Page 51 of The Perils of Pretending
“Yeah. On the ground are crowberries, but since there hasn’t been a frost, we don’t want those yet.”
I examine the black berry that looks just like a blueberry, but darker. They grow on little sprigs of pine ground cover. Almost like a pine tree melted and the berries held on for dear life. “Can I try one?”
Max picks one, holding it out to me. “Sure. But don’t say I didn’t warn you about the tartness.”
I put the crowberry in my mouth. The second I bite into it, a gush of juice squirts out followed by a crunch. There’s a light hint of blueberry flavor, but mostly it’s just sour and tangy. Yeah, those aren’t a fruit I want to snack on. Finding another stem filled with watermelon berries, I snatch a few more, throwing them in my mouth to get rid of the bitterness coating my tongue.
“You were right. Those aren’t the best.”
Max pulls off some blueberries, dumping them in his first basket. “They’re slightly sweeter in the fall when the natural sugar releases after the first frost, but we don’t really eat them on their own. My grandma makes jelly with them, and my mom always added them into a mixed berry cobbler, but that’s about it.”
I pull off a clump of blueberries, shoveling them into my mouth. Those are the sweetest, firmest blueberries I’ve ever had. I’m not hungry, but I can’t stop eating the two delicious fruits.
Max laughs. “I know they’re good, but seriously, you shouldn’t eat too many more. I made the same mistake as a kid, and I still remember the night spent in the bathroom.”
“Just a few more, then I’ll stop.” A “few” turned into six more handfuls. It’s a good thing there are plenty of wild berries growing. I ate half the mountain, but it’s worth it. Nature’s candy is addicting.
I feel like I should be weirded out by Max and I sharing a room, but with everything that’s happened the last few days, I’m relieved he’s here. I’m used to him already, which is abnormal and yet comforting.
He changed in the bathroom, which was slightly disappointing. I wouldn’t have minded if he accidentally left his shirt behind, giving me a peek at his muscled torso.
Max lounges on the bottom bunk across from mine, one arm behind his head.
After we got back from our hike, we gave our fruit to the cooks who promised some tasty desserts tomorrow. We have three massive bags prepped to be shipped home at the end of our stay as well.
Mom, Brody, Max, and I spent the night walking around the property and playing card games on the front porch of our cub cabin. The night was perfect, from the casual, fun games to the awe-inspiring beauty of the Alaskan wilderness around us. It was exactly what I needed after the Dorian-bathroom-mishap earlier today.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” I moan, placing a palm on my spasming and gurgling belly. I reach out with my other hand, grabbing the stack of bracelets Poppy gave me, rubbing the stones. I need these magic balls to work like Poppy said they would before I embarrass myself and stink up the entire two-story cabin.
“I warned you.”
I shoot Max a dry look. “Now’s not the time to remind me.” I can’t imagine dealing with stomach issues with a real boyfriend I want to impress. I’m embarrassed enough as it is. I look at Max as another annoyingbig brother (except for thinking how big of a hunk he is), but things have shifted since the plane ride here. Now I don’t want him to see me like this.
“I’m not saying you should listen to me all the time, but in this instance, you should listen to me.”
I roll onto my bed, curling into a ball. “I want to say I’ve learned my lesson, but we both know it’s a lie.”
Max chuckles. “I am sorry you’re sick. Can I get you anything like medicine or sprite?”
A time machine so I can go back and show some self-control. “Distract me.”
Max waves a hand around. “When you’re not sick, what’s your nightly routine?”
“Are you interested in a new skin care regimen?”
“Duh. Have you seen the size of my pores?”
I laugh, but it sends a sharp pain through my belly. “Ow! Don’t make me laugh.”
He winces. “Sorry. I like to read before bed.”
I do too, but it has to be a well written and gripping story, otherwise my editor brain can’t shut off and I don’t relax and enjoy the book. “Same. Do you fall asleep fast or does it take you a while before your brain stops whirling?” Depending on how deep I’m under editing deadlines is how fast my brain lets me zonk out.
“I’m out the second my head hits the pillow.”
Another wave of pain shoots through my stomach. Trying to ignore it, I say, “Are you talking in your sleep right now then?”
He points to the window. “It’s still light out. I need complete darkness to fall asleep.”
