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“I’m sorry, yes, I’ll do just that,” I say flatly. “Relax while a guy I met two hours ago is playing lost and found in my vagina.”

A guttural sound leaves his throat. “Look, I’m doing my best with the situation. This isn’t very pleasant for me either.”

He’s right. I’m sure this isn’t how he imagined his booty call would go. Lucky for me, tonight is my last night in Stirling before I travel to the Highlands.

“I think I’m feeling something . . . Aye, wait, hang on, don’t move . . . I got it, I got it!” He holds the soggy condom in the air as if it were an Olympic gold medal.

“Thank god.” I sit up, gathering the sheets over my body as I look around, desperately trying to locate my clothes. But the sound of Scottish Guy fumbling in his nightstand drawer catches my attention. “What are you doing?”

“Are we picking up where we left off?” he asks, as he pulls a brand-new condom out of the box. He sounds genuinely confused by my question, which makes me wonder if the past ten minutes all just happened in my head.

“No, we’re not. I honestly don’t feel like having anything else inside me right now.” I offer him an apologetic smile as I get up. “Plus, I have an early start tomorrow, and it’s getting late.”

“Of course. No, I get it.” He yawns and stretches for emphasis. “I’m tired too anyway.”

I hurry to slide on my jeans and black T-shirt. “Thanks for the evening,” I say when I reach the door. “I’m sorry you had to . . .”

Scottish Guy waves me off. “Don’t worry about it. Made my week a wee bit more interesting than usual. I had fun. Minus the condom part.”

I give him a tight smile and walk out the door into the crisp air of Stirling. The walk to my quaint hotel is a fifteen-minute stroll down cobblestone streets and across vast cow pastures. Not a soul in sight. Exactly how I love it—peace, quiet, and nothing for miles and miles. Just the sound of my boots squishing the wet grass beneath them, the wind rustling through the leaves.

And the high-pitched ringing of my phone.

I groan. Apparently, not even Stirling can escape cell service.

“Hello?”

“Charlee! It’s Ben.”

“Hey, boss. Sorry, didn’t recognize that number. Everything okay in Toronto?”

“Yeah, I left my phone at the office. Am I waking you up?”

I wish. “Nope, just taking a little stroll around town.”

Ben chuckles. “Sounds just like you to be out at this hour. Listen, there’s been a slight change in the schedule. I need you to board the next plane to Toronto and come back to the office.”

I frown. “But I haven’t even gone to the Highlands yet. I’m meeting with a local guide tomorrow who’s supposed to show me around the Caledonian Forest so I can start my piece on deforestation.”

“Forget the assignment,” he cuts. “We have something bigger coming up. I can’t tell you more on the phone because of some NDA shit, so get back here ASAP, please.”

“You got it,” I say, then hang up.

Well, that’s a first. In all my years working as a journalist covering climate change for Wild Planet, I have never gotten a call from Ben asking me to ditch a feature story in the middle of it. Sending journalists all over the world to cover the environmental downfall of our planet isn’t cheap. I can almost hear him repeat the words he’s said to everybody a thousand times: “Money doesn’t grow on trees, and with the massive deforestation going on, it wouldn’t even be viable if it did.”

So for him to bring me back before I get to the nitty-gritty of this assignment, it must be something major.

I don’t know if I should be scared or intrigued.

I’m kidding.

I never get scared. Especially when I can sniff an adventure from miles away.

I’m fucking excited.

Pine Falls, August 25, 2017

Hey, C.