“You forgot all about me.”
I was standing behind the store’s counter, so I did what I always do and dumped out the pen holder for a good sorting.
“Remind me what we have planned,” I said, smiling down at the pens as I arranged them by color.
“We’re getting a quick bite to eat then hiking out to Phantom Bog.”
“Hiking?” You’d think I’d remember agreeing to something so ominous. “Oh, right. Good thing I’m already wearing my most rugged sneakers. Do I need hiking boots? Because I don’t own hiking boots, so we’ll have to do something else, instead.”
He leaned on the counter and peered over at my footwear. “Nice try, but those are fine.” He paused, his face inches from mine. “Do I get a kiss hello?”
I kissed his cheek and he leaned back again, satisfied. “Want some help closing up shop? You count up the float while I get the sandwich board and lights.”
“Yes, boss.” I started punching the end-of-day codes into the credit card terminal.
As Adrian helped with the closing, I counted up the totals. I had to keep restarting my count because my mind wandered. This is nice, I kept thinking. Having Adrian help with closing and winding up the exterior awning for me… it was downright fucking romantic.
What the hell was I doing messing around with Dalton Deangelo when I had the guy of my dreams within reach?
Eyes open, Peaches.
Over the past few whirlwind weeks, I’d forgotten about the promise I’d made to myself many years ago, to keep my damn eyes open. Life isn’t about closing your eyes and making a wish. That way leads to denial, disappointment, danger, and a bunch of other D-words. Smart people keep their eyes open and make their own good fortune.
CHAPTER 13
We got takeout from Burt’s and drove west in Adrian’s mother’s car.
People in Beaverdale will argue over the name of Phantom Bog. Some people say it’s named after the Phantom Orchid, which is native to Washington State. This rare orchid only blooms in conjunction with perfect soil conditions and a specific fungus it has a symbiotic relationship with. Local legend says this chlorophyll-devoid orchid will only blossom near the fecal droppings of Forest Folk.
These local supernaturals are not anything you’d want to encounter in the wilderness, unless you enjoy the company of human-sasquatch-hybrid cannibals. According to local parents, Forest Folk eat the toes of children who don’t clean up their bedrooms, and they have Santa Claus on speed dial. (Unlike regular sasquatch or yeti, Forest Folk have telephones.)
If you happen upon a giant, hairy beast in the local forests, don’t stop for photos. Run for your life. Not even lumberjacks would survive an encounter. Forest Folk regenerate body parts instantly, so even if you have an ax and chop off their terrifying arms, they’ll grow new ones and use the old ones to beat you to death. Or so the local legends go.
What were we talking about again? Oh, right. Phantom Bog.
Some people say it’s named after the ghosts that float up at dusk and go to their night jobs, making the floors of old houses squeak extra loud.
Speaking of scary things…
GRRRR.
A growl pierced the calm of the car as we drove through the woods. In the back seat was Cujo, the retired police dog who was living out his golden years with Adrian’s family.
“I forgot he was back there,” I said, fanning my face with both hands, which we all know is the best method for making your heart slow down to its normal resting speed.
“We can’t go hiking without protection,” Adrian said. “The Forest Folk will gobble our toes.”
“They only eat your toes if you’re naughty.”
Adrian turned and raised his golden eyebrows, his cool blue eyes wordlessly reminding me of our session dry-humping at the skating rink, and then the oral showdown in my kitchen.
Were those things actually naughty, though? We were both consenting adults, being honest with each other, and any minute now I was going to casually let him know I might be dating another man soon—my husband.
Cujo growled again, and I hunched down guiltily in my seat. The dog was totally onto me, sensing my guilt.
Cujo and I had a “meet cute” story in which he thought I was a perp running through the forest, and I thought he was a mutant cannibal sasquatch, and he took me down like a bag of chips at a stoner party. We’d tried to make friends since that, but I could see in his big, brown eyes that if I so much as darted sideways quickly to avoid a bee, he’d gleefully make me eat dirt. Even there in the car, he was staring me down. I should have given him some of my burger, even though Adrian had a “no people food” rule.