Chapter 4 #2
“That’s a really big coop,” I tell him, gesturing toward what I’m going to assume is the chicken house.
It’s nearly the size of a tiny home and surrounded by a wire fence tall enough for both of us to stand up in.
“You could house a whole army of chickens in there. Did you build it? I bet you built it. You’re so self-sufficient, it’s incredible.
I couldn’t have built that even if you were holding a knife to my throat. ”
Nils, after a slight eyebrow raise in my direction, unlocks the latch on the little coop yard and ducks inside. I follow, eager to see the chickens but also eager to be smooshed into a small space with Nils. Wrangler had to know exactly what they were doing when they made those jeans.
I can hear the soft cluck of the hens as I wait for Nils to unlock the human-sized door to let us in the side of the coop.
The chicken door, I notice, is closed, and he didn’t act like he was going to open it and let them out.
Too cold, then, for them to be in the yard today.
I wonder what sort of learning curve went into educating himself on how to care for the chickens. I can’t even keep a houseplant alive.
I duck into the coop behind Nils, grin spreading across my cheeks at the sight of the feathered occupants.
They coo and rustle at the sight of Nils and the draft of cold air that followed us in, nestled in their boxes like they’ve each got a separate bedroom in a shared house.
Each little space has a tiny gold tag drilled into the wood, a name engraved into it.
“Oh my gosh, do they all sleep in the same spot?” I ask, peering closer at one and reading “Sara.”
“Mostly,” Nils agrees, stroking a knuckle down the breast of one of the birds. I keep my own hands down by my sides, not wanting to touch if I shouldn’t. “They follow a routine when roosting.”
“Oh my gosh,” I repeat. It’s warm in here, cozy from both the heat lamps and the soft clucking of the birds, the rustle of feathers and straw.
I was right when I thought he could house an army in here.
He might only have seven, but there’s room for at least a dozen more.
“Do all of them lay eggs? Do you have a rooster?”
I don’t know anything about chicken anatomy, but I assume there has to be a boy chicken in order for the girl chickens to lay eggs. Or maybe not. Maybe girl chickens need no man.
“Francis,” Nils says, gesturing toward the other end of the coop in answer.
“Wow. Francis has a lot of ladies.” Nils snorts, glancing over at me and pinching his mouth closed.
I startle when his fingers touch my arm, even though there are layers of clothing covering my skin. He’s never touched me before.
Using a light grip on my wrist, he steps back and brings my hand up to one of the chickens. Nils lets go, and I take the hint. This is the one I’m allowed to pet. Stepping a little closer, I coo at her. I’m glad it’s not Francis I’m putting my fingers next to. I’ve heard roosters can be mean.
“Hello”—a glance at the name tag—“Unicorn.” Pausing, I look at Nils, hovering over my right shoulder. “Unicorn? Like…the animal?”
He shrugs. “My niece names them.”
Grinning, I turn back around to face the chicken. That explains the Tutu name as well. Unicorn clucks and nestles deeper into her bed of straw when I touch her, head turning to the side as she fixes an eye on me. The feathers on her chest are a lot softer than I expected.
“Pretty girl,” I whisper to her. “Clever girl, laying all those eggs.”
A warm puff of air hits the back of my neck as Nils laughs.
Tingles shiver down my spine like he pressed a kiss there.
If I turned around, I don’t think anything more than inches would separate us.
I could feel his breath on my lips instead of my back.
Suddenly, the warmth of the coop feels too hot, the space charged where it was calm before.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.
I’m not eighteen and horny, popping a boner every time someone pretty walks by.
Not to mention, I’ve worked with Nils for a year.
We’re friends. It’s not appropriate for me to want to push him down to his knees and give the chickens a show.
“You’re quiet again,” Nils notes. I close my eyes. His voice is low and masculine, and when he speaks that closely to my ear, it makes me want to use my tongue to find his tonsils.
I didn’t notice I was being quiet. Hard to notice anything but the warmth I’m pretty sure is coming from Nils and not the heater.
Warmth of a different sort burns low in my belly.
He noticed I wasn’t talking as much. It probably says a lot about me that this tiny little bit of attention has me melting into a puddle.
If he touched me right now, he’d probably think I was feverish.
“Sorry, just…enjoying the chickens.” I roll my eyes.
Enjoying the chickens? No, Oliver, you’re not enjoying the chickens.
You’re enjoying the fantasy of rubbing yourself against Nils Lee like you’re in heat.
Clearing my throat, I try to think of something to say.
It’s wild that I even have to think about it.
Questions are one thing I never have to try for.
“How old is she? Does this one lay eggs? Do all of them lay eggs?” I ask, once more hitting my stride. Nils is going to rue the day he ever pointed out I was being quiet. Now his ears are going to burn. “Can I see all of them, or are some of them mean? I don’t want to scare anyone.”
“A few are mean,” Nils confirms, mouth and eyes soft when I peek a look over my shoulder at him. He’s definitely standing close. Probably because of the limited space for human-sized things and not because he wants to take my clothes off. A man can dream, though.
We spend more time with the chickens than Nils probably expected, given he started a fire inside.
But it’s fun seeing him so relaxed and even chatty, especially since there will be days on the boat where he doesn’t talk at all.
This much conversation from him is unheard of, and I want to tease as much out as I can.
I want him to stop clamming up the moment he stutters, to be comfortable enough with me to both relax enough not to stutter, but also not to worry about what I think when he does.
The chickens seem to help ease the way, giving him something he both loves and is knowledgeable about to tell me.
There is also the bonus of seeing Nils’ big hand cupped gently around a black-and-white chicken, held to his side as his free hand strokes her back.
I wouldn’t mind my back being stroked and immediately think about how Nils’ hands would feel.
Probably rough. Rough enough to scratch a little bit and make me shiver.
By the time we leave the coop and step back into the rapidly darkening yard, I’m grateful for the cold air greeting us.
My jeans feel a little too tight, and not in a good way, but in an I-need-to-angle-my-hips-away-from-my-friend-so-he-doesn’t-see-my-boner way.
Nils and chickens make me horny, apparently.
It shouldn’t surprise me. Everything about Nils—his general demeanor, the lovely eyes, angled above sharp cheekbones, his smooth brown skin, and thick dark hair—is beautiful.
When we get back inside, I hover uncertainly inside the door, fingers flitting over the beanie on my head, making sure it’s still covering my disgusting hair.
Nils rubs his palms together like he’s cold, walking over and flicking on one of the burners on the stove.
Humming, I watch him, wondering if I should leave now.
Nils glances at me as he lifts a teakettle, one eyebrow rising in a silent offer of tea?
Okay, so maybe it’s not yet time for me to bail.
“Sure, I’d love some,” I reply, walking further into the room and putting my hands on the back of a barstool.
“Do you want me to cook dinner? I can. I wasn’t expecting to be here so late—sorry for eating up your afternoon.
Or I’ve got a roast in the slow cooker back at mine, and you’re welcome to join me for that if you want. ”
Nils smiles and shakes his head, reaching for the freezer door and pulling out a frozen pizza. I laugh, and he shrugs a little bit, another look with a smile clear in his eyes sent my way. I can have the roast tomorrow. Frozen pizza and tea is what I’m in the mood for anyway.