He seems more at ease now, and I take advantage of that by revisiting a question he hasn’t answered. “How did your sister find my podcast?”
He sighs. “I told her about you, and she found you.”
He told his sister about me? Well, now I have a dozen more questions.
Before I can ask any, Adam’s voice is in my ear. “Stevie?”
I shiver. The way he says my name sends goose bumps down my arms. “Yeah?”
“Don’t go into the woods alone.” He pauses. “Please.”
“I’m afraid I must.” My lips curl, anticipating his response.
“Why?”
“Why not?”
“Because of a lot of reasons. Poachers, bears, and moose, for starters. What if you fell again and got—” He groans, and I picture him dragging his hand through his long hair the way he did this morning. “You know what? What if I come with you?”
A throaty laugh escapes before I can stop it—not because the idea is laughable, but because I’m surprised that I want it so much. “What did you say?” I need him to repeat the offer. I hope I didn’t mishear him.
“Never mind. Just be smart,” he mutters. “Please, Carrot Cake.”
There’s aclickon his end. He hung up.
Carrot Cake?
There’s no way I heard that right.
Chapter 9
Stevie
When Marlow told me my blind date was meeting me at the diner, I should’ve known it would be a comedy of errors.
First of all, half the population of the Eastern Seaboard is here gawking at us. It’s tourist season in our seaside town, and the diner is packed tonight. Muffie Horowitz is taking notes. Marlow is spying shamelessly from the pass-through into the kitchen.
Second, my parents showed up to get takeout, which is something they never do. They definitely scoped out my date. My mom raised her eyebrows with a shrug that communicated a generous “Maybe?” My dad shook his head and made a slashing gesture over his throat with his thumb. Then they left, abandoning their only daughter.
Third, Chuck is currently listing all of the reasons sasquatches can’t exist.
“Where are their bones?” He takes a long drink through his straw. Yep. He’s another dainty straw sipper. I’m not nitpicking, only making an observation. “There would be evidence. We have evidence of dinosaurs, and they lived thousands of years ago. Giant Bigfoot bones would literally be all over the place.”
While Chuck yaps, I wrap the last of my French fries in a big pickle slice I saved from my hamburger, then dip the whole thing in my little metal dish of ranch dressing. This is going to be incredible.
“Literally?” I ask around a bite of my French fry creation. I was right—this fry-pickle combo is divine. “Literallyall over the placemeans there would be sasquatch bones in this diner. In the White House. Inside every Bath and Body Works. And dinosaurs livedmillionsof years ago.”
Okay, Iamnitpicking now. We had a good run, but Chuck and I are obviously not soulmates.
On the bright side, the dizziness from my concussion is mostly gone. I still get headaches, especially when I look at bright light or move too fast, but I’ve planned a full day of Bigfoot tracking tomorrow.I’m back, baby.
It’s only been six days since I recorded my podcast and started my social media account to go with it. It found my people—several thousand of them—and they’re invested in me finding my man. Bigfoot, that is. My newfoundSquatch Watchergroupies are passionate and staunchly opposed to my friends winning our wager. It’s fun having a deranged group of strangers in my corner. Plus, a handful of mySquatch WatcherT-shirts sold during my shift at the diner this morning. Marlow let me set up a little display by the register. I netted thirty-six bucks, and this date is almost over. Today hasn’t been a total loss.
Chuck motions at the back of the room. I turn, following his line of sight, and an older woman approaches the table with her purse over her shoulder.
“All set?” she asks Chuck. “Did you pay the bill?” When he shakes his head, she says, “I’ll get it while you say goodbye to your date.”
The woman walks toward the register.
