“Dude, go,” she says, rolling her eyes at my stubbornness. “We’ll switch after.”
I let out a soft sigh and smile. “Okay. Thanks.”
Grabbing my lunch cooler, I hop down from the tower and weave through the landmine field of towels, tanning bodies, andcoolers. I head toward the wooded trail of the adjacent state park. It’s shady and quiet.
The dirt path winds through towering trees. Sunlight filters through the leaves above, casting a green glow on everything. Songbirds chirp around me in a symphony, which is a welcomed change from country music.
I sit down on a log that serves as a makeshift bench. The surface is molded with a dip, softened from the weight of countless asses that sat here before me. I drop onto it, open my cooler, and start eating my peanut butter and jelly sandwich. It’s crunchy peanut butter because that’s what Maddie likes, even if I prefer the creamy kind.
Something moves in the corner of my eye. I glance up, expecting a squirrel or deer.
Instead, it’s Hunter. He’s kneeling next to a plant, wearing acid-washed jeans and a baggy orange T-shirt. His face is contorted into a scrunched expression that I can’t decipher—maybe a mixture between confusion and fascination. He’s holding an identification book in his hands, comparing the plant leaves to the illustrations on the worn page.
I freeze mid-chew, captivated by the sight of him.
As if sensing my stare, Hunter looks up suddenly. Our eyes lock, and his body jolts, pressing a hand to his chest.
“Jesus,” he exhales. “You scared me.”
“Uh. Sorry.”
I don’t know why I’m apologizing as if I’m invading his space. This is a public park.
He closes his book and stuffs it in his backpack before walking toward me. Up close, I notice his cheeks are pink, sun-kissed.
“You working the beach today?” he asks. “It looked crazy busy when I passed earlier.”
I glance down at my tank top withLIFEGUARDin big white letters across the chest.
“Oh, right. Duh,” he mutters.
“Just on my lunch break,” I explain. “I… uh, I don’t do well with big crowds.”
He smiles, a little sheepish. “Me neither.”
“Guess that’s one thing we have in common.”
I don’t know what about my body language signals to him that I want company, but before I can protest, Hunter sits next to me on the log. We’re so close our knees almost knock together.
“Hairy Beardtongue,” he says abruptly.
I blink at him, waiting for him to elaborate. Instead, Hunter just stares back at me with those stupid brown eyes. He looks like a puppy, head tilted to the side, waiting for me to throw a stick.
“What?” I ask, chewing around a mouthful of sandwich.
“Hairy Beardtongue,” he repeats. “Penstemon hirsutus.It’s a perennial. Pollinators love them.”
He points to a plant growing next to the log with purple bell-shaped flowers.
My brows knit together. “The flower is actually called… Hairy Beardtongue?”
“That’s the common name, yeah.”
“Why the hell did they name it that?”
“It’s actually quite apt. The stamen has little hairs on it.”
Quite apt.Jesus. Why does he talk like someone from the nineteenth-century? I have to fight the urge to roll my eyes.
