Page 26 of 10 Signs You Need to Grovel

“I’m Zoey,” the girl beside her says, sassing out her hip to mimic Jasmine’s pose. “I own every Camila Cabello album.”

Yep. Follower central.

Annoying Carter smirks. He announces his name like he’s royalty and says, “My dad owns a Porsche.”

There goes my face again. Sadie gives another bubbly fake laugh.

Jun introduces himself next and tells us about his new dog, Newton.

Olivia is last, taking her time, looking concerningly smug. “I’m Olivia,” she says bluntly, “and over six hundred thousand people go missing in America every year. To date at least sixteen hundred people who vanished in the wilderness still haven’t been foun—”

“Okay then,” I blurt before she tells us there’s a serial killer loose in the woods, “we’ll be hiking the Hood Rock Trail today. The first half hour is mostly flat, then there’s an incline to the lookout point. We’ll take a break before the harder climb, where we’ll have snacks. And”—I settle into my role, feet planted firmly, proud of the planning I’ve done—“I have coloring books for each of you, highlighting some of the fun stuff we’ll see along the way. And we’ll play catch my shadow for the easy part of the hike.”

They stare at me blandly.

I scratch my beard. Maybe they’ve never heard of the game. “Catch my shadow is when I’m in the lead, and you try to keep up and—”

“It’s a stupid game for little kids.” Carter elbows Jun. “Told you this would be dumb.”

If this is dumb, I am screwed.

Jun yawns. Jasmine rolls her eyes. Max shares a look with Zoey and shakes his head, like he can’t believe what a numbskull I am. Olivia makes a crash-and-burn sound effect with her mouth.

Yep. Screwed.

The past two weeks, Lennon busted my balls, asking if I needed help planning the hikes and organizing activities. Each time I told him to get lost. I feel competent in terms of safety and outdoor preparedness, and I was determined to do the activity planning on my own. I read nature books. I scrolled through blog posts and found one titled “Hiking Fun for Kids.” Nowhere on that post did it list the appropriate age for the suggested games. I assumed the term kid was universal. I mean, Max is a kid. Carter is a smart-mouth, but he’s a kid. Olivia’s kid status is questionable, but none of these little humans are even teens yet.

Now I’m getting eye rolls and head shakes.

“Daniel was testing if you were paying attention,” Sadie says smoothly, coming to my side. “We’ll be playing other fun games along the way, and the coloring books are to help with a free-drawing exercise we’ll be doing. Head on over to the picnic bench. Load your backpacks with the snacks, books, and colored pencils. And no phones in your hands. They’re on lockdown while we’re hiking. Once you’re all set, holler and we’ll be on our way.”

Zoey, Jasmine, and Max peel off first, chatting as they go. Carter and Jun body-check each other, half jogging and half stumbling toward the table. Olivia gives me a thumbs-up, then dramatically mimes flipping her thumb upside down.

I scrub my hand over my face. “That went well.”

“It could’ve been worse.” Sadie pats my back, her small hand lingering on the muscle I’ve spent years building at the gym. Her fingers widen and dip into the groove of my spine. I control my breaths, try not to get lost in the feel of her when today’s spiraling out of my control. But she’s so close. She smells like the early days of summer—soft and breezy and slightly sweet. New smells I don’t associate with Sadie.

“Guess I need to learn more about kids,” I say. And more about her. What summery soap she uses, if she still dreams of owning a cute pygmy goat, if she works with art like she planned or gave up her career to raise Max. Eleven years of blanks to fill in.

“My advice,” she says tenderly, keeping us connected with her light touch, “is not to underestimate kids. They’re generally smarter than people give them credit for. Except maybe Carter. And ten-year-olds think they’re verging on adulthood. Max is always telling me to stop treating him like a little kid.”

Exactly what I did. Coloring books. Catch my shadow. I shake my head and groan.

She moves closer, just a partial step. Close enough for me to feel her breath on my neck. “You’ll get better at this. Give yourself time.”

Her hand is still on my back, the tips of her fingers spreading wider along my spine. My pulse reacts. My internal temperature reacts. Every fiber of my body reacts.

A throat clears. Olivia is a foot away, grinning an I-caught-you-sucker grin. “We’re ready for this incredibly exciting hike you planned.” Sarcasm is strong with this one.

Sadie’s hand slips off my back.

I attempt to regain my equilibrium. “Then let’s get to it.”

The first section of the hike is relatively easy. Trilliums and bloodroots blanket the forest floor in swaths of white. Dark-pink rhododendrons and small white silverbells decorate the understory, while warblers, tanagers, and vireos sing and flutter above us.

No, I’m not imagining myself in a Disney movie, with swooping birds and Technicolor forests, while a singing squirrel twirls through the leaves. I’m focusing on my surroundings, forcing recall from the books I’ve read, to distract myself from the uncomfortable twinge in my chest. Sadie has taken over the group. She’s in front, playing a more appropriate game with them called “and then.” It’s a creative thinking game where she begins a story, and the next kid needs to improvise and add a new line starting with and then.

The first story went like this: