Chapter 11
Stevie
I may never forgive Adam for ruining lupines for me.
I scan the patch of tall purple wildflowers in dismay.
I’ve adored these things my whole life, only to find out that they’re doing damage to the place I love?
I have to remember not to kill the messenger.
It’s not Adam’s fault that my favorite flowers are the enemy of my favorite butterfly.
I sneak a look at the man standing a few feet to my side, his hands on his hips, his jaw tight. I take a few more pictures of the flowers, then turn and pivot my phone just right to get a picture of Adam standing there in that T-shirt looking so serious. Only one.
Okay. It’s done. He has a profile picture. Now I’m putting away my phone and focusing on the task at hand. I’m scanning the ground for tracks, listening for howls, and looking for an eight-foot-tall bipedal humanoid. Normal stuff. I just keep getting distracted.
I was totally lost in my thoughts when I ran into Adam a few minutes ago. My heart is still pounding from that jump scare. And if I’m honest with myself, having him join me for the last few minutes of my hike wasn’t terrible.
It’s not that I dislike having company out here. I just don’t like being commanded not to come into the woods alone. That’s all. I wouldn’t say no to a hiking partner.
In fact, I wish my brothers could make it out this summer.
Conor finally called me back last night after my date, but he was leaving for a date with his wife.
My other brothers, Brian and Declan, have sent short texts letting me know they’re excited to look closer at the pictures and video I’ve sent.
Once they do, they’ll be looking for plane tickets.
Those guys are going to go crazy. I run my fingers over a cluster of silky lupine petals as I listen to the sounds of the forest.
“Well . . .” Adam turns his wrist, glancing down at his watch.
He doesn’t need to wait for me, but I know what he’ll say if I mention it. And what’s the big forest ranger emergency he needs to get back to?
I cock my head to the side, peering up at him. “What do you do out here every day?” I step back onto the trail. He follows me, and the tightness in my chest relaxes.
“Today I’m gathering memory cards from trail cameras.” He clears his throat. “We’ve had poachers in this area.”
I suppose that’s a noble cause. Adam might be bossy, but he means well. He’s doing good out here. “What else?” I ask as I climb up a gnarled mess of tree roots. This part of the trail is kind of hairy.
“Nothing too cr-crazy.” Adam chokes on the word, then clears his throat as he follows behind me.
I pause, considering the best route through a muddy, washed-out portion of the trail.
“Here.” Adam steps across the worst of it easily, bracing his legs and holding out a hand.
Without a thought, I take it and jump over the mud, letting him pull me to the other side. I land with a small “oof” and Adam drops my hand. “Thanks,” I breathe, brushing my hands on my denim shorts.
The corner of his mouth quirks, but he doesn’t say anything.
It seems like the only way to get any words out of this man is by bringing up invasive flowers, Bigfoot, or anything to do with me hiking alone.
But it’s not terrible, hiking in the woods in peace.
Adam is quiet company, but it’s the kind that isn’t necessarily uncomfortable.
This part of the trail is tighter, and Adam waits for me to walk ahead of him.
“Go ahead.” I gesture to the trail.
“I insist.” He nods at the narrow path, making a wave of his dark hair fall in his eyes, and he combs it back with his tan fingers.
With a sigh, I walk ahead of him, wishing I had thought to wear my cute jeans today.
I threw on my cutoff shorts and a random T-shirt without thinking.
I didn’t even brush my hair before I dragged it into this ponytail.
I didn’t think anyone would see me out here.
I smooth my hand over my head, praying that nothing too scary is happening up there.
We hike in silence for a while, except for the crunch of our boots on the ground and the sweet chirp of chickadees in the woods.
When the trail widens again, I stop in my tracks.
The ground is even and clear here. Yellow sunshine pours through the trees, puddling on the grass and making the air smell like everything is right with the world.
I take a deep breath through my nose. Recent rain, wet earth, spring flowers—that’s the good stuff.
“Hang on.” I put a hand on Adam’s shoulder before he passes me. “I’m just gonna . . .” With one hand on Adam’s arm for balance, I take off my hiking boots, stuffing my socks inside and tying their red laces together.
“Uh.” His mouth hangs open for a second. “What are you doing?”
I dangle my boots over my shoulder, letting my bare feet settle into the sun-warmed earth. “Have you ever heard of grounding?”
He clears his throat, frowning at the sky. “Uh, yeah.”
I don’t have to ask whether he thinks connecting with the earth is beneficial. The answer is all over his handsome, skeptical face.
I don’t care what he thinks. Whenever I walk barefoot on the ground, I feel better.
My stress level goes down, I’m happier, and I sleep better.
It may not be scientifically proven, but neither is heaven, and I know that’s real.
I’m feeling it right now. Warm sunshine on my shoulders, blue sky, and a beautiful man a stone’s throw away? That is heaven to me.
I sigh. “This is my favorite thing in the world,” I say as I pick my way ahead carefully.
Adam doesn’t take off his boots, but he stays close while I soak in the morning light and pad down the trail slower than before. He doesn’t ask me to clarify. He just walks beside me, occasionally scanning the trees and the ground ahead.
After a few more minutes he says, “I have some rabbits,” out of nowhere, his voice gravelly from disuse.
That startles a laugh out of me. “What?”
Instead of answering, he steps closer, pulling my heavy boots off my arm and slinging them over his shoulder.
“Uh, New England cottontail rabbits are endangered. There’s an area of the preserve that I’ve been working on to provide a good habitat.
Would you . . .” He holds out a hand to help me over a tall outcropping of granite.
My heart skips at the contact. Geez, his hands are big. I’m not a small woman, but I’m swallowed up by him. I still don’t know what to think about Adam, but I don’t mind the way his hand feels around mine. “Would I what?”
He lets go way too soon. “I’m monitoring possible nests. I usually come out around sunset.” He drums his fingers against his thigh while we walk. “Would you like to join me?”
This isn’t even close to what I thought he was going to say.
I thought he had another lecture about the risks of intruding on his bunny habitat.
Instead, he’s asking me to help him . . .
or something. I don’t know what to call it when a man invites a woman to spy on rabbits with him.
I’m not sure why he wants me there, but the more time I spend in these woods, the more likely I am to find what I’m after.
“Sure.” I step carefully over a tree root. “I’m in.”
An hour or so later, I walk into my parents’ house with bare feet and an unrestrained smile on my face.
“Anyone home?” I call from the small foyer.
“Back here,” my dad answers from the direction of the family room.
I make my way back and find my parents eating breakfast and watching an old episode of Seinfeld.
I hold my hand up dramatically. “Helloooooo!” I announce, imitating a bit from the show.
My dad looks up from his scrambled egg hash with a proud smile on his weathered face. “Hellooooooo!” he croons, joining me in the joke. Quoting Seinfeld is the glue that holds the Sullivan family together.
“Stevie Saoirse Sullivan.” My mom is glaring at my feet. “You did not just walk all over my clean floors with those filthy feet.”
A few minutes later, my feet still wet from the garden hose, I’m back in the kitchen helping myself to the rest of my parents’ breakfast. “Sorry, Ma.”
She shakes her head but smiles. “Were you in the woods again?”
She knows what I’m up to. I told my parents all about the bet with my friends, and they’ve seen the video. My mom is supportive in the way that the parent of a beginning trumpet player is supportive. There’s a lot of cringing and turning a deaf ear, but I know she loves me.
My dad, on the other hand, is all in. He’s fully invested in finding a sasquatch and keeping his only daughter away from men, Good Enough or otherwise.
His eyes light up. “Did you see anything?”
“Not today,” I say with a long sigh, digging into my breakfast.
I was too distracted by my company. Adam stayed quietly by my side until I got back to my car.
He put my muddy boots in my trunk for me, waved goodbye, and that was that.
I can’t decide if he was watching out for me or escorting me out of the preserve.
I was so dazed by the whole interaction, I forgot to put on the flip flops I keep in my car for the drive home.
Even the barefoot drive to my parents’ house is a blur. I need to get my head on straight.
“Have you heard from the boys?” my mom asks.
My brothers have been “the boys” for as long as I can remember, even though the youngest of them is in his mid-thirties.
The Boys are like a single entity, except they’ve scattered to Boston, Denver, and Portland for each of their jobs.
They’re all married, and it seems like I have a new niece or nephew on the horizon every other year.
I’m the youngest of the Sullivan children, and the quiet in my parents’ house makes me ache.
It’s unnatural. My brothers and their families are overdue for a visit.
My shoulders droop. “Not really. Conor called after my date last night—”
“Oh, that’s right!” My mom doesn’t let me finish, “How was it?”
My dad tsks. “Yeah, how was Chuck?” He shoves another bite in his mouth.
“He was a Chuck.” I mimic my dad’s surly pronunciation. “We argued about Bigfoot until I found out his mom drove him to the diner.” I shrug. “And he drank from a straw.”
My dad snorts. “He looked like a guy who would ask his wife to smash a spider for him.”
I snort. “Or like a guy who says ‘righty-tighty, lefty-loosey’ when he uses a screwdriver,” I say with a laugh.
“A guy who would swing an invisible golf club in a social situation.” My dad’s face says he’s already met this guy.
“Wears no-show socks. The tiny kind, like foot underwear.” I scrunch my nose.
My dad rolls his eyes in agreement. “Doesn’t have any—”
“Enough, already.” My mom holds up both hands. This isn’t the first time my dad and I have done this bit. She loses patience quickly when we get going like this. She stands to rinse her plate. “When is your next date?”
“Ummm . . . I don’t know. I haven’t heard anything from Marlow.” There are no men on my horizon, thank goodness. Well, I suppose I have one man on my horizon, but Adam and I never clarified the details of the rabbit spying outing. “Uh, do you guys know Shirtless Adam?”
The lines on my dad’s forehead deepen, and he shakes his head. “Adam who?”
“That’s what everyone calls him. I don’t know his last name, but he moved here a few years ago. He works for the Biddeford Land Trust.” He also has luxurious, wavy brown hair, is built like a machine, and tends to not wear a shirt. I leave out those details.
My mom purses her lips, and the sparkle in her brown eyes tells me that she knows exactly who I’m talking about. “Why?”
I shrug. “He wants me to help him with this New England cottontail rabbit project.”
My dad raises his eyebrows. “They’re endangered, you know.” There isn’t a plant or animal in those woods he isn't knowledgeable about. He’s the one who taught my brothers and me to love the forests of Maine the way we do. Come to think of it—
“Yeah, I heard. But hey, have you heard anything about lupine being invasive and harmful to local plant life?” I want Adam to be wrong about my favorite flowers.
“Mm-hmm,” my dad says, swallowing his eggs. Then he presents a five-minute lecture about the difference between Bigleaf lupine and the native Sundial lupine.
My mom makes a face at me from behind him that says “Look what you started. Nice going.”
I'm more irked that Adam was right, and I can’t love lupine without guilt.
My mom waits for my dad to take a breath. “Anyway. You're helping Adam with a rabbit thing?”
I nod. “Yeah. We’re looking for burrows.”
Now my mom’s the one raising her eyebrows. “Looking for endangered rabbit burrows isn’t on your asinine list of dealbreakers?”
The opposite, actually, but I don’t tell my mom that. “No, Adam’s just too . . .” I consider his flaws. I can’t fault him for the lupine thing anymore, but all that's left is . . . “He's too shirtless.”