Page 34 of 6 Clues Your Nemesis Loves You

“Why, pray tell, would I spend my Sunday afternoon doing manual labor?”

“Because that’s what friends do. They help each other. I mean, we’re already off to a roaring start, bettering each other’s lives. Thanks to you, I texted my father and actually slept through the night for the first time in a while. Got up early and did a ton of stuff around my place.”

“Wow.” Her rigid posture relaxes, her crossed arms slipping free of their stubborn hold. “That’s so great. Are you meeting him soon?”

“Apparently, he’s busy for a few weeks and will be in touch.” I shake my head, still confused by his reply.

I’m so happy to hear from you, he wrote. I’ll meet anywhere you want. Just can’t do it for a few weeks. I’ll be in touch.

I expected him to be down my throat, hurrying up our father-son reunion. He was the one who pleaded to see me. Not that the timing matters. I’ve set the meeting in motion. Soon, I’ll be able to torch any lingering affection for him. See the man he truly is now—the betrayer and wrecker of lives. Quit building up our history in my head like some little kid whose worth is tied to his father’s affections.

“I’m glad you at least replied,” Maggie says. “And slept through night.”

“And I’m glad you took my advice and broke up with Harvey.”

“Harrison.”

I smile wider. “Like I said, you and I are good for each other. And now you owe me.”

“What we are, Lennon, is even. And friendships aren’t tit for tat.”

“Maggie.” I lean toward her and drop my voice. “Are you offering me tit?”

Her nostrils flare. “What did I say about the flirting?”

“Whatever you said, it got canceled when you brought up the pond.”

The indignant noise she makes pleases me more than it should. “Fine, I’ll help you. Just to shut you up.”

“Perfect.” We’ll be in a small cabin together, no malfunctioning elevators or annoying boyfriends to interrupt us. The perfect place to build the foundation of our renewed friendship—and hopefully our eventual courtship. Ginormous Expectation Land. “I’m running a Littlewing hike today with Des. The loop starts and ends at the cabin, so we’ll meet after.”

We trade numbers and enter them into our phones. It takes me a second to decide what name to list her under. Maggie is too obvious and mundane. When the perfect description hits, I chuckle while typing.

She narrows those gorgeous green eyes at me. “What’s so funny?”

I flip my phone toward her, letting her read the name I wrote: Nemesis.

A laugh bursts from her. She flips her phone toward me, but she’s laughing so hard the screen’s shaking. Once she gets herself under control, I grin at my description: Bane of My Existence.

chapter twelve

There are two reasons I’m teaming up with Des to lead today’s Littlewing Adventures hike.

First and foremost, we have a handful of kids who wanted to try out the fall program with their eyes on winter camps. As a growing business in this area, we decided to designate one day of the fall camp to single-day testers, adding them to our already full Sunday roster. The influx of kids meant we needed a second adult to lead the troops. I could’ve asked our one employee, Aanya, to work a Sunday, but that would’ve meant missing out on the other reason why I’m on this lovely hike: one of the regular kids in Desmond’s group—his self-proclaimed hiking assistant, Olivia—torments the living hell out of him. She’s a thirteen-year-old Black girl who wears shockingly bright clothes and is frighteningly smart.

The two of them are kicking up the rear, Desmond grimacing as he keeps pace with her. I’m too far to hear what she says, but he stops a moment, squeezes his eyes shut, then curls his lip. She beams her know-it-all smile. He wipes his forehead and wags a finger at her.

Anyone who can unravel Des into a disgruntled finger-wagger is gold in my books.

The rest of our kids are at the trail’s end, drinking water and chatting about the hognose snake we saw, while others compare the leaves each of them gathered from the ground. They’ve been leaf hunting the whole hike, identifying species and growing their collections. The one with the widest variety of leaves wins a woven bracelet Desmond actually made. For some bizarre reason, the kids love those things.

I meander over to him and his mini-tormentor, just as Olivia says, “I suggest using stronger deodorant next time. You nearly asphyxiated me out there.”

Seriously. How great is this kid?

Desmond’s teeth clack together. “I suggest talking less. According to science, silence allows new brain cells to develop. Since humans lose brain cells as they age, you’re gunning for zero.”

“I disagree,” I pipe in. “Talking is the key to development. It allows you to question your world in a meaningful way.”