Page 23 of 10 Signs You Need to Grovel

Immediately, I want to take back my words. Let him scratch to his heart’s content, anything to wipe that sadness from his face. His focus slides to something beside me, his glum expression mixing with resignation as he mumbles, “Great.”

The other kids have arrived—two boys and two girls, all standing with their thumbs hooked through their backpack straps. The boys are talking loudly and laughing. The opposite of Max’s frustrated great.

I gnash my teeth.

Maybe these are the jokers who’ve been giving Max a hard time. Maybe I’ll be losing some kids on this hike after all.

The two new girls are chattering to each other, apart from Olivia, who’s tossing rocks at a tree. If Lennon were still here, he’d be doing his congenial thing, buttering up the parents, adding implied exclamation points to everything he says. He’s good like that. Mr. Positive, exuding fun-loving energy. I’m as naturally chipper as a storm cloud, and this whole Sadie wrench has thrown me further off my game.

Max stands awkwardly. I stand awkwardly. Neither of us speaks, which is my fault. I’m the adult. I should ease him into this new program, especially since he seems put off by the other kids. Yet I’m standing like a mute schmuck in a too-tight, yellow gym-bro shirt.

“Max.” Sadie joins our painfully somber duo, witnessing my instant dad failure. “Why don’t you go on over and say hi to Carter and Jun? Daniel and I need to have a word.”

I tense, unsure if she wants to have a how-come-you-look-so-bad-in-yellow word, or a you’re-clearly-unable-to-make-basic-conversation-with-your-son word.

Max slouches and drops his head back. “Do I have to?”

“Sweetheart.” Her tone softens with concern. “Did something happen with you guys? I thought you hung out with Carter at school this week?”

“Nothing. It’s fine.” He blows out a long-suffering sigh and trudges over.

I glare at the little bullies, who’ve for sure done something malicious to upset my son. Believe you me, I will discover what it is.

“Des?” Sadie says softly.

“Sorry, yeah.” I hug my clipboard against my chest, attempting to cover the loud thud of my heart. “Lennon hired you to help lead the hikes?”

She freezes a moment, then frowns. “He didn’t tell you, did he?”

“That would be a no.”

She huffs out a laugh. “Guess he’s still a troublemaker.”

“It’s in his DNA.”

Neither of us offers up a guess as to why Lennon pulled this ruse. My infuriating brother is playing cupid, even though I don’t even know if Sadie’s single.

She fixes her ponytail and shifts awkwardly on her feet. My body decides it’s a human sauna, overheating in seconds. Goddamn my brother.

“You’re sure you have time for this?” I ask, filling the awkward. “You’re not too busy?”

“My schedule can be flexible, and I just finished a big project. I thought it was a good idea to be here for Max, in case anything goes wrong. As for us, I told Max we knew each other as teens. Figured we wouldn’t be able to hide our”—she grazes her teeth over her bottom lip, being sexy without even trying—“familiarity.”

I nod quickly, still at a loss around Sadie—overwhelmed by her nearness, the ache that moves through me at the sound of her voice. A warbler flies overhead, a bird I recognize thanks to my nature readings the past month. Its song is sweet and piercing and does zilch to calm me.

“Also,” Sadie adds hesitantly, “Lennon said you’ve been struggling. That you’re basically terrified to meet Max.”

Forget busting Lennon’s head with my eyeballs. I’ll be dragging him up to Hood Rock and dropping him off the edge. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“Wow.” She reaches for my face but doesn’t touch my cheek or jaw like I crave. She lifts my sunglasses and peers into my eyes. “You really are terrified.”

Yep. Lennon’s a walking corpse. “I’m nothing. I’m fine.”

I’m the opposite of fine, especially staring into Sadie’s eyes, trying to breathe through the flutters—swear to God, actual flutters—invading my stomach.

Her gaze falls to my lips. My lungs pump too fast.

She drops my shades and huffs out an amused noise. “You sound like my lying ten-year-old son.”