Page 326 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
I nod, and she moves her hand from her neck to her forehead, her expression disbelieving. “Two. That’s—that means this isn’t just a fluke but an actual migratory event.”
“Slow down, Dr. Doolittle.”
She looks up, meeting my gaze, and I grin. Her eyes are so incredibly blue, it’s really hard not to stare.
“How about you try again in English?” I say gently.
A slight blush tints her cheeks, but she nods like this is something she’s been asked before. She’s used to communicating with people who aren’t as smart as she is. “For over a century, white squirrels have only been native to a very small part of Western North Carolina. But now, apparently, they live in other places, too. The population is growing—moving.”
I move over to the four-wheeler and pull a water bottle off the back. I screw off the top and offer her a drink, but she declines, picking up a straw that’s connected to the shoulder of her backpack. “I have a Camelbak,” she says.
Of course she does.
I have a feeling she could live out here for days and probably be just fine, living on the land, mapping her location using her shoestrings and the clouds overhead. I take a long swig of water. “You said something about your PhD the last time you were here. You’re a scientist?”
“Wildlife biologist,” she says. “I wrote my dissertation for my PhD on the migratory patterns of the class Sciuridae as a result of urbanization and suburban sprawl, so the fact that thesesquirrels are moving—it’s incredibly relevant to my research. You have no idea how thrilling it is to discover it happening.”
Okay.Her brains aredefinitelysexy. Nokindaabout it.
Audrey studies me for a long moment before she steps forward, her expression pleading. “Look, I know I’m trespassing. But I swear I’m only here for the squirrels. Can you just…” She bites her lip, and I’m momentarily distracted by the way her teeth press into her skin.
I prop my hands on my hips. “What, give you permission?”
She nods. “Obviously, I wouldn’t go near your house. Or, at least notin it.If you saw them by the pool, they’re probably nesting nearby, which means I’d have to get close enough to take pictures. And I’d need to find their nest. See if I can date it and determine how long they’ve been living there.”
“Date their nest? You can do that?”
She levels me with a look. “We can carbon date trees that lived over fifty-thousand years ago. You don’t think I can guesstimate how long a squirrel has been nesting in a certain spot?”
I can’t help but smile. There’s something endearing about her fascination with a subject that is so patently boring to everyone else. But then, what do I know about what’s boring? I’ve been standing here talking about squirrels for at least five minutes, and I’m thoroughly invested. I suspect that has more to do withwhoI’m talking to thanwhatwe’re talking about.
The truth is, now that I’m certain she reallyisonly interested in squirrels, in my mind, there’s no reason she can’t come back no matter what Nate says.
I’ve seen some paparazzi go to a lot of trouble to disguise themselves and get close to celebrities. But there’s no way someone could fake Audrey’s knowledge or enthusiasm. This woman is harmless.
A little odd.
But harmless.
Though, I’m kidding myself if I think I’monlyletting Audrey come back because I think she’s harmless.
I also want a reason to see her again.
“How long would you need?” I ask, my eyes focused on the gear in the cargo box on the four-wheeler as I make sure everything is securely strapped down. If I look straight at her, I might scare her off withmyenthusiasm.
“A week? Two, tops,” she says, hope infusing her voice.
“Two weeks to take a few pictures?”
“And gather the necessary data,” she says. “But you won’t even notice me. And I promise. No photographs of you, or the house, or anything that might identify where the squirrels are specifically located.”
“Would you be willing to sign an NDA?” I won’t make her sign one, not for something as harmless as this, but it’s a good test anyway.
“Absolutely. Whatever you need. And I’m happy to send over proof of my credentials. And a copy of the research grant currently funding my research.”
“Credentials?”
She clears her throat and steps forward, holding out her hand like she’s introducing herself. I finally look into her eyes as she slips her hand into mine. “Dr. Audrey Callahan,” she says. “Wildlife biologist, professor at Carolina Southern University, and published author. Google me.”
