Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 65939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Adjustable straps, of course.
A zipper that’s easy to hide.
High-waisted, with tapered legs, so you can wear it equally well with sneakers or heels.
I’d call it FlexiChic.
No. That sounds like a porn site for people with a gymnast fetish.
Maybe VersaWear?
A blood-curdling scream rings out from outside, and my first thought is that Bubba and Dottie have come back, and now he’s murdering her with a dull butter knife.
Ashton sits up. “What the fuck?”
Dottie screams again.
Ashton leaps to his feet and rushes outside.
“Wait!”
I reluctantly follow him, cursing testosterone as I go. I mean, who runs toward such a scream?
Once I’m out, I find Ashton sans Dottie or Bubba, and cursing very creatively in the faint light from the half-moon above.
A moment later, I hear one more “scream.”
No, not a scream.
It’s a call of a large bird that resembles a crane. And now that I see the source, the call sounds much less like a woman being brutally tortured via butter knife and more like a “kwee.” Which is a good thing.
“That’s a limpkin,” Ashton says.
“A limp what?”
“Limpkin,” he enunciates. “I saw one on the way here, but it was blissfully silent. Bubba did tell me they have ‘interesting’ calls.”
I grimace. “Leave it to that guy to redefine ‘horrifying’ as ‘interesting.’ By that logic, this tour is very interesting.”
Ashton frowns. “I can’t believe they’re not back. It’s almost dawn. We were supposed to see the bioluminescence together—which implies evening or nighttime.”
My reply is my best “I told you so” look. “If they drowned during the storm, we’re screwed,” I say. “Even if our friends look for us, I’m not sure they’ll be able to find us. After all, Bubba kept emphasizing how secret this place is. What if it’s not on any maps? What if—”
“Let’s not spiral,” Ashton says, a bit grimly. “When it gets light out, I’ll take a look at that boat once again. Maybe they left the key somewhere inside, or nearby?”
“It’s possible.” I heroically resist reminding him about his skepticism over our ability to find our way out on a boat.
He gestures for me to go back inside.
“No, you go ahead,” I tell him. “I’ll join in a second.”
He frowns. “Oh?”
“Nature calls.”
He nods and steps into the cabin.
With a sigh, I brave the outhouse, and by the time I’m done using it, I feel violated and in need of a shower—which isn’t available.
When I return to the cabin, Ashton hands me a bottle of hand sanitizer, and I want to kiss him for being so much better prepared—but I don’t, obviously, because reasons.
He returns to whatever he was doing by the water cooler.
I walk over and stare as he separates the trail mix into subcomponents.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Breakfast.”
“Yeah. Okay. That explains everything.”
“I figured I’d make you hot chocolate,” he says and gestures at the cup with M&Ms.
My stomach feels fluttery at his thoughtfulness—or maybe I just swallowed a few of the fireflies while I was asleep.
“How?” I ask.
“First, I will crush them in a plastic bag. Next, I will melt the powder over that”—he gestures at the candle—“and combine it with water.”
“Wow.” I take the cup with the chocolates. “How about I save you the trouble? I’m happy to eat them as is and then chase them down with water.”
“Sure, I guess,” he says, then takes the assortment of dried fruit he had separated and dunks them into a glass with water.
“What’s that about?” I ask.
He shrugs. “It makes them taste more like real fruit?”
Is that a good thing? But more importantly… “Why are you separating the peanuts?”
Another shrug. “They’re my favorite, so I wanted to enjoy a handful all at once.”
Huh. “I like walnuts myself.”
He gestures at the cup that contains nuts and seeds that aren’t peanuts. “Help yourself.”
We proceed to harvest our breakfast from there, which is a lot more enjoyable than you’d expect. I even like the rehydrated dried fruit—especially because it doesn’t stick to your teeth like the regular version. Not to mention, the leftover water from said fruit is a delicacy in itself.
As we eat and drink, Ashton tells me what else he’s considered making from the trail mix: ideas that include things like porridge, nut cheese, and protein bars.
“If only we had a blender,” he says wistfully. “I’d make a killer smoothie with what we have.”
I sip the dry-fruit emulsion water. “Looks like you have a backup career option as a chef.”
He smiles. “I give people advice on what to eat, and they often say, ‘But that won’t taste good,’ so I have to be ready with recipe ideas that contradict such statements.” He looks thoughtful for a second. “You know, maybe that should be the next feature of ThriveFit.”
“Food?”
He shakes his head. “We can already track calories and nutrition, but we don’t offer recipes. It might be nice if you could give ThriveFit healthy ingredients, and it suggested what you could make… It might require AI or something like that. I’ll have to talk to my sister about this.”