Stevie
My pulse quickens at the rumble of a diesel engine outside my house. Adam is here.
I sling my purse over my shoulder and check myself in the small mirror by my front door. Nothing has changed since I looked forty-five seconds ago. The humid summer air hasn’t flattened my curls yet. I don’t have any lipstick on my teeth, and I didn’t get any toothpaste on my flouncy sundress when I panic-brushed again a few minutes ago. I’m not worried that I’m being too obvious or trying too hard. I want to try hard with Adam. I want to be obvious. I brushed my teeth twice for this man.
I haven’t seen Adam since our hike on Wednesday morning when we caught Greg the Poacher. Besides trading a few texts and phone calls, I’ve been on an unfortunate Adam fast. I don’t care for it.
He’s been dealing with a trail that washed out in the rain. The stormy weather has been persistent this summer. The woods are messy, which explains the ever-present mud on Adam’s jeans. On top of that, he and Greg have been in hardcore cahoots. Adam didn’t appreciate it when I said as much—serious men don’t do cahoots, I guess. I just know that when I wandered into the preserve yesterday, the trail was newly marked withiridescent tape that flapped and flashed in the sunlight. The stuff is meant to deter birds, but I’ll be shocked if anything less than a sasquatch could intimidate Butterballsy. That turkey needs jail time.
A soft knock on the door makes me jump.
“Adam,” I whisper to myself, swinging it open.
And there he is.
Oh. He cleans up nicely. He’s washed, shaved, ironed, broad-shouldered, and smiling in that lazy, dark-eyed way that makes my heart hammer. Something like a whimper escapes my throat.
“Are you, um—” He coughs. He visibly swallows, and I catch him eyeing my hair. “Geez, you’re beautiful. You catch me off guard every time.” He shakes his head, murmuring to himself, “You’d think I’d be used to it by now.”
With shaky hands I swat away the compliment and turn to lock my door behind me. “Did you notice if any of my neighbors are out?” I ask under my breath before we leave the covered safety of my front porch.
It’s one thing for us to get caught in the woods together—we both have Very Important Business there. It’s quite another for us to be dressed up and climbing into his truck in the late afternoon.
Instead of answering, he takes my hand, spinning me against his chest and wrapping his big arms around me. “None of your neighbors are out.” He lowers his mouth to mine, pressing a long, languid kiss there. “Thank goodness,” he says against my lips, his eyes closed.
It takes us far too long to make it off my porch.
Eventually—after an hour and a half drive and a dozen pestering questions from me—Adam parks his truck in front of what looks like a train depot in the middle of the trees. All he told me about tonight was that he made dinner reservations faraway from Cape Georgeana. He wasn’t kidding. We’re in New Hampshire now, somewhere in the mountains.
“What are we doing?” I ask for the millionth time.
“Going to dinner.” He pulls my hand to his mouth. “Like I told you,” he growls against my skin. His hints have obviously been useless. The man is an egregious giver of clues. Lucky for him, he’s a first-class kisser of knuckles. He also seems to have figured out that I love solving a mystery.
I can’t help myself. “We’re going to dinner on a train?”
He nods. “Sit tight.” Then he’s out of his truck, dragging his hand through his hair while he circles the hood.
Dinner on a train, far away from suspicious eyes, people who bet against me, and men with charms on their Crocs? Oh, this is fun.
Adam opens my door and helps me down from his truck. Instead of peppering him with more questions, I loop my hand through his arm and tip my head against his shoulder while we walk.
“Thank you.” I sigh.
“For what?” He rests his heavy hand over mine. “We haven’t done anything yet.”
“For getting me away from everything and everyone.” I take a deep breath through my nose. The air is fresh and full of the scent of trees, sun-warmed earth, and a little bit of Adam.
His warm lips plant a kiss in my hair. “I’m finding that’s all I ever want to do.”
An hour later, I’m sitting in a dream.
Adam reserved a table on a dinner train that runs through the White Mountains. There are fresh flowers and candles on thewhite tablecloths, Frank Sinatra’s voice is floating through the train car, and we’re surrounded by retirees. A few of the gray-haired couples are slow dancing in the aisle now that the evening is winding down. The five-course meal has been divine—focaccia with onion and thyme, salad, chicken saltimbocca, sorbet, and now crème brûlée. I never want to leave this fantasy train. No one in the history or future of the world can ever top this date.
Am I exaggerating? No. It’s just that good.
It isn’t the romantic setting, the music, the food, or even the cute elderly couples that are doing it for me. It’s Adam. I can’t stop sighing and staring at him while the lush summer scenery rolls past our window.
A truth has taken shape over the last few weeks, but I haven’t been able to acknowledge it consciously, much less say it out loud. Now that flickering candlelight is reflecting off the darkening windows of a train car, the truth is sitting in front of me, as undeniable as a mountain. Can I say it?
