Adam pivots the laptop toward himself. “Wow.” His eyes tighten. “Is this guy trail running in his underwear?”
“It’s a Speedo.” I pinch my eyes closed until Adam clicks to the next picture. “In the summer, Kevin works on his tan. In public. In the tiniest swimwear available on earth. It’s so gross.” I shudder. I still can’t look. “That’s how he got his nickname.”
There’s a soft click, then Adam barks out an incredulous laugh. “You have to—” He can barely talk through his laughter. “You have to see this.”
I open one eye cautiously. “What?”
His laughter fades, and he turns the computer fully toward me. “An unexpected hero has emerged.”
I scan the photo. Speedo Kevin has almost run out of the shot, but a distinctive figure has entered the frame. His neck outstretched and razor-sharp beak leading the charge, Butterballsy is in angry pursuit. His tail feathers are tucked behind him while he hunts Kevin.
“People have to learn to stop running from that bully.” I shake my head, downloading the photo. “You’re emailing this one to me.”
“Done.” He nods.
And Adam and I settle back into our comfortable evening—me, working through trail-camera photos, and Adam, tracing lines on my knees with his fingers. My living room is quiet except for the canned laughter coming from the TV and my fingers clicking the trackpad.
“What did you think of L.L. Bean?” Adam asks out of nowhere, his focus fixed on the television. The nonchalance in his tone sounds forced.
“The clothing store?”
“Crispin.” His teeth clench through the name.
Oh. I shrug. “He was all right, I guess.” He was a tad pretentious, but he left a hefty tip when he sent a mobile payment after our tour. “Brad was so much fun, though.”
Adam nods a few times. “Yeah, he was.” He clears his throat. “You did a great job tonight ... with your tour.” He’s holding something back. It’s all over his face.
I slide his laptop onto the coffee table and sit up. Pulling his hands off my knees, I lace our fingers together and make him look at me. “What’s going on, Adam?”
“Nothing,” he says too quickly.
I raise my eyebrows.
“I’m glad I was there.” There’s a thunderstorm in his eyes.
“Why?”
“I don’t like the idea of you being alone in the woods—”
“I’ve been alone with you.” My lips quirk into a smile.
“—with a guy like that.”
I laugh. “A guy like what?”
“Crispin.”
I search his face. His tight jaw and stormy eyes make it hard to get enough air. “You’re jealous,” I say, matter-of-fact and breathless.
“No.”
I lean in. “Are you sure about that?”
Deep lines form between his eyes, but he doesn’t respond right away. His eyes move over me, tightening when they land on my lips. “Jealous isn’t the right word.” He moves in, a fleeting, shy smile passing over his lips. “Possessive, maybe? That isn’t any better, is it? It’s a terrible word. I don’t own you. You’re justso ...” He yanks his hand away, pulling it through his hair with a groan. “I can’t say what I want to say—”
“Adam.” I reclaim his hand, forcing him to make eye contact. I take a long, steadying breath. “You don’t have to say anything. I get it. I don’t ...” Am I going to say this? I know what’s in my head. I want to reassure him that I don’t want anyone but him, but that’s another one of those big matzo balls. I’m not ready to serve that up, even if I’m feeling it.
He peers down at me with his dark chocolate eyes, his heavy lids lowered in a way that makes me want to be possessive of him. I want to turn the tables a little.
