“I know,” she murmurs.
My eyes pop open, and I chuckle with surprise. I love her self-assurance. She knows what she knows—even if sometimes she’s wrong about what she thinks she knows. I’m starting to appreciate the crazy, headstrong side of her. Well, she’s not wrong this time. There’s more, though.
I bend down, more than ready to steal another kiss from her. I need to ask her a question first, though, and I’m nervous. “I want to go on a real date with you.”That wasn’t a question, Adam. Get it together.“Can I take you out on an actual date?”
Her bright eyes twinkle up at me. “Watching my dad shovel shepherd’s pie into his mouth like a claw excavator doesn’t count?”
I shake my head. “No,” I murmur. She’s so cute it hurts to look at her. I swallow. Why is it so hard for me to say what I want to say? I want to show her how I’m going to treat her when this stupid bet is over and we can be honest about what we are. A hundred thoughts and feelings are bottlenecked in my head. The only thing that comes out is, “When I take you on a real date, you’ll know it.”
“You’re in luck.” She smiles. “This is a bye week. Marlow and Diana couldn’t find anyone to set me up with.”
The information combined with Stevie’s look of relief gives me courage. “Can I take you out on Friday night?”
“I’d love that.” Her cheeks turn pink. “But no one can see us together. How are we going to—”
I pull her closer. “I’ve got this.” I’ve been subconsciously planning this nonstop since the conversation about our hypothetical anniversary date. “That’s a yes?”
She licks her lips, tugging me toward her. “It’s a ‘what took you so long?’”
Just when I’m about to close the distance between us, something snaps behind me in the trees.
I straighten, spinning toward the source of the sound and scanning the woods.
Oh, brother.
Only a few dozen feet away from us someone is crouched in the bushes wearing a low-budget ghillie suit. Not all camouflage clothing is created equal. Mine is top-of-the-line and allows me to blend into the underbrush seamlessly. This guy is wearing the pelt of Oscar the Grouch. Respectfully.
How did I miss him?
Well, I know how. I was distracted by Stevie and her bouncing red ponytail.
Oscar the Grouch clears his throat, holding up both hands like he’s demonstrating that he comes in peace—except there’s a rifle in his right hand.
Stevie sucks in a breath, throwing her hands over her heart. “Oh my—”
“It’s okay,” whoever it is calls. Then he seems to realize he’s holding a gun in the air. “Oh! Sorry!” He lowers it, then pulls the thick, shrubby hood off his head.
The guy looks familiar, but I can’t place him. And he’s clearly hunting in the preserve. Nothing is in season right now. Is this my poacher? He might not bemypoacher, but he’s certainlyapoacher.
“What are you doing out here?” I start to move closer but turn back to Stevie, lowering my voice. “Could you stay back for a minute? Just until—”
She nods over and over, wide eyed, like she wants to stay far away from the gun-toting stranger.
“I was raised around hunters,” I murmur. I don’t want her to worry. I run a hand down her arm. “I’m sure this guy isharmless, okay? Besides, you could handle him.” I imitate her karate hands, and she shoves me away with a shaky laugh.
I wink at her, turning for the poacher with a sigh of relief. I don’t want Stevie to be scared, but I want her at a safe distance while I handle this guy. He’s already moving my direction, though.
“I saw that you put up cameras,” he calls.
I underestimated him. Is it judgmental of me to assume that a man who dresses like Oscar the Grouch to hunt wouldn’t notice my cameras?
“Have you had any luck?” he asks when he stops in front of me.
Where do I know this guy from? I still can’t place him. He’s middle aged, with receding blonde hair. I don’t know many people in the county, but I recognize him.
“Any luck with what?” I wait for him to fill in the blank. I mean, he’s the reason I installed the cameras. I finally got my guy. He probably assumes I’m also hunting out of season, though.
“The tom.” He props the barrel of his rifle on his shoulder. “You know, the giant turkey that—”
