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“Let’s just blame Cat and Jamie,” she says. “This whole idiotic thing was their idea.”
“I actually had a great time looking for puffin droppings,” I point out.
She just rolls her eyes. “What do we do now? I heard you mention a cabin?” The wind gusts harder as she says this, and I see her shiver.
“First, you’re going to take my coat. Don’t argue,” I say, seeing her start to shake her head. “Then, we’re going to head to a cabin I’ve been to a few times before during field work. It technically belongs to one of the local birders who uses it as an outpost when watching puffins, but he’s only here sporadically starting in May.”
I take off my insulated rain jacket and pass it to Angela. She accepts it without complaint, which tells me all I need to know about how cold she is. The sleeves hang past her hands, and I decide I like the sight of her in my clothes a little too much.
“What about you?” she asks.
“I’m not that cold, and I’m used to being outside in this type of thing. I’ll dry off when we get to the cabin.”
She just nods, teeth chattering a bit, and I briefly indulge in a fantasy where I wrap her in my arms and warm her up with my body heat.
“The cabin is just down this trail about ten minutes,” I say, pointing towards the coast. The cabin is really more of a shack, nestled near the coast, perfect for watching the puffins fly in and out of their nesting area. Only researchers are allowed to go to the burrows to tag and count them, but birding enthusiasts like Hal love to watch them with binoculars.
“Great,” she says.
I head off through the woods, bearing northeast of the trail. Angela follows close behind me, and the rain starts coming down even harder, pelting my face and soaking through mylayers completely. We don’t speak until the cabin comes into view about twenty minutes later. It’s made of unfinished planks of wood, and the side facing the cliffs and sea features a large window for bird watching.
“The keys are just in here,” I say, as I input the code onto the key box near the door.
In a few moments we’re inside and Angela is surveying the space.
“It’s…sparse,” she says.
It has a futon in one corner, a few folding chairs, a tiny bathroom with just a toilet and a sink, and an electric kettle and microwave.
“Are you really complaining?” I say, because a little gratitude for basically saving her would be nice.
“Just remarking,” she says, completely unfazed. She sets her small bag down on the floor, and sits in one of the chairs. “Now what?”
“What do you mean? It’s a storm. We’ve got to wait it out,” I say. Outside, the rain clattering against the tin roof starts to get louder.
Angela gets up and peers out the window. “Hail,” she says softly. “Do you think they’re alright on the water?” She sounds nervous, and my heart softens towards her once again. She’s not used to this. I’ve spent days camped out near cliffs, counting, tagging, and watching colonies of seabirds. I’ve weathered plenty of rain storms in just a tent, and I’ve been on much smaller boats than the one we took over from Mount Desert Island.
“I’m sure they’re fine. The captain was likely being cautious. It’s not tropical storm season, and I bet they’re nearly back by now. The crossing doesn’t take too long.”
She nods. “My moms are going to be so worried about me.”
“The cell service isn’t great here, but I’m sure a text to them would go through.”
“Yeah, I’ll do that.”
While she works on drafting the text—which I’m sure she’s wording as carefully as possible to avoid any parental freak outs—I start to unpack my bag. I’ve got a few packs of nuts, protein bars, and a few apples. Not the best spread, but it will last us until tomorrow.
The more pressing problem is my clothes. Because the hike was only supposed to take a few hours, I don’t have any extra dry clothes, and I’m nearly soaked to the bone.
My only option is to take them off.
5
ANGELA
I sendmy moms a meticulously worded text in which the storm is merely some bad rain, and Carter and I are waiting it out in a cabin that is used as a vacation rental. When I’m done, I turn around and find Carter stripping off his clothes.
He peels off the layers slowly, the rain-soaked fabric clinging to his body. His biceps curl and bunch as he pulls off his long-sleeved shirt and his tanned skin is damp and gleaming in the warm, low light of the cabin. As he starts to pull his final layer up, I see the trail of hair gracing his taut lower abs and trailing into his pants.
