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“Wait, sorry, back up. Can I say that? Is ‘Oh my God’ okay?” I babbled.
Amos gave a long-suffering sigh. “Yes, June, I’m not religious, for the second time. What?”
“Carla’s evil plan is working,” I pointed out.
“What evil plan?”
I gave him a meaningful eyebrow raise. “We’re stitching stuff.”
* * *
About twenty minutes into our hike, it became abundantly clear to me that I was beyond out of shape. I wasn’t any shape at all. I was an amorphous blob made of primordial goo and cappuccinos. I looked over at Dr. Brady and wondered what kind of dedication it had taken on his end to whittle that six-foot-something body into this toned, fluid-moving machine that navigated the uneven terrain with perfect grace. He even managed to shoot a hand out here and there to steady me when my sandals slipped in the dirt.
I peered at him as my lungs wheezed, and I tried to ignore the burning in my chest. “How tall are you?”
He flicked a glance to me. “Six-four.”
“I knew it,” I gusted. “You’re a giant.”
“To a house elf like you, I’m sure I’m a Goliath.”
I laughed, squeezing out the last of my labored breath as I stopped and put my hands on my waist. Amos Brady, the closet nerd? “Oh, my God. House elf?” I put a hand to my chest in mocking offense, coughing slightly. “That’s an ignorant assumption. What if I’m a Christmas elf?” Amos stopped, but instead of laughing with me, his eyebrows took on a concerned tilt. “What?” I panted, wiping sweat off my forehead on my sleeve.
“Maybe we should take a break,” he suggested, already sliding his shoulder strap down his arm. “We can take a drink and I’ll try to figure out where we’re at on the map.”
“Yeah, alright.” Grateful for the break, I meandered off the path a bit to where a fallen log called to me with its concave middle padded with moss. Velvet fern fronds tickled my ankles as I threaded through pine saplings and rough grass. I swung my backpack to my side and plopped down on the log with a grateful sigh. Oh, yeah. That felt amazing.
As I unzipped the bag and dug around for my water bottle, a rustle to my right caught my attention. I leaned forward, peering around the log, and then gasped.
Lying partially obscured by a cluster of bluebells and ferns, a baby moose lifted its head. Its ears twitched in question, and it blinked at me with large, black eyes under long eyelashes like dandelion wisps.
I scrambled to find my phone in the side pocket of my leggings.
“What is it?” Amos asked, looking up from the map.
“Shh!” I waved him away frantically. I pulled up my camera app and leaned forward, pinching the screen to zoom in and get a picture.
“June, what are you doing?” he asked, his voice wary. He took long strides through the brush toward me.
“Stop!” I hissed, waving at him again. “You’ll scare her.”
“Scarewhom?” He halted with a scowl.
I scrunched my shoulders, overcome by the calf’s cuteness. “Baby moose,” I grinned.
Amos didn’t share my enthusiasm. He looked around, as if alarmed. “June, get away from there. Come here.”
“No, this is perfect,” I said, leaning forward again to get a few more pictures. The soft contrast of the baby blue flowers against the muted browns and blacks on the moose made for a stunning tableau. I had to use this as inspiration in my magical woodland mural. I clicked another picture, but then a strong hand yanked me up. Amos dragged me away from the log.
“Brady,” I hissed, planting my feet and pulling against his hold. “What are you doing? Getoffme.”
Undeterred, he practically lifted my feet off the ground as he steered me back to the trail. “If there’s a baby,” he explained slowly through gritted teeth, “then what else do you think is here?”
I swiveled my head around the forest. “A mom?” I gasped again. “That would be so cool! I’ve never seen a moose.”
“June,” he groaned, as if I caused him physical pain. “You don’twantto see a moose in the wild. They’re dangerous.”
“Pfft,” I scoffed, and when we reached the trail, I wiggled loose from his grip. “They’re just deer.”
