I smooth my ponytail and gather my thoughts. “You like me.” I don’t know why I’m making him clarify this repeatedly. Maybe it’s because I still don’t believe anything about it—that he feels it or that he admitted it. I want to hear him say it again. I might need to hear it a hundred times.
He clears his throat. “Yeah, I do.”
Ominous thunder cracks at his words, rumbling in the distance.
Adam releases a puff of air that might be a laugh.
A different woman would consider this storm a bad sign, like the heavens are protesting what we’re doing. Not me. To me, this thunder sounds like God is up there moving His giant chess pieces around, and He’s helping me win. I don’t know what I’m doing. It doesn’t make sense. But it feels right, so I’m leaning into it.
“Here’s the thing.” I clutch my hands in my lap, wringing them together. I look up at him.
He looks down at me expectantly.
I frown. “I like you, too.”
A spark lights in his dark eyes, and his chest expands with a long inhale.
“But ...” I twist my fingers over and over. “I have to win this thing.” I nod back toward the diner.
His eyebrows pull together. “Okay.” He doesn’t look okay. He looks confused, and maybe a little frustrated.
I sigh. This should be obvious. “Ican’tlike you. You can’t be the perfect man, or even a good enough man, or I will lose this bet with my friends.”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “Why do you care about the bet so much?”
My jaw tightens, and I jut my chin when an old, familiar feeling rushes through me. Suddenly I’m an obstinate five-year-old girl again, proving to her brothers that she can ride a two-wheeler. I only wanted to go with them on their adventures, but I crashed so many times—over and over—before Conor climbed down from his bike. He ran behind me, holding my seat until I got it. Iknewthat I could ride a bike back then, and I’m right this time, too.
It’s also starting to sprinkle again, and we might need to wrap this up fast. “Because I know what I saw, Adam.”
But as soon as the words leave my mouth, a tiny niggling feeling gives me pause. Is that really it? If I’m honest with myself, is this really about proving to my friends that Bigfoot exists? Or am I more interested in proving that the perfect man doesn’t exist for me? If that’s the case, I’ve gotten myself into a pickle.
No. It’s the Bigfoot thing. I’m sure of it. I can almost feel the red Dutch braids I wore as a five-year-old sprouting from my stubborn head.
I smooth my hand down my ponytail again, twisting my mouth to the side. Adam’s eyes follow the movement. A fat raindrop plops on the skirt of my yellow dress, and another one plinks against the arm of the bench.
“Just making sure I understand you.” He clears his throat. “Youcan’tlike me?”
I shake my head. “No, I can’t like you.” A cold raindrop pats on my cheek, like the sky is crying on my behalf.
He nods like this makes perfect sense, then lowers his voice. “And I can’t be the, uh, perfect man”—he reaches over, dragging his warm thumb down my cheek and drying the trail left by the raindrop—“or even a good enough man.” He pulls his hand away from my face.
I might faint.
I pull in a shuddering breath. A drop of rain runs down the lock of dark hair on Adam’s forehead, and I’m fully focused onit. I can’t look at Adam, but I feel his eyes on me. “It would be helpful if you were less ...” I wave over him with my hands.
He raises both eyebrows. “Less?”
I huff. “Like this.”
His jaw tightens, and his eyes follow the path of another raindrop down my chin. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
I roll my eyes and shift away from him, an act that requires Herculean effort. “If you’re going to join me on my tours or come around the diner or whatever, you’ve gotta tone it down.” I wave my fingers between us. “This isn’t happening, capisce?”
“Okay.” He removes the space I created between us, proving that he doesn’t get it. His brown eyes peer down into mine, and his voice is husky and barely audible. “But I’m going on any tours you schedule.”
I nod over and over, momentarily stunned by the intensity in his eyes. I want to bicker with him about the authority in his tone, but I can’t find it in me. Who can argue with the concern all over that boyishly handsome face? He’s turning me to mush, and raindrops are pelting my shoulders steadily now. I should get inside where I’m safe from the weather and those hot chocolate eyes.
“Good.” Adam stands, taking my hand and pulling me to my feet. “I’m going over the trail-camera photos. Do you still want to take a look?”
