Page 58 of Forest Proximity
“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.” Istarredin 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.”
