I don’t care that she holds the men around her to standards that she ignores herself. I don’t even care that she believes Bigfoot is out there. Like Ruth has said, a little crazy is fun. I’m here for Stevie’s version of crazy fun, one hundred percent.
But she’s tying herself in knots worrying about what everyone else thinks—her dad, her brothers, people online, and now me. This relationship won’t work with this ridiculous bet wedged between us.
Crispin comes inside, and we fumble through breakfast. Stevie likes my accidentally deconstructed omelettes. Sammie isn’t a fan. She takes a few mandatory bites and wanders off to pull everything down from my bookshelves.
“If you want, I can show you how to fold an omelette without ... this.” Crispin circles his fork in the air over his plate.
Stevie’s mouth hangs open.
“Adam’s deconstructed omelettes are my new favorite breakfast, actually.” Ruth takes a huge bite. “Perfection is boring. Overrated.” She eyes Crispin’s perfectly coiffed mannequin hair. My sister simply cannot take a break from meddling to enjoy a plate of mangled eggs, bacon, and spinach.
Stevie’s freckled cheeks are pink. “I like things messy.” Her big brown eyes peer into mine, and my stomach tightens. “And a little crazy.” She sounds defensive now.
Crispin scoffs.
My heart aches. I want Stevie so much, but I want her fully. I need her to be ready for this, though—for us. I’m worried she’s not. There’s a lot going on there. Speaking of messy omelettes ...
A shuffling sound in the hall draws our attention, then a clatter on the floor has Ruth on her feet. Sammie appears from the hallway, dragging what looks like a carcass behind her.
Oh, no.
My niece pulls my ghillie suit into the kitchen like it’s any other Sunday morning. She’s proud of herself, looking like a golden retriever with a dead opossum in its mouth.
Ruth’s wide eyes dart to Stevie, then back to her daughter. She lunges for the ghillie suit, but Sammie is fast.
“Uhmine!” she screeches, darting away and dragging my Bigfoot costume behind her.
This is so bad. I’m paralyzed as my sister chases her daughter into the living area.
“No, Sammie. Stop!” Ruth can’t quite catch her daughter, even with the cumbersome weight of evidence Sammie is pulling. She finally snags her, swinging Sammie into her arms and leaving the ghillie suit on the floor in an incriminating pile. “I’ve told you so many times”—she’s fighting for air—“you haveto stay out of Uncle Adam’s stuff.” She kicks the ghillie suit out of sight, like that will help. Everyone saw it.
Sammie bellows, reaching for the hairy suit like this is the tragic end of a love story. “Mine!”
Ruth removes her screeching daughter from the room, and Stevie smothers a laugh. “What is that thing?”
Crispin drops his fork, understanding lighting his eyes. “That was you,” he accuses.
Stevie’s eyes tighten. “What was Adam?”
I thought I’d tell Stevie about this alone. I’ve never owned up to being Stevie’s Bigfoot, and it’s been quietly eating at me—every time I spot one of her T-shirts around town I’m reminded that this reality isn’t going to fade into oblivion. I knew I’d have to deal with it eventually. This conversation is long overdue. I just don’t want to have this talk with Crispin sitting right there. I’m looking forward to calling him out, though.
I turn my attention to the man. “Yeah.” I grin. “That was me.”
“What was Adam?” Stevie frowns, growing impatient. She hates being left out or not knowing things.
I pivot toward her, ignoring Crispin’s red face. Ready or not, I’m doing this. “That’s called a ghillie suit. I wear it sometimes when I want to blend in ... in the preserve.” Stevie’s smart. I want her to piece this together herself. “Last week, Crispin was out there doing ... What were you doing, anyway?” I narrow my eyes. I’d love to hear him explain this. The man who’s apparently trying to date my girlfriend can be honest about his other intentions. Am I being petty? Maybe. I’m human, and I don’t care for the guy.
His polished exterior doesn’t crack. “I was filming a vlog.”
I guess he isn’t going to explain himself. I’ll help him along. “He was out there trying to prove that your sighting was fake—”
Stevie’s eyes spark, and she turns her whole body toward him. She raises her eyebrows. “Really?”
He shakes his head. “Listen, it isn’t like that—”
“Bear Grylls here”—I nod to Crispin—“didn’t see me sitting a dozen feet away. I heard everything, man.” I fold my arms over my chest, giving him an opening to explain himself.
Stevie’s head jerks back. “What did you hear?”
