Page 37 of Forest Proximity
Her voice is sweet like honey but so serious: “A few listeners have reached out to me with interest in guided tours. If you’re a Squatcher who’d like to tour the sighting area, you’ll find a link with all the info in my show notes.”
The link leads to a simple page with an email address and rates. Oh, Stevie. What are you up to? Now instead of imagining her hiking alone in the woods, I’m picturing her alone with a random stranger from the internet, and my pulse pounds. At least she’s created a separate email to protect her privacy, I guess. That’s something.
With a gusty sigh, I click back to my trail-camera photos and focus on the task at hand.
Raccoon.
Raccoon.
Deer.
Raccoon.
I strum my fingers on the leg of my jeans, chewing the inside of my cheek while I scroll.
Raccoon.
Hiker.
Raccoon.
My jackhammering knee almost bounces my laptop off my legs.
I can’t work like this. I slam my computer closed and grab the keys to my truck from the hook by my door. I’m backing down my long muddy driveway before I know where I’m headed. Where would Stevie be at ten o’clock on a Monday morning?
I dial her number and turn onto the main road into town while the phone rings over the speaker.
“Hello?”
I gulp. How does that single word from her make my throat tighten? How does she do this to me? Every word I’ve ever known leaves my head, and all I can think about is our hug and the way she looked with oxeye daisies in her hair—and some other guy walking behind her on the trail in the preserve.
“Hello?” she sing-songs. “Adam?”
“Uh, Stevie?”
“Yeah?”
“This is Adam.”
“I know.” She’s definitely grinning.
And I’m acting like an idiot. I give myself the world’s fastest pep talk:Pull it together. Stevie isn’t scary. She’s just the most fascinating woman you’ve ever met.
I clear my throat. “Where are you?”
“Uh—”
“Can I come see you, I mean?” Why do I think talking to her in person will be any easier?
“Sure. I’m at the diner. Your timing is perfect—the morning rush is over.”
Oh. That’s good, I guess. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Sounds good. Bye, Adam.”
I swallow. “Bye.”
A few minutes later, the bell jingles when I push through the door into the diner. Stevie is topping off glasses at a booth in the back, and the place is empty otherwise.
