Chapter 25 #4
I had to look away before I did something stupid like cry about how much I loved this ridiculous man.
“So,” I said, aiming for casual and probably missing. “You gonna finish that cone, or should we let the duck militia have the rest?”
“I'm finishing it. They've taken enough from me today.”
“That's what she said.”
“Soren.”
“Sorry, couldn't help it. The setup was too perfect.”
He shook his head, but he was smiling now, and I counted that as a win.
We kept walking, and I finished my lavender honey while Rook guarded his remaining vanilla like it contained state secrets.
The sun was starting to dip lower in the sky, turning the gray water silver, and the cold wind made my eyes water but I didn't care.
This felt good. Normal. Like the kind of day we should've had years ago before everything went to hell.
“You know,” I said after a while, “if the ducks had gone for my ice cream instead of yours, I would've fought them.”
“You would've lost.”
“Probably. But I would've gone down swinging.”
“That's very brave of you.”
“I'm a hero, really. Underappreciated in my time.”
Rook snorted, and the sound made warmth bloom in my chest. “You're ridiculous.”
“And you're stuck with me.”
“So you keep saying.”
“Because it's true. You can't get rid of me now. I'm like a barnacle.”
“A barnacle.”
“Yeah. Attached and annoying and weirdly hard to remove.”
“That's the worst metaphor you've ever made.”
“I've got worse ones. Want to hear my thoughts on why relationships are like competitive eating contests?”
“Absolutely not.”
I grinned at him, and he shook his head like I was a lost cause. But he was smiling too, and his hand found mine as we walked, and I let myself have this. Let myself be happy for a minute without waiting for the other shoe to drop.
We finished our ice cream and dumped the napkins in a trash can, and I expected Rook to suggest heading back to the car. Instead, he pulled out his phone and checked the time.
“We've got one more stop,” he said.
“Where?”
“You'll see.”
“That's ominous.”
“It's not ominous. It's a surprise.”
“I don't like surprises.”
“You're gonna like this one.”
“Is it sex-related? Because if you're taking me somewhere for a surprise orgasm, I'm extremely on board.”
Rook's ears went red again. “It's not—we're not—fucking hell, Soren.”
“What? I'm just trying to manage my expectations here.”
“It's not sex.”
“Disappointing, but I'll survive.”
He drove us across the city to a neighborhood I didn't recognize, and I spent the entire ride trying to guess where we were going.
Museum? No, those would be closing soon.
Restaurant? Didn't make sense after ice cream.
Some kind of weird tourist trap? Possible, but that didn't feel like Rook's style.
We pulled up in front of a building with a hand-painted sign that read “Harmony Haven Rescue Center,” and I felt my brain short-circuit.
“Is this—”
“Yeah.”
“A rescue center?”
“Specifically a capybara rescue center. They take in exotic animals that people can't care for anymore. I called ahead. We've got an hour.”
I stared at him, then at the building, then back at him. “You remembered.”
“Of course I remembered. You spent twenty minutes in high school explaining why capybaras are the superior rodent.”
“They are the superior rodent.”
“You showed me a picture book about them.”
“It was educational.”
“You were obsessed.”
“I was enthusiastic. That's not the same thing.”
He grinned at me, and I felt my throat get tight in a way that had nothing to do with the therapy session and everything to do with the fact that this man had listened to me ramble about capybaras when we were teenagers and had remembered it thirteen years later.
“Come on,” he said. “Let's go see some giant rodents.”
The inside of the rescue center smelled like hay and cedar shavings, and a woman in her forties with kind eyes and mud-stained jeans greeted us at the front desk.
Her name was Diane, and she gave us the rundown on the rules—no sudden movements, no loud noises, wash our hands before and after, and absolutely no trying to ride the capybaras no matter how sturdy they looked.
“People actually try that?” I asked.
“You'd be surprised,” Diane said dryly. “We've had to put up signs.”
She led us through a hallway and out into an enclosed yard where half a dozen capybaras were lounging in various states of relaxation.
Some were soaking in a shallow pool, others were munching on vegetables, and one particularly large specimen was sprawled out in a patch of sun looking like he'd achieved enlightenment.
“Oh my God,” I said. “They're perfect.”
“They're huge,” Rook said.
“They're majestic.”
“They look like oversized guinea pigs.”
“Don't insult them. They can hear you.”
Diane handed us some carrots and lettuce, and I crouched down near the pool where a couple of the smaller capybaras were hanging out. One of them—a female with a notch in her ear—waddled over and sniffed my hand before taking the carrot with the kind of delicate precision that made my heart melt.
“Hi, beautiful,” I said softly. “You're doing amazing, sweetie.”
Rook crouched next to me and offered a piece of lettuce to another capybara who accepted it with enthusiasm. “Okay, I'll admit it. They're pretty cute.”
“Pretty cute? They're magnificent.”
“They're cute.”
“Take it back.”
“No.”
I turned to look at him, and he was smiling at me with that soft expression again, and I realized he wasn't watching the capybaras anymore. He was watching me.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing. You're just—you look happy.”
“I'm feeding a capybara. Of course I'm happy.”
“Yeah. I can tell.”
The capybara with the notched ear nuzzled against my hand, and I scratched behind her ears while trying not to think about how Rook had planned this whole thing just to make me smile.
We spent the next hour feeding vegetables to capybaras and learning their individual stories from Diane.
There was Gerald, who'd been rescued from a roadside zoo.
Petunia, who'd been someone's illegal pet before animal control got involved.
And Kevin, the enlightened one in the sun patch, who'd apparently been surrendered by a family who'd realized too late that exotic animals made terrible impulse purchases.
“Kevin's a mood,” I said, watching him bask without a care in the world.
“Kevin's living his best life,” Diane agreed.
By the time we left, I was covered in hay and my hands smelled like vegetables, and I couldn't stop smiling. Rook drove us back through the city while I rambled about capybara facts I'd forgotten I knew, and he listened with the kind of patience that made me wonder what I'd done to deserve him.
“Thank you,” I said when we hit a red light.
“For what?”
“For remembering. For planning this. For giving me a day that didn't feel like a disaster.”
He reached over and laced his fingers through mine. “You don't have to thank me for wanting to spend time with you.”
“Yeah, I do. Because you could be doing literally anything else, and you chose to take me to see capybaras.”
“Best decision I've made all week.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
The light turned green, and he squeezed my hand once before letting go to drive.
I settled back in my seat and watched the city lights start to come on as the sun dipped lower, and I felt that same flicker of hope from earlier—the one that said maybe I could have this.
Maybe I could have good days and someone who remembered the small things and a future that didn't feel like borrowed time.
It wasn't a fix. Wasn't a miracle. But it was real, and it was mine, and for now that felt like enough.