Page 93 of Dream Chaser
Before I can argue, she sniffs the air.
Not again.
She leans back and blinks slowly, clearly considering something. “Okay, not to be that girl, but … it still smells like boy in here. Not locker room boy. Like hot, freshly showered, expensive-kind of boy.”
I force a laugh. “I’ll have to let Dad know he smells like expensive boy.”
She narrows her eyes. “Did Uncle Jake switch from oak and Old Spice to sin and sex appeal?”
“You are so dramatic,” I say, maybe a little too loud. “Want to help me make a list of things I need to grab from the store?”
She smirks. “Weakest dodge I’ve seen in months.”
I ignore that. “Anyway, you, Maggie Sawyer, leave forWilderness Warriorsthe literal day after graduation. What’s the plan? Gonna fight a mountain lion for air time?”
That works like a charm.
Her face lights up. “Don’t even tempt me. I swear, if they put me with someone who thinks an electric toothbrush counts as a survival tool, I’m gonna lose it. I didn’t practice building fires in the rain for nothing.”
“You’re gonna kill it.”
“I hope so. I mean, yeah, it’s a reality show, but it’s also likeactualwilderness. And I’ve already scoped out the camera crew on Instagram. I’m not saying I’m doing this for a wilderness-themed love story … but I’m notnotsaying it either.”
I laugh and open the door to the backyard. “Just promise me you won’t be so emotionally wrecked that we’ll abandon the garden when you get back.”
“Please,” she says, waving a hand dismissively. “We’ll have the most Instaygrammable basil plants in Blue Valley.”
“Only if you promise not to name all the plants after members of One Direction again.”
“You know they’re my guilty pleasure, so no promises.” She grins. “Now, about that list. They’re bringing dinner since this is basically a surprise, but we need a shit ton of food for breakfast. And to fill your sad, echo-y cupboards.”
“Surprise?” I ask cautiously.
“So I’m a surprise ruiner.” She leans in, nose-to-nose and whispers, “Don’t tell on me.”
Laughing I palm her face and push her back. “Fine.” I sigh and pull out my phone, opening the Notes app. “Okay, hit me.”
She starts listing things like she’s manifesting a brunch board for the gods: bagels—specifically the fancy kind with everything seasoning that gets stuck in your teeth for hours—three types of cream cheese—one of whichmustbe strawberry—and “real” coffee because, apparently, the dark roast I drink is dehydrated regret in a jar. She wants orange juice with pulp because she enjoys “chewing her beverages like a psychopath,” and not one, buttwoboxes of cocoa cereal for dessert, not breakfast, obviously.
She goes on a frozen waffle tangent, insisting we need whipped cream “for the waffles … or emergencies,” and demands a crate of avocados “for the aesthetic.” The almond butter has to be the kind in the glass jar with the fancy paper label that peels off real pretty, and we have to get “a cheese board’s worth of cheese,” no less.
She adds grapes—redandgreen, because “variety, babe”—plus bacon, brown eggs—“they look rustic”—hash browns inboth patty and shredded form because she refuses to choose, Honeycrisp apples, and a baguette, just in case someone paints us while we lounge.
“Oh, and canned cinnamon rolls,” she adds as she reaches into the fridge for a bottle of water, “because tradition. And emergency dark chocolate. Duh.”
“Of course,” I mutter, typing as fast as I can.
“Fancy sparkling water, too. The kind with the names no one can pronounce.”
I shoot her a look.
“Don’t judge me; it elevates the table.”
By six thirty, we’re standing in front of our masterpiece, hands on hips, covered in sawdust, fabric threads, and a kind of pride in our work.
The table looks like something straight out of a mood/vibe board, where every torn page is either impossibly aesthetic or wildly impractical. Somehow, we managed to land somewhere right in the middle: totally imperfect, totally ours.
We found the old table in the carriage house that serves as a storage barn behind the building, tucked against a stack of vintage shutters that I will totally repurpose as a mail sorter, coffee tabletop, or shelving. We also found a filing cabinet that might be older than the town itself. That will definitely be brought back to life.
