Page 29 of The Falcon and the Foe

“Yep. That’s the one.”

I’d read about it, too, and heard the same things. “We’ll make sure to pack snacks and take frequent breaks.”

“Good call. Also, do you usually take the troop canoeing down the river?”

“Every year.” Part of the campsite fell along a tributary of the Hudson River. The views were stunning.

“So you know how there’s this little island in the middle of the river?”

I nodded yes. “We always pass it.”

“What if we stopped there for lunch? We could pack lunch and eat on the shore. And then we can do an activity where the scouts create a troop flag to stick in the dirt.”

I leaned back in my chair, surprised and amused by how much I didn’t hate these ideas, despite the fact that they came out of Cal’s mouth.

“What do you think?” he asked, genuinely interested in my opinion. My eyes went to his pouty, wondering lips, an island of pink in his furry beard.

“I like it. All of it.”

The ideas.

His face lit up in pure joy, and the way he tried to hide his genuine excitement over my comment was nothing short of adorable.

“Those activities sound…”

“Say it.”

“They could be…”

“You know you want to, Russ.”

“Fun.” I fought back a laugh that wouldn’t quit. When he wasn’t being annoying, his energy could be contagious.

“So what you’re saying is that I’m not a flaming disaster who’s torpedoed your precious scout troop?”

“Flaming, yes. Disaster, no. Well, the jury might still be out on that one.”

“Are you...are you laughing?” He studied my face, which made it harder to hold back the laughter. “No, that can’t be it. You’re having a stroke. I’ll call 911.”

Laughter exploded out of my chest like a broken dam. He reached for my office phone. I clamped my hand over his to stop him. His soft, warm skin sent a rush of electricity down my arm. I pictured his hands elsewhere on my body. I yanked my hand off him before I made things weird.

Cindy, our maternal office manager, wheeled a cart of desserts to the marketing meeting. She hadn’t met Cal, but within sixty seconds, they were best friends who made tentative plans to go to an Alanis Morrisette concert next summer. Cal and I each took a brownie and sent her on her way. Usually, I didn’t indulge in office snacks because the EbbCo fifteen was real. But this felt like a special occasion; the office had come to life in a new way.

“Is this your lunch hour?” Cal asked.

“I don’t have a lunch hour. I eat when I have open blocks in my calendar.”

“You should take a lunch hour. For your mental health. Get away from this desk.”

“If only I weren’t so busy.”

“Nobody is so busy they can’t spare an hour for lunch and fresh air.”

Cal walked around to my side of the desk. He stood behind me, and I took a moment to catch a whiff of his uniquely sweet, woodsy scent.

“Pull up your calendar.”

“What are you doing?” But I opened Microsoft Outlook on one of my screens.

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