How to Woo a Goose
CASH
Ispent the ride home from my late shift at Sunny Fields counting down the miles and looking forward to taking a shower and snuggling up with my boyfriend.
It was a warm night, one with hardly a breath of wind, and the new motorcycle jacket Mason had bought me felt too hot.
I’d never been able to afford proper gear before, and I still wasn’t used to it.
But like my brother Chase said, being a little uncomfortable was better than being a human Crayola if I came off my bike.
I slowed down as I made it to Goose Run.
A part of me still wanted to turn near the old bridge out of habit, but I kept going into the center of town instead.
I rode down Main Street, which was quiet and empty at this hour, all the shops closed up and all the lights off, and turned into the residential streets behind it.
It only took a minute to get from Main Street to the clinic.
I parked my bike down the side of the house, unzipping my jacket as I backtracked to the front porch. I hurried up the porch steps only to catch a flash of white out of the corner of my eye.
I froze on the second step and turned my head slowly, blinking at what I saw.
There was a goose on the porch.
I tensed, just like anyone who’d lived in Goose Run for more than a week would, and waited for the inevitable attack.
But the goose didn’t move. After a few seconds, I dared to move closer and when I looked properly, I laughed under my breath.
I’d been panicking for nothing. It wasn’t Lucille.
It wasn’t even real. It was one of those dumb porch geese that were so popular.
The front door swung open and soft light spilled out.
“Hey,” Mason said, “you like it?” He stepped outside and wrapped his arms around my waist from behind.
I leaned back into his touch and really looked at the goose.
This wasn’t any ordinary porch goose. It had an oversized head and a beak and feet that were a brighter orange than had ever existed in nature.
If there was a contest for the ugliest garden ornament, it would have been a clear winner.
“It’s sure something,” I said doubtfully.
Mason laughed and led me inside. I took my jacket off and he drew me close and welcomed me home with a lingering kiss that left my lips tingling. It was one of my favorite parts of the day.
Once he’d pulled back, I said, “Why do we have a goose?”
Mason shrugged. “I saw it at Walmart, and I dunno. It’s quirky. So I bought it.”
“Quirky’s one word for it,” I said, grinning as I followed Mason through to the kitchen. “Ugly’s another.”
“Hey, don’t insult Sir Honksalot like that! He has character!”
I raised a disbelieving eyebrow.
He handed me a chicken sandwich and gave me a sheepish smile. “Okay, fine. He was on clearance and I felt sorry for him. So I rescued him and gave him a good home.”
And yeah, that tracked. Mason was a sucker for a lost cause. Dog and I could both testify to that. And you know what? If rescuing an ugly fake goose made him happy, I was on board with it, because he deserved to have good things in his life.
We both did.
I sat at the battered old kitchen table and ate my sandwich.
It took approximately twice the speed of light for Dog to wedge himself between the table leg and my foot and press his nose insistently against my knee in case I didn’t know he was about to die of starvation if I didn’t share my sandwich immediately.
I took a piece of shredded chicken out of my sandwich and held it down for Dog. He nibbled it gently at first. Then once he was sure he had it, he basically inhaled it.
Mason, leaning against the sink, raised his eyebrows at me.
We had definitely talked about how it was bad to give Dog snacks when we were eating. But, counterpoint, and it was a big one: Dog’s sad eyes.
Besides, chicken was basically pure protein, so it wasn’t like I was feeding him junk. That was gonna be my defense if Mason called me on it, anyway. But he didn’t. He understood the power of Dog’s sad eyes too.
I snuck Dog another piece of chicken and then ate the rest of the sandwich. “Did you eat already?”
Mason nodded, carrying my plate over to the sink. “Dog and I had dinner at a respectable hour.”
I snorted. “Well, you try telling management that I shouldn’t have to work late.”
He laughed.
My schedule wasn’t even as messed up as his.
Okay, some evenings I worked late, but it wasn’t as though anyone from Sunny Fields was going to call me at three in the morning for a toilet paper restocking emergency.
Mason’s phone could ring at any time, day or night, and he’d have to deal with it.
It didn’t happen a lot, but it happened.
Sometimes Mason listened to whoever called for a while and told them to come by in the morning.
Sometimes he got more or less dressed and went and met them downstairs straightaway.
And sometimes he grabbed the keys for the clinic’s truck and told me not to wait up.
I always waited up anyway.
So far there hadn’t been a repeat of the disaster with Trent Lee’s cow, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t happen again at any time, so I liked to be awake when Mason got back, just in case.
And every time he did, he grumbled that at least one of us should have stayed in bed but hugged me just a little bit tighter than usual so that I knew he appreciated it all the same.
Living with Mason was turning out to be less scary than I’d thought. And part of that was because I still saw Chase most days, but a lot of it was that Mason just seemed so damned happy about it every time I walked in the front door, like he couldn’t believe his luck—which made two of us.
Although I wasn’t sure I wanted to walk in the front door if that ugly goose was going to jumpscare me every time I came home.
But then again, that had been because I wasn’t expecting it.
I knew it was there now. And in the daylight it probably looked less like a real goose and more like what a statue of a goose would look like if it was made by someone who’d never actually seen a goose but had heard stories.
I had a shower while Mason let Dog out to pee one last time and locked up.
It was late by the time we went to bed, but we didn’t go right to sleep.
Instead we kissed for a while, sharing lingering touches that didn’t go anywhere but were awesome anyway.
When a giant yawn escaped me, Mason let out a soft laugh and wrapped his arms around me from behind while Dog positioned himself at the back of Mason’s knees.
It was how we slept most nights, and I fucking loved it.
I let out a contented hum and fell asleep listening to the sound of Mason’s steady breathing and Dog’s soft snores.
I woke up when Mason’s alarm started to chime.
He groaned softly from where he was still pressed against my back, then kissed the nape of my neck before swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
At the sound of his feet hitting the floor, Dog jumped off the bed, ran to the door, and let out a sharp bark.
He was far too alert for an animal that had been asleep thirty seconds ago.
“I’m coming,” Mason grumbled, still yawning.
“I’ll take him out,” I said. I didn’t have work until later, but I still liked to get up and spend the mornings with Mason.
I also liked walking down to the bakery to catch up with Chase.
I told him I was only there for the free coffee, but we both knew it was a lie.
We still made sure to check in with each other.
I got out of bed and took Dog downstairs while Mason headed into the bathroom to shower, and by the time he came out, Dog and I were ready to go for our walk. “Danish and Americano?” I asked.
Mason hummed, which I took to be a yes. He talked even less than me in the mornings.
I opened the front door and a second later an angry ball of feathers launched itself at me, honking furiously.
I slammed the door shut, my heart pounding. “Mason?” I called out.
He must have heard the panic in my voice because he appeared a moment later, still holding his hairbrush and a hair tie. “What’s wrong?”
I swallowed. “Lucille’s out front, and she’s pissed.”
His brow creased. He reached for the doorknob.
“Don’t!” I said, my voice cracking.
He raised his eyebrows but went and pushed aside the curtains on the window that overlooked the porch instead.
There was a thud as Lucille thumped on the glass and gave an angry honk.
Mason jumped back about a foot, and it would have been funny if it wasn’t so terrifying.
He took a couple of deep breaths before taking a second look.
I joined him, watching as Lucille paced up and down the porch, flapping her wings and honking. From the way her leash was trailing behind her, it was clear she’d escaped Bobby’s hold.
“Maybe she’s gone rogue,” I said, my hand creeping into Mason’s, “like that Hitchcock film about the birds.”
“I don’t think The Birds had geese in it, Cash,” he said, biting back a smile.
Which proved the writers of that movie had never met a goose.
Lucille headbutted the glass again and Mason’s smile disappeared as we both took a hasty step back.
The chances of Lucille breaking through the glass and savaging us both weren’t high, but they weren’t zero either.
Thankfully, Bobby appeared at that moment, huffing and puffing as he hurried up the driveway.
His face lit up when he saw Lucille. “There you are!” He approached and scooped her up, ignoring her frantically flapping wings, and tucked her securely under his arm in a practiced move.
“Where did you think you were going?” he scolded.
Mason made his way over to the door and cautiously opened it. “Hey, Bobby.”
Lucille let out a hiss like steam escaping a busted radiator, and Dog ducked behind my legs, whining. I didn’t blame him.