Page 5 of Just Act Natural

But if I want to turn my part-time job as Sunshine’s special events planner into a full-time job as their tourism coordinator, I need to get familiar with the woods, and fast. Everything else around town, I’ve got covered—where to shop, where to get the best meals, where to stay—but when it comes to all the outdoorsy stuff people might come here for? I’ve got nothing. Thus, the five days ahead of me pretending to be a Girl Scout.

It’s fine. It’s all going to be fine. This is just a little adventure. True, my adventures usually spin more towardpopulatedplaces and five-star hotels, but I can work with this.

I kind of have to.

“We’re just about to load up our packs.”

Deena leads me to the back wall where six backpacks and a dizzying array of camping gear are laid out. Their storefront is mostly an empty room. Posters of people on mountaintops or rafting down rivers line the walls, blasting their inspirational messages. A counter sits near the door where someone could theoretically greet walk-in customers, but it’s pretty clear this place is just a staging area for their trips.

Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine going on one of them semi-willingly.

Mitchell explains that this will be a light hike—we’ll onlywalk five to seven miles per day. I exhale the tiniest of whimpers. He adds that this is the trip they take families with little kids on, so nothing should be outside of our ability. Feels kind of pointed, to be honest.

Since we’re going backcountry camping, we have to carry all of our supplies with us. Everything is already divided according to individual essentials and group necessities, with color-coded patches on each pack so we know which one is ours. I walk over to my section, and I think my eyes fall out of my head. They’re making a whole lot of assumptions about what we can carry, that’s all I’m saying. God gave us luggage with wheels for a reason.

“Don’t some companies have alpacas or donkeys to carry all of the supplies?” I say, staring at everything in front of the pack. I don’t even know what half of this is, and I have to lug it around for a week?

Mitchell’s good-natured laugh rumbles around the room. He’s very unassuming, even though he’s low-key ripped for being in his fifties. Like a hot dad in a K-drama who turns out to be a mob boss. “As much as Deena would love to own an alpaca, we don’t have one.”

“It’s something to consider. Backpacking with alpacas could be a big draw.” I can see the website updates now, with a picture of one happily toting everyone’s supplies on the trail. His name would be Jean-Pierre, and he would relish the attention.

If only.

“Alpacas might not get along so well with the bears.”

“The couples share tents,” Deena says before I can ask for bear-related specifics, “so we have room to carry more food supplies than the singles do.”

My eyes dart to the only other single’s wide shoulders. I bet Grant can carry a lot of food. Maybe not as much as Jean-Pierrecould, but he would have no problem bringing the groceries home, that’s for sure.

“And Mitchell packs the camp toilet,” she adds.

I hold a breath. Here I was thinking bears would be the worst this conversation had to offer. “The what?”

“Camp toilet.” She says it again as though those words make any more sense the second time around. “It’s a collapsible chair with a bag underneath filled with a drying material. Kind of like cat litter.”

Can you feel it when all the blood drains out of your face? Is that what this creepy-crawly sensation washing over me is? I’m not even going to try to imagine what she’s describing. That could only compound my horror and embarrassment. In all my research, in all my prep for this trip, never once did I consider that there would not betoiletsavailable.

Why wouldn’t they put that right on the website home page?Five days exploring the best the National Forest has to offer. Hey, also, you’ll be peeing in a cup. Sign up now!There. Fixed it for them.

“Don’t worry,” one of the other women says. Shannon, I think. They both wear colorful bandanas to keep their chic gray hair out of their faces, so I’m not entirely sure which is which yet. “You’ll get used to it.”

I really, really don’t want to get used to a cat litter toilet.

“You also have the option of digging a hole every time,” Mitchell points out. “The camp toilet provides a more comfortable experience if you want it.”

I clamp my mouth shut on every retort about the definition of comfort. They’re comping my spot on this trip in exchange for some social media promo. Whether I have a good time this week or not, I’m technically here on a business arrangement. Complaining about the “amenities” wouldn’t be a good look.

No matter how justified.

“For what it’s worth, our camp toilet is pretty nice.”

Not exactly unqualified praise. Reminding myself to focus on the positive, I make a pathetic sound of agreement.

For some reason, my gaze meets Grant’s across the room. His eyebrows tick up in amusement, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. Well, why wouldn’t he? What sane personwantsto use a toilet like that? If you have to use more than one word to describe it, it’s a bad toilet. If it’s the next step up from a literal hole in the ground, it’s averybad toilet.

I tilt my chin at him in defiance and spin back to the gear on the floor. I force a smile as I take it all in. Smiling when you don’t mean it is supposed to reduce stress and instill feelings of happiness. I don’t know if I can reach “happiness” after hearing about the bathroom situation, but a little stress reduction would be nice.

I never really managed it at my last job working for my ex-fiancé, but I’m nothing if not optimistic.

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