𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐘𝐏𝐒𝐎 | ᴍɪʟʟᴀʀᴅ ɴᴜʟʟɪɴɢꜱ

𝟑𝟑] 𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐒

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ MACKING IN THE WOODS

     NONE OF THIS WAS ANY FUN.

     A few hours later my dad stumbled upstairs, reeking of alcohol, and flopped into his bed. He was asleep instantly, ripping out monster snores. I grabbed a coat and set out to meet Millard, no sneaking necessary.

The streets were deserted, and so quiet, you could almost hear the leaves fall. Clouds stretched thinly across the sky, with just enough moonlight glowing to light my way. As I crested the ridge, a prickly feeling crypto me, and I looked around to see a man watching me from a distant outcropping.

He had his hands raised his face, and his elbow splayed out like he was looking through binoculars. The first thing I thought was, damn it, I'm caught, assuming it was one of the sheep, farmers out and watch, playing detective. But if so, why wasn't he coming over to confront me? Instead, he just stood and watched, and I watched back.

Finally, I figured if I'm caught, I'm caught, because whether I went back now, or kept going, one way or another—word of my late night excursion would circle back to my dad. So I raised my arm in a one finger salute and descended into the chilly fog.

Coming out of the cairn, it looks like the clouds have been peeled back, and the moon pumped up like a big, yellow balloon, so bright I almost had to squint. A few minutes later, Millard came wading through the bog, apologizing and talking a mile a minute.

"Sorry I'm late. It took ages for everyone to get to bed! Then, on my way out, I stumbled over Emma and Jacob snogging each other's faces off in the garden. But don't worry. They promised not to tell if I didn't."

I patted his back awkwardly. "So, let's talk."

He backed away. "Not here. There's a better place. A special place."

"I don't know..."

He took my hand. "Don't be that way. You'll adore it, I promise. And when we get there, I'll tell you everything."

I was pretty certain it was a plot to get me to make out with him, and had I been any older or wiser, or one of those girls for whom makeout sessions with nice guys were so frequent to be of no consequence, I might have had the emotional and hormonal fortitude to demand that we talk right then and there. But I was none of those things.

Besides, there was the way he beamed at me, I'm sure he was smiling with his whole self. Oh how a coy gesture like tucking his tie in could make me want to follow him, help him, do anything he asked. I was hopelessly outmatched.

     I'll go, but I'm not going to kiss him, I told myself. I repeated it like a mantra as he led me across the bog. Do not kiss him. We headed for town but veered off toward a willow tree that looked out onto a lake, picking our way down the steep stone steps.

     Reaching the water's edge, he told me to wait and ran off to retrieve something. I stood watching the moon beam wheel around and wash over everything--a million seabirds sleeping in the pitted cliffs; giant rocks exposed by the low water; a rotted log drowning in the dirt.

     When Millard came back I saw that he had changed into a nicer suit and was holding a large book by his side.

     "Oh no," I said. "No way."