Chapter Two
Birdie
D id I drop a piece of cheese? That’s the only thing I can imagine when Randy gets down on one knee.
Then, he looks up. Pasted-on smile. Wide eyes. He takes a deep breath and reaches inside his jacket pocket.
I connect the dots, and my stomach drops.
Oh, God.
A matching smile cranks out of me like a drawbridge on an ancient wheel.
I know what this is, even though his muffled words barely reach my static-filled brain.
Tonight was supposed to be an open house for the rebranded Wild Hearts Retreat. A way to try and get the word out about the cabins we’ll have up and running for the holiday season.
I’m a little . . . lost. It’s been such a whirlwind getting a new entrance sign commissioned and figuring out the right mix of catering and potluck to make sure everyone was fed while keeping it under a tight budget. I’ve also been tracking the growth of the Christmas tree crop for this winter and the first stages of the cabin construction.
Mine and Randy’s relationship has been an afterthought lately.
This wasn’t supposed to be—
“Aylin Birdie Badem, will you marry me?”
My smile tightens. I’ve tried to remind him that the second syllable of my given name sounds like linn not leen , but he always says it wrong. It irks me to no end. The way he said it is so awkward. Not right. All for show. Birdie isn’t even my middle name. It’s just what I’ve been called since I can remember.
I take a quick sip of air so I can get the next word out. The expected answer. I glance around at all the smiling faces.
“Yes.” The word comes out rushed, like the aftermath of a punch to the gut, leaving me before I even mean to say it.
He stands up, and we hug. I squeeze him tight, angling to one side to keep my little owl out of striking distance. He’s not a big fan of Randy.
A mile a minute, information processes in my mind. I was not expecting a surprise proposal. I don’t like surprises. He should know that, right? But the proposal is also not out of the blue, so I can’t really fault him for it. We’ve talked about marriage more over the past few months as we worked on the cabins and rebrand concept. But I thought it was more hypothetical. Like, hey, even when we get married, let’s keep our businesses separate. The plan was that I would contract his travel agency to book the rentals, while the property remains mine.
His voice tickles my ear, soft and serious. “I kind of marketed Wild Hearts Retreat at the Chamber of Commerce meeting as a husband and wife thing. It’ll help with marketing. Figured we should get a jump on it and do this before the cabins open. Shoot for a fall wedding. Something small. Is October enough time to plan?”
It’s business. Okay, that makes sense. Randy’s sensible. I’ve always liked that about him. And October is plenty of time to sort a little ceremony out. The winter holidays are high season for the Christmas tree farm and tourists. Best to get a simple wedding out of the way if it’ll help him book the cabins and cash in on all the investments I’m about to make in construction.
A wedding. I’m getting married.
He pulls back and searches my face. “Make sense?”
I swallow and nod. “Mhmm.”
It does, doesn’t it? He’s a good guy.
Randy slides a ring on my finger as I remember how my lungs work, taking in several deep breaths. The center stone sparkles. Diamond, probably. Classic. Nice, I guess. The way the stone sticks out, I probably can’t wear it too much doing ranch chores. And I’d always kind of pictured having something vibrant, maybe a ruby. It’s just . . . not my favorite.
What is wrong with me? I already had my quarter-life crisis moving back here to live out my dream rescuing animals instead of working in soul-sucking finance. I’m thirty-one. What am I waiting for?
With the ring on, Randy exhales too. Sweat beads on his brow. He’s as nervous as me. Maybe this isn’t the most romantic possible moment, but that’s not really who we are together. We’re practical to a fault. He’s trying here. I use a paper napkin to dab at his face and we both laugh.
We’ve always worked well together. I should be happy.
Randy is a catch, my first serious boyfriend since moving back to Winter Bliss. He ticks all the boxes—showers regularly, treats me well, and has a good relationship with his family. When I see my future, my ranch, there’s so much I know I can’t do alone.
And he’s a small-town guy with ambition. Not only does he own the only travel agency in town, he’s also started investing in real estate lately, flipping houses for short term rentals. Building these luxury cabins on the ranch is our first big project together. The rebrand to Wild Hearts Retreat was his idea. For us!
What’s not to love?
And yet the idea of marriage makes me cringe. But I’m the firstborn daughter of divorced parents in an immigrant family. Powering through life with grit and courtesy smiles is my autopilot.
The hugs and congratulations begin.
A lot of people are here, all of my local friends and some of my family. I’m kind of gutted my dad and brothers aren’t here, but my mom and stepmom made it. Everyone who asks about the animals I’m fostering gives me a small reprieve from talking about the proposal I was not prepared for and the cabin construction I don’t even want to think about yet.
And then there’s Rex, frowning at his brother on the outskirts of the crowd. I was not expecting him in a million years or the confused teenage feelings that flared to life when he started teasing me. That guy was the bane of my existence in shop class until, well, until he wasn’t. Until I saw the softer side of him.
But that’s ancient history.
The party starts up in earnest, like a living organism around me. The appetizers and barbecue are a hit. My favorite is definitely the crispy cheese pastries Mom made. One friend even brought some primo home-brewed liquor. Everyone pulled together to make the retreat’s open house—err, proposal—a success.
The night blurs together, and once sunset turns to dusk, the guests are mostly gone.
“Gotta head back, babe,” Randy kisses my cheek from behind as I start folding up the chairs.
“Oh.” I turn. His collar is hiked up on one side, so I go up on my toes to fix it. He’s so tall and handsome in a not-too-much way. My ring sparkles in the soft ambient lighting. We’re really engaged. “You can’t stay?”
Randy only stays over at my place one or two nights a week and our love life is perfunctory, but I would have thought tonight of all nights we’d get more alone time.
“There’s a sunrise yoga and mimosas thing at the Emberlight Resort I sold to a corporate group,” he says. The early morning tractors on the road from here to town always slow him down. “I need to make sure it goes off without a hitch. Could be a big contract if they make it an annual retreat.”
“Of course.” I nod, a sense of relief leaving my body on my next exhale. Without Randy, I can clean up and do a last animal check-in without feeling guilty. How did they do with all the guests at the ranch tonight? Did the noise or strangers bother any of them? These are all things I’m frankly dreading when I imagine cabin rentals with rich guests actually coming to fruition.
“We’re doing it.” He smiles.
“Wild Hearts,” I say.
“No, us.”
Oh, right. We’re getting married. I smile back. He gives me another peck, familiar and light. This is going to work. We’ll just do a small wedding, something low stress. We’ve got to keep our eyes on the prize.
This is right.
Randy looks at me funny and squeezes my waist. “Of course it is, babe.”
My face heats. I didn’t mean to say that out loud.
When he walks off, it’s just my moms left. They’re the best and help me clean up. While Mom deals with the leftovers and Orla packs the tables and chairs away, I check the garage to make sure the ferrets, rabbits, and prairie dog are all good.
I also tuck my little owl friend into their cage. Birds are notoriously hard to sex, so I have no clue if they’re a he or she, and I’m doing my very best not to name them. It’s common knowledge that once an animal has a name, they’re a pet. But this horny wood owl is getting released back into the wild if I do my job right. I smirk at the name. While Lampros Ascalaphus can reproduce asexually in some environment conditions, they tend to prefer the tried-and-true method. I want to give this little owl every opportunity to return to nature, even if that’s only three treetops down from my house. Close but out of the nest would be ideal. Having a fae death owl as a pet is not an extra responsibility I need in my life right now.
I gather three dozen eggs from the chicken coops on my way back to the patio, where my mom is sweeping up.
Everything is back in its place.
“Thanks, Mom.” I hand her the eggs, which she sets on the edge of the wrought iron table.
With both hands, she holds my face, slowly brushing the curls behind my ears. I had my hair loose all night, and with all the hugs, let alone my little feathered companion, I’m sure it’s a huge mess now. Her thumbs sweep along my cheeks.
It’s how she used to say goodnight to me as a young child, a familiar gesture that always made me feel so cherished. The older I got, the more distant we became. I latched onto my dad instead. It’s only after she married Orla that we grew close again, slowly over time.
Sometimes though, her tenderness can almost feel like too much.
“What a big night, minik kusum ,“ she says.
Ach . I wasn’t expecting that. Since I can remember, she’s always called me that nickname. In Turkish it means little bird . As a baby, she said I used to sit and watch the scarlet finches out the back window for hours. Early on, my love for animals was obvious. I feel the surprising, telltale heat of tears behind my eyes measure my breaths to hold back the emotion.
“You’re happy?” she asks.
My lips pinch as I nod, like all of my racing worries and thoughts will tumble out if I don’t. But she doesn’t need that, not tonight. I’m a big girl now with land and animals and responsibilities and a boyfriend—err, fiancé. She searches my face but finally nods.
My stepmom’s car tires crunch through the gravel nearby, and she hops out.
“All good?” She surveys the patio, looking for more ways to help, but they left the place spotless.
“All good.” I give my mom a quick squeeze and step away to hug my stepmom as well. She’s a tough old demoness, but she’s been nothing but wonderful to me since coming into my life as a teenager. “Thanks for everything.”
“Your baba would have been here if he’d known,“ Mom says, and I cringe a little but wave her off. My dad won’t be happy that he wasn’t consulted.
Our relationship has been getting better. He was disappointed when I left New York to move home, but he still has my brothers following his footsteps in finance. And if he thinks he can get stubborn about not giving me permission to get engaged, we’ll have a little chat. Respectfully. He’s got some old-fashioned ideas, but my dad’s a good guy at heart. I would have wanted him to be here just because.
“It’s fine. I’ll call him in the morning. It’s not a big deal.”
My mom shares a quick look with Orla, then nods and picks up the eggs. “Talk soon, yeah?”
“Every day.” I wave as they pack into their car, and watch their little hatchback drive off until I see them leave the ranch entrance up the hill. I trigger the entry gate to close behind them.
With the last guests gone, I let loose a little, wagging my arms at my sides and groaning to the sky like some dying dinosaur.
“Gaaaaarrrghhhh.”
Finally, I can breathe. Rolling my head around both shoulders, I refocus on my last task of the night—the barn animals.
I hop in my Jeep and head out, since it’s a good quarter mile of snaking dirt road.
My horses, Gigi and Mimi, are munching on some hay in their stalls, their lavender tails flicking side to side. I was assigned the mother-daughter pair from a local judge after they shut down some shady racetrack. They’re a special demonic breed and so highly prized for racing that he didn’t trust anyone else who came forward to adopt.
My ranch becoming an animal refuge just kind of . . . happened. The goats came with the property. They love eating evergreens, so naturally are a good fit for a Christmas tree farm. But the rest of the animals I’ve picked up by the most random of chances.
I peek in on my little herd of Blacknose Cythraul goats. They’re cuddled up in their lean-to, but notice one particular lady missing: my perpetually pregnant mama goat. Like the horses, this breed is local to the Winter Bliss area and closely associated with demons. With three eyes, black fur, wicked sharp horns, and both genders growing long beards, they’re really something to behold.
“Now where did your mama get to?” I open the double front doors and peer around. They’re unlocked, which is strange. Maybe I left it that way after the walk-through tour I gave a few people earlier.
“You in here, missy?” I call out, loud enough that my voice echoes off the rafters.
I hear rustling from the makeshift bathroom, a front stall I enclosed to install a toilet, big aluminum sink, and faucet with shower along the wall. On this side of the ranch, it’s the only bathroom, but it’s also the best place to bathe the animals who I need to prep for adoption handoffs.
“Shhh,” a deep voice rumbles alongside the telltale bleat of my missing nanny goat. “Ouch. You little asshole.”
I burst in and grab the first thing I see, a long scrub brush, and whack the intruder over their formidably sized back. In a flash of reason, I realize this may have been a bad idea. I’m alone on my ranch with no weapon to defend myself. Because guests were over tonight, the shotgun I keep in here to ward off predators is locked in my safe instead.
I clutch the scrub brush to my chest, but before I have the chance to flee, my mama goat rams into their backside, knocking them sideways.
She rears back two little steps before launching to headbutt him.
Funnily enough, the intruder has horns too.
“Rex?”
The demon blast-from-my-past grunts as the goat makes contact and they both twist. In a flurry of flames and smoke, they tussle on the ground, their horns becoming more and more entangled as they twist together.
“Gentle! Gumdrop’s pregnant!” I jump into the fray, fire be damned.
With a last couple jerks of their heads before realizing they’re well and truly stuck together, they both pause at my touch. The scent of mildly burnt hair and clothes hangs around us. Her furry chest and his arm are both warm to the touch, like they could burst into flames again at a moment’s notice.
“Take it easy.” I look between them.
Rex is baring his teeth at her. When he lets out a low growl, she bucks forward again, the tips of her horns coming perilously close to the big demon’s eyeballs.
He grips both of her horns to forcibly hold her back and sneers at me. “A little help, before my eyes are gouged out of my skull?”
I whistle a short demon ditty.
“Bahhhh,” Gumdrop bleats and freezes, blinking at me like the soul of innocence. I learned the cue from my stepmom who used to care for the herd before I bought the land from her.
When Rex attempts the same tune, she snorts two curling rings of smoke and lunges forward again.
“Hey, cut it out.” I smack his forearm. “There, there.” I pet down her neck and scratch back up to the top of her head, where I try to work out the best way to untangle them. Her horns are spiraled with ends pointing forward, while his arc wider before curling out. I’m slide her left horn out easily as it was only partially looped, but the other one is really stuck.
“Slide toward the wall.” I shove at Rex’s chest. He tries but can’t quite figure it out. I won’t be able to get them free unless he moves just so.
“Oh, fuck it.” I grab his mop of hair at the top and yank his head to achieve the desired angle.
He gasps and stares at me. Rather than be angry, his eyes swirl golden-white as he blinks up dreamily. Gumdrop slides free, stomping back a few paces and looking between me and Rex with the blank expression goats have just before they’re about to do something completely insane.
“No.” I put a hand up and stop the forward momentum of her lunge. “Bed.”
She waggles her head and snorts, but there’s no smoke coming out now. She’s calmer. After a few more blinks, she trots out the door, hooves clacking on the tile.
I wait, because I know that ornery nanny too well. When she’s on the hard-packed dirt floor of the barn, she turns back around and pauses. Before she gets another wild idea in her head, I point left.
“Bed.”
Then I grab the scrub brush and use the end to slam the door closed. Even with all the alpha-woman energy I can muster, that old girl only listens half the time.
I drop the brush and spin on Rex, moving back to a standing position over him. He’s still rubbing that spot at the top of his head I yanked him around by with a dopey smile on his face.
“Explain yourself.”
Rex Perchaz is not my friend. He’s a stranger. Sort of. At least, he’s a stranger to my ranch after hours. And the hulking demon is probably twice my size. Those should all be caution signs to take it easy on him, but with adrenaline pumping through my system and some older memory of the way things worked between us, I feel oddly in control.
“I-I-I” he stammers. “Uhhh.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Why are you here?”
“I’m drunk.” He shrugs. “I don’t know how it happened. I mean, I was drinking.”
“There’s your answer.” I glower at him.
“Ugh, obviously. But the punch made me lightheaded after just two glasses. Then on the third glass of the thick stuff—“
“That wasn’t punch! That was straight hooch.” Randy’s friend, Greg, bartends at Under the Volcano, a local tiki bar, and brews his own stuff on the side. He brought a bottle tonight for the potluck, but clearly Rex didn’t know what he was getting into. “You had three cups of liquor. One shot is plenty. My God.”
He blinks at me and nods, eyes glassy. “One shot is plenty.” He breathes a little faster, his complexion growing more purple than red by the second.
“Oh, no. Over the toilet. Now.” I race forward and position his head over the bowl, pulling back his unkempt wavy hair from his brow.
“You have such soft han—“ he starts, and then retches. I have to breathe through my mouth and look away. His whole body convulses into the movement, and it makes me realize, again, not only how massive this demon is, but how strong. His back muscles alone are huge and thick. He’s got the build of those guys who throw giant logs across a football field and pull buses with their teeth.
As the spitting and heavy breathing calms down, I pat his back. Before I can say anything, he chuckles darkly.
“I’m such”—every couple words he knocks his forehead against the back of the toilet—“a fucking loser.”
My heart pangs, but only for a second. I’m a take action kind of girl.
“Up.” I stand and motion for him to do the same.
He struggles to his feet and rubs his temples.
“Feel any better?” I ask.
His gaze trails over me, from my face to my messy hair and down to my fancy dress and shoes. I’d think he’s checking me out, but it’s more like he’s cataloging me to memory with the saddest expression on his face.
He shakes his head and looks away. “Worse.”
“Welp, time to clean up. Wash your face and rinse out your mouth. There may be some mouthwash in the medicine cabinet.” It’s mostly animal medicine and first aid supplies, but I like to keep travel-sized toiletries in here when I think about it. “I’ll drive you back to my mom’s B&B.”
He groans. “Your mom. Shit . She’s going to be so disappointed in me. And Orla’s going to cook up my liver for breakfast.”
“At least it’ll be well marinated.” I smirk. My stepmom always does love to soak her roasts in the closest alcoholic drink overnight. “Though the meat may be a little tougher than she likes.”
He snorts and glances at me in the mirror.
“Also, I know the alarm code for the back entry.” I put my hands on my hips. “We can get you in with minimal fanfare.”
“Why are you being nice to me? I just puked all over your bathroom and fucked up your lovey-dovey proposal after hitting on you over a cheese plate.”
He hit on me? I was so shocked to see him again it didn’t really register. The back and forth barbs we threw at each other were so natural, like a muscle memory from adolescence. But he always kind of flirted with me in school too, it was just his way to get a rise out of me. Rex was never a serious guy. Case in point.
“Fuuuuuuck.” He groans and braces down on an elbow against the sink, turning on the faucet to splash his face and swish water in his mouth. “That fuckstick is still around here somewhere. You know what? Have Ryan drive me back. I’ll face the music with your moms. I deserve it.”
“Excuse you, his name is Randy.” And fuckstick? That’s new. “Besides, he can’t drive you back. He went home. It’s just me here.”
Rex’s bleary eyes find mine in the mirror, narrowing. “That doesn’t make sense.”
I don’t like that his moment of clarity lands like a dart in the bullseye. “He just got you to agree to marry him. Y’all should be tucked away near a fireplace, cuddling with hot chocolate or whatever romantic people do.”
Instead, my fiancé is in town, and I’m wrestling a pregnant goat off an intruder. I wave him off with a messy sound. “He’s got business to take care of. He’s a responsible adult with a very sensible head on his shoulders.”
Rex blinks, the look of confusion still on his face.
“Clean up. I’ll meet you out front.” I look back, just before I close the door to find him still watching me, like he’s trying to figure something out but it’s not connecting. “And don’t worry about the bathroom. I hose off animals in here all the time. It’s seen a lot worse than the bad end of Greg’s hooch.”
“You need help with any of the late-night chores? It’s the least I could do.”
“So you can body slam my pregnant animals into submission? I’ll pass.”
He smirks as I shut the door between us.
A few minutes later, he emerges, shirtless.
“Sorry.” He grimaces. “I had to throw the shirt away. Didn’t want to stink up your car.”
He folds himself into my Jeep, hair and skin dappled with moisture. I almost wonder if he took a full shower with how clean and soapy he smells.
“Why did Rom leave you here?” I ask as we pull out of the main gate and I wait for it to close behind me. He and Noelle were all smiles as they said goodbye, not a care in the world. I can’t believe they’d forget about him.
“I lied.” Rex gulps down one of the water bottles on my floorboard and grabs a stick of gum from the console. “I texted him that I’d hitched a ride back with your mom.”
“Why?”
“Rom is so fucking happy.” He huffs. “With his girlfriend and Winter Bliss and even the idea of having me here in town. He said he was glad I was here. Me! And even after he warned me not to fuck up tonight, big surprise, I fucked up and drank that sludge like a complete dumbass. I figured I’d sleep it off in the barn and walk back to town in the morning.”
“It’s four miles to town.”
“Like I said.” He thumbs to himself. “Complete dumbass.”
Who was trying not to let down his brother. I get it. Not letting people down has pretty much been my de facto state since birth.
He melts into the seat and turns his head in my direction. His stubble-covered jaw works to chew the gum. I can only see him in my periphery and try not to let on how weird it feels that he’s just staring at me.
“You sure you wanna do this?”
“It’s no problem. I like driving.” It’s peaceful, especially at night. Hands at ten and two. I’ve got everything under control. The whole world is before me, and I’m the one in charge.
“No. That?” His head nods toward the ranch.
“Build the cabins? Of course.” I take a breath and launch into the well-developed pitch Randy delivered over half a dozen times tonight. “The vacation rental market has a burgeoning new niche—luxury accommodations with a wildlife experience. There’s this place in Texas where you can swim with otters and have breakfast with giraffes. Wild Hearts Retreat can fill this need for the community.”
“Your animals do seem cool as shit.”
“Right? They are!” I smile. The fact he says that even after tussling with my nanny goat means he gets it. “And based on Randy’s market research, with even two cabins over the high seasons, I can cover the construction cost within a couple years.” The numbers for what high-end travelers will pay are staggering to me.
“Is the ranch not profitable? My uncle runs cattle. I know it can be hit or miss based on the season.”
“He does? Wow.” I glance over briefly, and my face heats at the broad, rolling flesh of his shirtless chest. I clear my throat and refocus on driving. “I don’t have any cows. Yet, at least. My place is kind of a mishmash of income streams—Christmas tree farm, ranch tours, petting zoo, and I take donations for the rescue portion. It’s doing fine, actually. The Christmas tree farm is still developing. It’ll start paying off more each year as I’m letting a lot of them continue maturing before they’re cut. So I keep the lights on between the current income and my financial investments. But my dream . . .”
Oh, God. I’m rambling. Why am I telling him all this?
“Is what?” he asks, and his tone is clear, like he really wants to know.
I readjust my grip on the steering wheel, and give voice to the thing I haven’t even really plotted out yet. A pipe dream, really. “When the cabins are in low season, once I can afford the loss, my dream is to promote community education about wildlife and connect with academic researchers. I want to offer lodging or a base of operations, so the rare species unique to Winter Bliss can be studied from the ranch. It’s lakefront with easy access to the volcano by water. Not-so-fun fact: The Gosta fireflies were almost exterminated five years ago because of a single crop duster dropping pesticides. There are so many more species in and around this one volcano than most people realize. And if they can be appreciated and studied, they can be protected.”
Wow. That’s it. Have I ever actually articulated the daydreams swirling in my head so clearly? Since I was a kid, I’ve loved animals. If I’d really known myself in college and had the courage to not blindly pursue what my dad wanted, I’d have studied animal biology of some kind.
“You’ve always been so passionate.” Rex’s deep voice washes over me, above the sound of the ambient radio and the wind whooshing by. When we pause at the first stop sign in town, I turn to him, still a little stunned.
Passionate? No one would describe me that way. I’m a hard worker. I’m a peacemaker. I’m goal-oriented and realistic.
“When I asked if you’re sure you wanna do this, I meant”—he pauses—“get married.”
I roll my eyes and get back to driving.
“Friends ask these kinds of things.” He pokes my side.
“Stop it. Ugh.” I swat his stupid, hairy, shirtless chest. His skin is overly warm, like the embodiment of a heated blanket. “You puked in my barn and got in a fight with my goat. We’re not friends.”
“We were,” he says softly.
“Were we? I don’t recall.” Okay, I’m playing dumb. We were . . . something. Junior year was a weird time in my life. I was so focused on grades and graduating early that meeting Rex threw me for a loop. “I mean, we weren’t enemies.”
“Frenemies, then.” His tone tells me he’s smiling even if I can’t look over. I don’t think that’s really what we were either, but maybe there just isn’t a word for it. “And you didn’t answer the question. I’m tipsy, but I can focus on what’s important.”
He says it as though I’m important. To him. A guy I shared one class with fifteen years ago who waltzes back into my life in a cloud of alcohol and chaos. His fingers trace the stitching on my car’s seat, and the proximity makes me feel like I’m missing something.
“What question?”
“Are you sure you wanna get married?”
I sigh. All night I smiled and nodded my way through every conversation, but I can’t deny that it felt good to unload a little bit. And surprisingly, Rex is a good listener. Maybe it’s the alcohol dulling his senses.
“Randy is the best option by a mile. Especially in this town. As much as I love it, Winter Bliss doesn’t exactly have a bustling singles scene.”
Rex’s mouth curls in a sneer I can barely see because of that overly thick mustache, but his sharp canines flash in the streetlight. The sight makes me shiver. Before he can say anything else, I park with a sudden jolt.
“We’re here.” Two doors down from The Deviled Egg in the back alley. “This neighbor doesn’t have a security system, so stay close to the wall here and we’ll scoot over so we don’t trigger Mom’s motion lights. I’ll punch in the code, and if you’re quiet going up the left side of the stairs, you won’t wake them.”
He follows, whispering behind me. “Never would have guessed Miss Birdie Lynn was the kind of girl who snuck boys into her house.”
“Never?” I stop at the back door and cock an eyebrow at him. Truth is, I learned this trick when my moms were recovering from the flu and I didn’t want to wake them up while dropping off groceries. But Rex can think I evolved into some mysterious cool girl with lots of boyfriends after he left.
“Nah.” His voice is so low and quiet, I lean closer to hear it. “You were the good girl who made me think bad things.”
Oh no. The goosebumps lighting up my arms are not a good girl reaction. Danger zone. Not good at all. This is his drunken nostalgia talking. And for me, it’s been a long day. I’m way too tired to investigate the weird reactions and trains of thought this disaster of a demon is triggering in me. It’s a fluke. A one-off.
I’ve had a strange night, and he’s had a lot to drink.
He gives me an exaggerated wink and finger guns.
“Joker.” I shove his shoulder. That mustache is not a good look and he’s just as annoying as ever. Still, I can’t ignore the little jolts of electricity I feel being around him again. What on earth is Rex Perchaz doing back in my life?
No. He’s not in my life. He’s in town for a few months. And okay, he’s staying at my mom’s place and I’ll probably see him every Thursday because I don’t miss my mom and Orla’s home-cooked food. But ahhh . Maybe he’ll forget all about this. Greg’s hooch is the stuff of legends.
I punch in the code to the back door and step back, sending up a prayer to the gods and pantheons of every people group. Let Rex forget about tonight.
“Thanks for the ride.” He passes by so close, I can feel the heat of his skin.
“A frenemy in need”—I click the side of my mouth and shoot finger guns back—“is a frenemy indeed.”
After kicking off his shoes near the door, instead of closing it, he cocks his head and leans against the wooden frame, both forearms high on either side. The pose makes his already ginormous chest expand like he’s got bat wings for back muscles. Barefoot, shirtless, in only jeans.
Honestly, it’s kind of obscene.
“You know what I just remembered?” he asks.
“Hmm?”
“You never did answer that question, Birdie Lynn.”