Chapter 22
Adam
The things I do for the forest mascot, I think with a shake of my head as I scrub my dinner dishes.
After work I came back to my place and took a fortifying nap in my hammock because I hardly slept thanks to last night’s town meeting.
My mind was spinning after my appointment to the Ad Hoc Committee to .
. . I can’t remember the actual name of the committee.
All I know is Stevie nominated me, and now I’m one of four people who will determine the outcome of her bet with Marlow.
Insanity.
Stevie has pulled me into her delusions in an official capacity, and I’m worried about how unworried I am.
This most likely means last night wasn’t my first-and-last town meeting.
It also means people think they can call me and text me throughout the night attempting to sway my vote.
I learned that the annoying way. I don’t know how they found my number, but changing it is on my to-do list.
I shouldn’t mind, because I also lost sleep over that wildfire kiss with Stevie.
I keep picturing her and remembering the taste of strawberries on her mouth.
I can’t stop thinking about what I consider to be our first date—sitting on my steps, eating wild strawberries between kisses, and talking until it was way too late.
Spending time with Stevie feels like hanging onto a shooting star—always fiery and way too short-lived.
I’m left full of awe, staring after her and hoping for more.
It makes up for every bit of irritation I felt when Muffie Horowitz called me at midnight and tried to browbeat me into being a double agent. I should’ve recorded that conversation for evidence.
My phone buzzes against the kitchen counter, and I jump.
These people are making me lose my mind.
But it’s Stevie calling, and now I’m jumping for another reason. I hurry to dry my hands on a dish towel.
“Hey, pretty girl,” I answer. Who have I become? Ruth would be doing cartwheels if she heard that.
“H-hey, Adam,” Stevie says, breathless. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to this . . . this being how it is with us.” She stumbles over her words, which from what I know about her so far, is out of character.
“You don’t like it?” I hang my dishtowel on the oven handle and make my way to my bedroom to change.
“Oh, I like it.” She titters.
“Good, because I can’t get you out of my mind.” I pull my shirt over my head. “I’m going a little crazy over you, Stevie.”
The line goes silent, and I hold my breath.
There’s a shuffling sound on Stevie’s end, then a muffled screech.
“Are you okay?” My heart is thumping for so many reasons, it’s hard to keep track.
“Sorry. Yeah.” She’s out of breath. “That’s a pretty big matzo ball hanging out there, Adam,” she teases.
No way. Did she just quote Seinfeld? Or was that a fluke? Either way, Stevie’s right, and she’ll love that. “You’re right. It’s true, though. I’m losing my mind here,” I murmur.
It was a pretty big matzo ball I left hanging out there, as Jerry Seinfeld would say. My heart is on my sleeve, and Stevie hasn’t responded. I’ve never made such a bold move with anyone, let alone a wildfire of a woman. The memory of her kisses makes me confident.
“Adam?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m going a little crazy, too,” she whispers.
Chills run down my arms. I sit on the end of my bed, squeezing my eyes shut. “Yeah?”
“Uh-huh.” She clears her throat. “Are we still on for tonight?”
I grin. “Of course." I’m joining her on her first tour. We’re supposed to meet at a trailhead about an hour before sunset—recreating the conditions of her first sighting. I’ve been looking forward to it all day.
“Good.” She hesitates. “Soooo . . .”
“Yeah?”
“We’re keeping all of this a secret, right?” Uncharacteristic apprehension colors her voice. “You know. Us?”
I frown at the reminder. “Now that I’m on the Committee to . . . Whatever, I think we have to.”
There’s no way anything that went down at last night’s town meeting is legally binding, right? Starting a secret relationship with Stevie while I’m on this committee may be ethically off-white, but I don’t care. The whole thing is ludicrous. I have zero guilt.
Her soft laugh makes my jaw harden. I need to be closer to her. “I can keep my distance. I’ve had lots of practice.”
“Okay.” She sighs. “I can’t wait to see you.”
Her honesty starts a small fire inside of me. “Same here.”
An hour or so later a new model truck pulls up beside mine in the parking area near the trailhead. Stevie hasn’t shown up yet, but I’m early. I watch a group of guys climb out of the truck and realize that this must be Stevie’s tour group.
Instead of joining them in the parking area, I watch, waiting for Stevie to get here. The driver is maybe in his late thirties, with a bunch of dark hair and all name-brand hiking gear. He’s like a mannequin in a sporting goods store.
I’m calling this guy L.L. Bean. He looks like an L.L. Bean.
A second guy is deep into telling a story as he sprays his arms and legs with insect repellent. He’s bald, with a happy face, laughing as he talks. He looks like fun.
The last guy is tall—maybe as tall as me, only with a tower of brown curls on his head that defies gravity. He stands with his fists on his hips, checking his watch in between frowning at the trees.
Stevie finally rolls into the parking area, and I keep the men in the corner of my eye as she climbs out of her car.
Oh, this woman.
She’s wearing one of her Bigfoot T-shirts with cutoff denim shorts and her usual red-lace hiking boots that draw attention to her legs.
That’s all normal. I bite the inside of my cheek.
It’s the standard uniform of a Carrot Cake in the wild.
Her hat is new, though. A brown Smoky the Bear–style ranger hat is pulled over her hair, doing nothing to hide her wild ginger waves.
A grin takes over my face. I wonder where she found that thing.
L.L. Bean is practically slobbering all over himself when Stevie waves. This doesn’t work for me.
I’m out of my truck and slamming my door behind me before Stevie can shake their hands. When I come up behind the men, the guy with the tower of hair startles, making his curls wiggle like a brown Jell-O mold.
He clucks his tongue and lifts his chin in greeting. “Hey.”
Stevie’s eyes shine up at me. “Adammmm.” She draws out my name in a way that feels like she’s claiming ownership. It’s everything I need to hear. “Guys”—she gestures to me—“this is Adam. Adam, I was just meeting my group. This is—”
“Crispin Montgomery.” L.L. Bean holds out a hand. He smiles with empty eyes. “I scheduled the tour with my friends here.”
When I shake his hand, his grip is unnecessarily firm.
My mouth twitches. “Nice to meet you.”
The guy with the happy face shakes my hand next.
“I’m Brad.” His eyes widen, his tone urgent and dramatic now.
“Listen.” He pauses for effect, pressing his fingers to his temples.
“I am blown away—blown away—by what Stevie saw. Did she tell you about it? Have you seen her video?” He mimics his mind being blown, and he’s grinning with his whole face.
I can’t decide if he’s serious or just humoring all of us. He’s having a good time either way.
I nod. “I saw the video.” I starred in the video. “Good to meet you, Brad.” And I mean it. He seems like a cool guy. I don’t understand how he’s friends with an L.L. Bean mannequin.
“Werner.” The guy with the brown Jell-O mold on his head lifts his chin again. “Otto Werner, like the German physician.”
Ah. The German physician. Obviously.
Stevie grins at Werner, Brad, then at L.L. Bean. “Are you guys ready to do this?” She walks backward ahead of our group, beckoning us with curling fingers and a spring in her step.
Her ebullience is contagious. She’s bringing the forest-mascot energy today with her red hair poking out under her forest ranger hat and her pink cheeks.
The men follow her quickly. I catch a look between Werner and L.L.
Bean that makes me want to move between them and Stevie.
So I do. I take my place on the trail between Stevie and the men, scanning the brush for signs of cottontail rabbits out of habit.
While Stevie answers their questions about her sighting, the men follow us, moving carefully down the trail.
It finally stopped raining, but portions of the path are still muddy and washed out.
I need to install short boardwalks to protect the trail, and I make a mental note to start the project when this whole bet thing is over.
Between that and tracking down the turkey poachers, plus my appointment to the Committee to Get Stevie Whatever She Wants, So Help Me, my hands are full.
Stevie stoops to snatch a piece of purple trash out of the tall grass. Holding up a smashed Takis bag for me to see, she shakes her head.
I blow out an annoyed breath. “I should grab the SD cards while we’re out here,” I say quietly just for her. I didn’t bring backup cards, so I won’t be able to trade them out, but I’m certain we’ll have the poachers in this round of photos. “But I’ll stick close.”
Stevie fixes me with serious brown eyes under her serious brown hat. “And you’ll wait for me to look at the pictures this time?”
“Of course.”
Man, I want to hold her hand. She is killing me. We have Larry, Moe, and Curly behind us on the trail, though.
Like he read my mind, L.L. Bean butts in. “It was about this time of day? Near here?”
“Yep.” Stevie skips ahead. “Just a bit farther ahead.”
She answers more questions and gets lost in the details of her story, and I get lost in her. At times I move off the trail, pulling SD cards and keeping the men in my line of sight. But for the most part, I follow Stevie like a guard dog.
When we reach the location of Stevie’s sighting, I wait for her to mention it. She doesn’t know I was here for the encounter, after all.
“It was here,” she says reverently. “I was talking on the phone with a friend.” She lowers her voice, looking out into the woods.
The sun is behind the trees now, and the air is cooling.
“I looked over, and a figure emerged—taller than any human I’ve seen and covered in dark hair.
He stood on two feet but didn’t walk like a bear,” she whispers.
She gestures to the location of her sighting.
My face burns. This is also a few feet away from where we observed New England cottontail rabbits together. I’m surprised—and more than a little relieved—that she hasn’t made the connection. I want her to figure it out; I also don’t.
Brad shakes his head. “Amazing,” he says in awe.
Werner frowns into the trees.
L.L. Bean buffs his fingernails.
Not really, but I bet he would.
I take a step closer to Stevie.
The forest falls silent around us while the men observe and listen.
A piercing, howling yodel fills the air around us.
Stevie startles, sucking in a breath and throwing her hands over her heart.
My eyes shoot to the source of the howl. Werner’s hands are cupped around his mouth. His head tips back and his Jell-O mold hair flops as his blaring yodel morphs into sustained barks that echo through the forest.
L.L. Bean and Brad are unbothered, vigilantly scanning the trees. They seem to be accustomed to Werner’s yodel-barking.
Stevie and I make startled eye contact. She tucks her lips between her teeth to hold back a grin, but her eyes shine with repressed laughter. Her shoulders are shaking. A short laugh bursts out of her like someone popped a balloon, but she turns it into a hacking cough.
Brad’s face turns red. “Werner won the Lake Placid Sasquatch Call contest three years in a row,” he explains around the howls of his friend.
I legitimately cannot tell if Brad is embarrassed, proud of his friend, or both.
He’s smiling like he loves everything about this.
He’s just having a good time. I could be friends with this guy, I think.
This is a first for me. I don’t make friends, but Brad seems to have a healthy respect for the forest and a soft spot for eccentric people. We have those things in common.
Forcing a serious expression, I ask, “What does the call accomplish?” Besides scaring the bejeezus out of the rabbits I’ve worked so hard to accommodate.
Brad makes a face. He shrugs, palms up. “No idea,” he mouths.