Chase looked around, clearly impatient but reluctantly nodding as a few hikers walked near them. By now, sunlight flooded the summit, and the crowd had started to thin out. It was like the end of a concert, people packing up their blankets and heading back to their cars or down the trails, the show over.
For a long while, they sat in silence, watching the sky shift from pink and gold to pale blue as the sun climbed higher. Scout could feel Chase fidgeting beside her, his knee bouncing in anticipation, but she wasn’t ready yet. The moment felt too big, too heavy to rush.
Finally, when she felt confident that no hikers were passing by them, she set the box on the ground between them. Chase leaned in, his eyes gleaming with childlike curiosity. She worked the latch on the lid slowly, the way she’d seen Naki do it, her breath catching as the contents came into view.
Chase let out a low whistle.
Inside was a sack, tied tightly at the top. Scout’s fingers trembled as she untied the knot and reached inside. The weight of the gold was unmistakable—cool, solid, and impossibly real.
She held up one of the coins, its surface catching the sunlight and glinting in her hand. “Found it,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
They both stared at the sack for a moment, the gravity oftheir discovery sinking in. Chase let out a breathless laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Scout, you are something special.” He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
The warmth of his lips startled her, and she turned to him, eyes wide. Before she could react, he closed the gap, his hand brushing her face as he kissed her.
For a moment, the world narrowed to just that—his lips on hers, the warm sun spreading over the land, the distant crash of the waves against the rocks.
He rested his forehead lightly against hers. “Let’s grab some breakfast before we tackle the next clue. We’ll need all the fuel we can get—this next one’s a doozy.” With a quick smile, he rose to his feet and offered her a hand, pulling her up before heading to the narrow path.
She lingered for half a second, brushing the dirt off her pants, her thoughts trailing behind him. She’d wondered what kissing Chase would feel like, and now she had her answer.
Maisie had made a plan. This morning, before meeting up with Frankie, she’d called the garbage company to find the weekly route in which they emptied dumpsters. With that information, and after borrowing a pair of hip boots from Pops’s closet, she and Frankie decided to start dumpster diving behind the coffee shop and fan out through the streets of Bar Harbor. Logic said the envelope would have to be in the top quarter of the dumpster, since Enzo said he had tossed it out within the last thirty-six hours.
Maisie peered over the edge of the dumpster. Frankie wouldn’t let her get in it, which she thought was very chivalrous of him. He was up to his elbows in a heap of crumpled paper and half-eaten food, scowling fiercely. The guilt gnawed at her again—taking the envelope from Pops’s office, Chase stealing it, then Enzo stealing it from Chase before tossing it out without a secondthought. She could still see Enzo’s face in her mind, grinning, saying he tossed out the envelope because it was worthless. It was worth a lot, Maisie wanted to scream at him. But she didn’t, because that would only make him happy.
Frankie was muttering away inside the dumpster. He popped up and tossed out a greasy pizza box. “I will never eat pizza again.” He disappeared, then popped his head up again. “Every single box means a tree had to sacrifice its life.”
Maisie’s eyes went round. “Every single box?”
He was on a rant. “Every time someone uses a paper product, a tree dies somewhere. And don’t even get me started on napkins. The sheer amount of napkins is obscene.” He pushed a few out of the way with a huff. “We could probably wipe up the entire ocean with the napkins people throw away.”
Okay. So he was in an exaggerating rant. Maisie grinned, though she could hear the edge in his voice. “You know what Pops would call you? He’d say you’re ‘bleeding green.’”
Frankie let out a breath and shifted his position, kicking aside some pizza boxes. “It’s not funny, Maisie. We throw away too much stuff in this country. I mean, look at all this good food!”
Maisie peered over the dumpster’s edge. “How do you even know what’s good food? Sure looks like garbage to me.”
“Wrong. There is good food in here. Leftovers, like, gourmet stuff.” He held up a takeout container, wrinkled and a little soggy, but still very much intact. “Look at this. Who gets food this fancy and throws it away? What kind of person ...?” He trailed off, shaking his head in disbelief. “But that’s the reality, right? Meanwhile, in other parts of the world, people are starving, and we’re tossing out food that could feed families for days.”
Maisie’s feelings softened as she watched him, his brow furrowed in frustration. She always knew he had somethingspecial in him—something most people didn’t see. Actually, no one. He had more heart than most people gave him credit for. Definitely more than Pops gave him. “Fun fact. The average American throws out eighteen hundred pounds of trash each year. Five pounds a day.”
Frankie bolted upright. “That’s not afunfact, Maisie. That’s cause for outrage. Eighteen hundred pounds is the weight of a small car.”
“Here’s another fun fact. Americans throw out over 40 percent of all the food we produce. That’s like buying three pizzas and just dumping one straight in the trash.”
“How is that even okay?” He threw up his hands. “Most of this stuff in here could be recycled, reused, or eaten. This dumpster is a gold mine of waste.” He bent over to fish around in it.
Maisie cocked her head, watching him. “You know, Frankie, maybe you should try and do something about it.”
Frankie shot her a quick look, then gave a half smile, though it was more exasperated than anything. “Somebody should.” He put his hands on the edge and hoisted himself over the dumpster. “You gave me an idea. I’m gonna shame America and start a dumpster diving campaign.” He wiped his hands on a napkin and reached into his back pants pocket for his phone. “First thing to do is to document.”
“Hold it! Focus. We’re on the clock here. You can document another time. America’s garbage habits aren’t changing anytime soon.”
His face softened just enough to make her grin. “Right, right, sorry. The envelope.” He took a few pictures before pushing his phone back into his pocket. “Okay, point me to the next disgusting dumpster.”
She crossed the coffee shop dumpster off the list. Two down, thirty to go. She turned the page to see the map of dumpsters. “Next closest one is the lobster shack.”
Frankie groaned.
