I watch as she descends the stairs, looking hella fucking gorgeous and already apprehensive. She rolls her eyes and hops into the passenger seat. “If I die, you’re the one who has to explain it to my mother.”
From the dash, I pull out a camo ball cap that saysSquatch Squadin neon-orange letters and tug it down over my head. It’s amazing.
She stares at it—then at me. “Where on earth did you get that?”
“The hardware store.” Obviously. I reach back and feel around the seat. “I have one for you too.”
“Whatever is about to happen, I regret it already.”
I grin. “Adventure awaits us, babe!”
She sighs, but I catch the twitch of a smile as she buckles up.
I crank the engine, the truck rumbling to life, and we head in the direction of the trailhead, to the spot where all the locals say to go. It’s a scenic drive, the road winding up into the woods, trees thick and golden with late-afternoon light.
Lucy side-eyes me. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Incorrect,” I say, flipping down my visor and fixing my hat. “I’m enjoying thisexactlythe appropriate amount.”
It takes fifteen minutes before we pull into the lot. I step out, plant my feet wide, and tip my head back to take it all in. The air is crisp and sharp, filled with the scent of pine sap, fresh earth, and a faint curl of smoke from some distant campsite. The old wooden trailhead sign stands weathered, carved with decades of initials and hearts—proof that plenty of people have passed through here chasing adventure.
“Ahh, nature.” I point at my chest. “Me outdoorsy. Me like forest.”
Lucy snorts as she climbs out of the truck behind me, eyeing me like I’ve completely lost it. “You aresoweird.”
I flash her a grin. “Weird and prepared.”
I grab the tackle box—which, frankly, looks more suited for fishing than tracking a beast—and hand her a tall, handcrafted walking stick.
She stares at it. “Did youmakethis?”
“Pfft, I wish,” I say. “Bought it at the hardware store, along with all the other stuff.”
“Other stuff?”
I pop open the tackle box with dramatic flair. “Ta-da!”
Lucy’s laughing so hard she has to sit down. “You brought candy to bribe Bigfoot?”
“Everyone loves peanut M&M’s. You don’t?”
I let her look around at the supplies before securing the tackle box and pulling the cross-body strap across my chest.
The path stretches ahead of us, winding through towering evergreens, the forest floor soft with fallen pine needles and speckled sunlight. Birds chirp somewhere above us, and every now and then, a breeze rustles the leaves, making the whole forest sound alive.
“All right, Squatch Squad,” she says. “Lead the way.”
I tap the map, squinting into the tree line dramatically. “We follow the ancient markings of our forefathers.”
She groans but follows me into the woods—right where I want her. The trail crunches under our boots as we walk, sunlight filtering golden beams that make the place feel almost magical. Or possibly haunted. Hard to tell.
Two minutes in, I stop dead in my tracks and point with great authority at asuspiciouslylarge mound of dirt. “Evidence,” I whisper.
She glances down. “That’s a molehill.”
I shrug. “Bigfoot’s mole.”
Lucy shakes her head, laughing, and grabs my hand, dragging me farther down the trail.
