Chapter 9 #2
“Hmm, this coffee’s hitting the spot just right.
Particularly since the raccoons sounded like they were having a dance party at three o’clock this morning.
” He puts the mug down and looks at the container of toast. “Do you have any hand sanitizer on you? Not sure I should go from shoveling shit to touching food.”
“You weren’t handling the shit, though, right?”
“Guess not.” He takes two squares of the paper towel I’ve brought for napkins and uses them to pick up a slice of toast. “So what happened to being a vet?”
“I suck at science.”
He coughs on his toast. “Oh, yeah. That would be a problem.”
“I was always better at words, so I tried to figure out what was the most consistently good money you could make with words. Settled on marketing.”
“You’re all about the money then, huh?”
“More like I’m all about a good, regular salary. Being here is probably not helping with my next step on the ladder, though.”
“You think they might forget about you while you’re gone?”
“Taking two months off under normal circumstances would be okay. But I’ve just applied for a promotion. So it might not look great that I’m away while my main rival is there sucking up to our bosses on a minute-by-minute basis.”
“I really can’t imagine anyone forgetting about you.”
A tingle of surprise warms my belly, and my eyes dart to his face to see if he’s kidding. But he loses his grip on the toast and concentrates on not dropping it.
“I meant, forgetting about how good you are at your job,” he adds, as if realizing how that must have sounded and feeling the need to set the record straight.
“Well, if they give the VP position to that guy, I’ll be looking for another job anyway. No way am I working under him. He’s like Michael Scott from The Office. But mean.”
Miller was mid-bite into his toast when I said that and almost chokes on a chuckle as he rips off the mouthful.
There’s a certain thrill of satisfaction in making him laugh.
He grabs another napkin and wipes his face as he chews.
“Crumbs went up my nose,” he says after he’s swallowed.
He pauses for a second to clear his throat and take a sip of coffee. “I guess one of my joys of being self-employed is never having to work with anyone I don’t want to.”
“Lucky you. Anyway, even if I’m all about the money in my real life in Chicago, when it comes to this place, all that matters is that it keeps going.”
“What’s the deal with that little gray one over there?” He tips his mug toward Harley.
I have to suck in my lips for a second to stop myself from laughing. “Ah, yeah. I forgot to tell you. Harley doesn’t like the shovel.”
Miller pauses with the second slice of buttered toast halfway to his mouth. “You mean you saw that?”
Now I allow myself to laugh. “I did, yes. Sorry.”
“I can’t even imagine how it must have looked.”
“Hilarious, is how it looked.” He can take it—I know he can take it. You don’t get that level of swagger without being able to let things roll off your back. “You looked like you were trying to outrun a race car, not a sweet little animal.”
“Sweet?” He straightens his spine and pulls back his broad shoulders in mock outrage, pointing the remaining toast toward Harley. “That thing headbutted my ass and almost sent me face-first into the shit bucket.”
My head involuntarily drops back as laughter rolls out of me. “I wish I’d seen that part.”
“Then he came after me like a creature possessed. I had to flee for my life.” He shoves the remainder of the toast into his mouth. It leaves a buttery sheen on his full lips.
“It’s my fault. I should have warned you. Tomorrow, just wait till he’s outside before mucking out and you’ll be fine.”
“Any other potentially deadly quirks I need to know about?”
“They all have their little ways. They’re just like people—you have to get to know them and figure them out.”
“Any of them do anything really bad?” he asks, his voice softer. “Anything unforgivable?”
“Isn’t almost everything forgivable?”
“You’re a forgiving person then?” He has an unexpected hopeful tone in his voice.
“I am when it comes to an animal that might not have had the greatest start in life.”
“And when it comes to people?”
My mind shoots back to Brandon and the lies he spun me about his fantasy life. “I’m probably not the most trusting.”
Miller nods his head slowly like he’s pondering a deep, meaningful concept.
“You?” I ask.
“Ha.” He smirks and sucks on his teeth as he shakes his head. “I bear grudges. I am most definitely a grudge-bearer.”
“Wow. That sounds like a sad way to live.”
“I’m not sad at all. I love life.” He flings his arms wide. “Look at me. I’m my own boss. I can go wherever I want, when I want. Life is good.”
“Grudges can eat you alive, though. Destroy your own life, while the person you hate goes merrily on with theirs completely unaffected.”
“I just think of how sweet the justice will taste when I get revenge.”
“Whoa. Remind me to never get on your bad side.” I jump off the table and gather up the toast container.
He shrugs and grunts derisively. “It’s way more likely me who’ll get on yours.” He takes a long draw from the coffee mug, then holds it up. “Thanks for breakfast. Where should I put the shit?”
“On the pile around the back of the shed. We leave it there to cure, then sell it to gardeners in the spring.”
“Cure?” Miller’s eyes widen. “Like you’d age meat, you mean?”
“I wouldn’t really compare the two. But you do need to leave it for a few weeks before you can put it on plants or it’ll burn them.”
“I’ll add that to the list of donkey facts I’d never thought I’d learn.”
“Oh, that’s actually a good idea for a post.”
“A post?”
“I need to give the social media marketing for this place the kiss of life. So I’ll be making as many funny videos as I can.”
“Oh.” Miller looks like I just told him I’m about to saw off his right hand. “I’ll be sure to keep out of your way.”
I open my mouth to tell him I was hoping he’d be an on-camera participant, but he turns away.
“Okay,” he says. “I’ll go dump this load, then clean out the bigger guys.”
“I have to go pick up some hay later.” I run my finger along the chewed wood at the edge of the picnic table. “The farmer’s delivery guy is off sick and we’re nearly out. Are you, um, able to come help?”
My belly does a dance more associated with asking someone on a date than asking for help lifting a bunch of heavy things.
He spins around to face me, that bright happy-go-lucky smile back on his face. The one that goes right to his shining eyes. “Of course. Isn’t that why I’m here?”
“Yes, but since you’re a volunteer I thought it was only polite to ask. I mean, you do need to do your own work at some point, right?”
“Yeah, but I can fit that around this. If there’s a crisis, my assistant would call. Other than that I can catch up in the evenings. I did some last night.”
“How?”
“How what?”
“How did you work without a laptop? Wasn’t it in the van when it was stolen?”
“Oh.” There’s a flash of something across his eyes that I can’t quite place, and I’d almost swear on Waldo’s life that there’s a hint of pink on Miller’s chiseled cheekbones. “I got my assistant to courier one over. It got here last night while you were out.”
“Ah, okay. Well, good luck with the rest of the cleanup. When you’ve done that, there’s a big dip in the path over there that the wheelbarrow gets stuck in every time I roll over it.
Could you shift some gravel around to fill it in?
Also the bolt on the shed needs to be oiled, or the rust scrubbed off it, or something.
And the hose faucet in the big donkey barn is dripping.
I’ll come get you when I’m ready to go for the hay. ”
“Got it.” he says. “Shit first. Then hole, bolt, and faucet.”
He gives me a thumbs up, and I turn back toward the house to start a spreadsheet of ideas for my new world-dominating social media strategy.
Ideas to not only boost donations and bring in visitors on open days, but that will also hopefully give me some great stories and achievements to bring up at my job interview.
Dickish Darren certainly won’t have any Daily Donkey Facts posts to talk about, so it will definitely show my versatility.
Before I’ve realized what I’m doing, I’m looking over my shoulder and watching Miller head toward the rear of the shed with the poop bucket.
Just as he rounds the corner, he looks over at me.
Shit.
My insides clench, organs curling in on themselves as I immediately snap my head in the direction I’m going again.
Shit, shit, that’s worse. Because it makes it even more obvious that he caught me in the act of stealing a sneaky look. And that would mean that I…well, I can’t have him thinking that means anything at all.
“Argh.” My toe smacks into a large brick, which is for some godforsaken reason right in my path. The impact sends me so off-balance I have to flap an arm out to the side to stay upright. “Ow.”
“You okay over there?” Miller shouts.
I nod and wave for him to carry on his way.
Fuck.
My body floods with searing embarrassment, which only makes the pain in my toe hurt even more—almost as much as my pride.
Not only did he catch me looking at him, he saw me trip and stagger precisely because I was looking at him.
Ugh.
I just need to focus on creating a viable plan for this place, a future for Grandpa and the donkeys. Then I can go back to Chicago, mission accomplished.
I shouldn’t be thinking about anything else.
Definitely not.
But as I hobble toward the house and my awaiting spreadsheet, it dawns on me that the only reason Miller saw me turn to look at him, is because he’d turned to look at me.