I pull out a few chairs, give him a few simple instructions, and we’re rolling. I’m going to try to knock this out in one take, as candid and genuine as possible. That was a theme in a lot ofthe positive notes left on my podcast—my listeners appreciate my authenticity. Well, I’m about to be as real as ever.
“What do I say?” Adam asks in a rush.
“Just follow my lead and act natural.”
I press record.
“Hi, Squatch Watchers.” I smile, even though no one can see it. I can’t help myself now that I have Adam beside me for a recording, plus I truly enjoy doing this. I’m not sure I’ll be able to give it up. I hope I don’t lose all of my listeners after I confess. “I snagged a very special guest for you today. He’s tall, dark, and he’s always been a bit of an enigma. He lives in the woods—”
Adam turns to face me, worry in his eyes.Where are you going with this, woman?his eyes ask.
You’ll see,my eyes say back.
Adam pulls his hand through his hair, fidgeting in his seat.
“He’s hairy, bipedal, and his feet arehuge.”
Adam snorts.
My voice turns soft and gooey. I can’t help it. “He’s shy in the most charming way.”
Now he’s blushing against his white T-shirt, and I want to wrap this up expeditiously.
“Stevie.”
The warning in Adam’s voice makes me giggle. I want to push stop, but I’m determined to get this in one take. My authentic giggle has to stay, unfortunately.
“My special guest is none other than the man himself, Adam Sandoval, stewardship manager for the Biddeford Land Trust.” I’ll insert some canned applause here. He deserves it.
He leans into the microphone. “Hi.”
Oh, he’s so adorably awkward. I think I’ll keep him. “So, Adam. What size are your feet, anyway?”
He sighs. “Fourteen.”
“Wow.” I whistle. “That’s abig foot.”
Adam groans. Then the groan turns into a chuckle, then a full laugh.
“There he is.” I grin, sliding my arm through his. “I brought Adam on the show today because while he was out there working to maintain trails and preserve the woods we love, I started this podcast and put his picture on a T-shirt.”
“You also dated half of York County.” Adam teases with a shake of his head.
“And yet!” I defend myself. “And yet I still managed to fall in love withyou.”
“I’m still falling in love with you—more and more every minute,” he murmurs, leaning closer. His eyes are zeroed in on my lips.
I hold him back, though my pulse is thrumming. “Not until we’re done recording, Adam.” I pretend to be appalled: “He’s trying to kiss me, you guys.” They’re going to eat this up. “I have more to say, though.”
Then I confess to everything—being wrong about my sighting, falling for Adam, and seeing him in secret. I apologize. I thank my listeners. I ask for their forgiveness. I wring myself out until I don’t have a shred of pride left. Strangely, I feel rejuvenated instead of torn down when I’m done.
Adam watches me, his gaze warm and content. He smiles, mouthing, “I love you.”
I mouth, “I love you, too.”
I can’t believe I finally cleared the air. It’s done. We’re liberated from the bet and from hiding. A long, free summer stretches ahead of us.
Straightening, I pull out my phone. “Okay, now that that’s done, on to the new evidence.”
