them this week.
And now I have a bunch of unopened texts.
See? I made an effort to be all in on this date.
“Let me guess.” Marlow smirks, folding her arms on the tabletop. “You made a mental list of reasons Chuck was a no-go.”
“Marlow. His mom drove him to our date,” I say with a wilted look, letting the truth of it hang in the air like skunk spray.
She cringes. “She did?”
I nod.
“Oof.” She releases a long breath, blowing her blonde hair away from her eyes.
While we listen to the chatter and noise of the full diner around us, I consider Marlow’s observations.
She might have a point. While I didn’t check my phone on my date, I might’ve been a little .
. . uncouth. I mean, I shoved a pickle–French fry burrito into my mouth and corrected his use of the word literally. It’s something to think about.
“I might be able to do better.” I hold up a hand before Marlow gets too excited. “But you have to do better than Chuck.”
“He seemed nice.” She shrugs.
“Marlow.” I purse my lips. “You’ve met my dad and my brothers. Ike and August. That’s the bar.” I frown. “And that’s why I must reiterate that I’m going to win this bet handily.”
Marlow presses her lips together, unconvinced.
I gave up hope of finding a Good Enough man long ago.
If one does exist, he’ll have to stumble into my life like Bigfoot.
It’s the only possible way. Because unlike Bigfoot, I’m not looking for him.
I’m content, teaching my choir students during the school year and spending time in the woods during the summer. It’s a happy life.
With that in mind, I grab my purse and shimmy out of the booth. I have an early morning that I’m looking forward to. “I’m going to head out. Thanks for dinner.”
I turn toward the door and jolt when a dark figure stands from the booth directly behind mine. I throw my hand over my chest, sucking in a deep breath. Adam, of Shirtless renown, is inches away.
“Have you been there the whole time?” The question shoots out of me. I’m still a little startled. I mean, the guy is humongous.
Marlow stands beside us, and I sense her observing my behavior like I’m a rat in a lab.
Adam shrugs, a man of few words. No wonder I didn’t know he was behind me for that entire, disastrous date.
I haven’t heard from him since our phone call the other night when he told me not to go into the woods alone. He might’ve also called me Carrot Cake, but the more time passes, the more I’m sure I misheard him.
And at this moment I don’t know how to act or talk to him. Are we friends now? I stopped Butterballsy from attacking him. That’s something. I suppose he also took me home when I couldn’t drive and carried-slash-abducted me when I was knocked out. All signs point to budding friendship.
I twist my mouth to the side, peering up at him. “Are we friends, or . . .”
Marlow drags her hand down her face. “I can’t watch this,” she mumbles. Then she turns to Adam with a bright smile. “Good to see you again. Thanks for coming in. I’m just going to—” She hitches her thumb in the direction of the kitchen and leaves, shaking her head.
“Bye, Marlow.” I clear my throat, hitching my purse higher on my shoulder. “So? Friends?”
“Uh, I think so.” Adam's neck is red now.
“Okay.” I turn toward the glass doors, and he follows me.
When we pass the register and my display of T-shirts, I grab Adam’s arm.
“Hang on.” I duck behind the counter and snag a shirt in what I hope is his size. I hand it to him. “On the house.” Because you obviously don’t own enough shirts, I don’t add.
Plus, the man is captivating in a T-shirt. He’s wearing one right now. It’s gray heather and accentuates his shoulders and chest like he’s a perfectly carved statue of a Roman warrior. On second thought, maybe he should take that thing off. It’s indecent.
My cheeks feel hot all of a sudden.
Meanwhile, Adam unfolds the shirt, holding it up to look at the design.
It’s a simple white cotton—they were the cheapest, giving me the highest return on my investment—with my sharpest Bigfoot photo screenprinted in black and white.
The words “I saw Bigfoot in Cape Georgeana, Maine” are printed in big block letters over the image.
“Oh.” Adam coughs. “Wow. Uh . . .Thanks.” His eyebrows draw together in obvious concern.
“I know, I know. You don’t want me to encourage people to go into the woods.”
He can’t seem to pull his eyes away from the T-shirt. “It’s not that—”
“You don’t have to wear it or anything.” I move toward the door. “It’s just for fun.” I can’t leave fast enough now.
What was I thinking? Adam isn’t exactly supportive of my little bet with my friends, and I just threw away some of my profits. This whole night has been one mistake after another. I need to go home, respond to my brothers’ messages, and get in bed early.
I dig my phone out of my purse while I walk, swiping the screen.
There’s nothing from my brothers, though.
They’re only texts from a clothing website I subscribed to for ten percent off.
I keep forgetting to unsubscribe, and now they’re like salt in the wound my brothers’ busyness left behind.
I shove through the glass door onto the sidewalk in front of the diner.
“I’m sorry.” Adam follows me outside.
A golf cart whizzes past. Adam pulls me out of its path just before I become roadkill. He drops his hand like I scorched him. “You okay?”
I scowl at the teenager in the retreating cart. “Yes,” I grind out, sounding the exact opposite of okay.
Adam frowns. “Listen, I like the shirt. It’s just—”
“Don’t sweat it.” I swat away his apology, feeling stupid.
“I like it,” he emphasizes. “Thank you for the shirt.”
“Oh, stop.” I turn toward my car. “Don’t patronize me.”
A warm hand wraps around my wrist. Adam turns me back toward him.
“You know what?” he asks, exasperated. He tugs his gray T-shirt over his head, right on the sidewalk in front of Muffie Horowitz and the hardware store security cameras. I’ll be requesting that footage later.
Then he pulls my T-shirt over his head, smoothing it down his torso and slinging his shirt over his shoulder. “There. I like it. Are you convinced yet?”
I bite my cheek, fighting a smile with my whole face. I’m sure I’m beaming up at him. “No.”
He groans. “You are impossible.”
“Maybe.” I wink and turn back toward my car, calling over my shoulder, “But being a believer looks sexy on you.”