Chapter Fifteen
Birdie
I t’s sunny and snowy and zero degrees. The Christmas tree farm is in full production mode, including almost every member of my demon side of the family staffing the parking lot, register, or tree lot.
And I’m completely distracted.
“I’ve got this.” Aunt Ethel grabs the new roll of receipt paper from my hand as I watch Rex stride purposefully in the direction of the supply shed.
“Thanks,” I mutter, then refocus on her while my feet are already backing away. “I’m going to, uh, I think there are some extra pruning shears in the shed.”
She sucks in a deep breath from her vape and exhales twin plumes of smoke. One side of her mouth kicks up into a knowing smirk that makes me walk away faster.
“You better grab ’em before they’re snatched up by someone else,” she says, eyes flicking behind me. “I’ll hold down the fort up here.”
Ah, crap. She definitely suspects something, but I can’t correct her. I’ve committed to the ruse. No time to dither now. With a nonverbal sound of thanks and a wave, I rush off.
Only to find the shed door closed.
Did he already—
“Oof.” Like a snake waiting to strike, I’m snatched inside, and pushed against the rough-hewn cedar wall.
“Hey, boss.” Rex towers over me, his voice like a drug, lighting me up from the inside out. His lower body presses into me as he takes me in, like he hasn’t seen me in years.
“Hey.” I breathe out. “Also, I’m not your boss.”
That grin of his makes me weak. He’s only been away a few days, but it feels like something has shifted. He got a ride in from town this morning to help work the tree farm, and this was the first chance I saw to sneak away. I just wanted to be near him again. Since we’ve started kissing, I’ve got it bad. Really, really bad.
Maybe it’s true what they say—distance makes the heart grow hornier.
It’s bright outside, but the shed is only lit by the ambient light filtering in through the wood slats and the demonic glow of his eyes. He grabs my hand and kisses my knuckles before placing it over his heart. Mine responds in double-time.
“Looking for something?” he asks, dragging his nose over my hairline, the backs of his fingers featherlight over my hair.
“You.” My hand claws into the soft flannel of his button-down before rising to slide around his neck and squeeze. “Just you.”
He groans, eyes shuttering closed, and his lips find mine. The make out starts slow but quickly turns hungry and hot. This is what I needed, to light up with the full-body sensation only he seems to elicit. The pace turns syrupy and slow even as I grow heady with want.
Since our little spat in the lake, this is all we’ve done. Kissing and kissing and kissing, endlessly. A little groping, but it never goes further, and I'm not sure why. One distraction or another. A hesitation. He's not here for long I tell myself. Our first time was too explosive. Too brain melting.
Maybe I'm a little scared.
“You missed me,” he says as I chase his lips, then leave pecks along his chin and neck. It’s not a question, but there's surprise in his tone. I don’t say anything, but when I bite at his pulse, he groans. His hands capture my face. “I missed you too, honey.”
And I melt, like the last inch of a candle, so relieved to bask in his warmth again.
I love being alone, especially out here on the ranch. Or, I used to. Now, the shelter of his arms is my sanctuary. The fireplace I want to curl up beside. The place I feel safest.
But Rex had to help with repairs to some of the shops that were damaged in the statue explosion and ended up staying in town for almost a week. I hung on every text message he sent. While he’s not the best conversationalist, he sends regular photos of his projects. A newly installed window. A freshly-painted railing. A filigree fence he welded back into shape.
I ate it up. What can I say? I’m a practical woman. Home repair makes me hot.
And I’m glad to have him all to myself again. Not just because he does all the dirty chores I avoid. I have missed him.
“Ouch. Fuck!” Rex wrenches back, sucking on his thumb, three visible scratch marks turn pink on his forearm. They didn’t break the skin, at least.
“Sorry. I forgot.” I pull the kitten who’d been napping in my sports bra out of the front of my shirt. “No claws, missy!”
I’ve done my best not to give the adorable, if feisty, stray Rex brought home a name. She’s almost cleared by the vet and a central part of my be-social-and-talk-to-people-again plan today. I want to find her a good home before the holidays, and families visiting the Christmas tree farm are the perfect audience.
“I thought we were pals, killer.” Rex pouts, and bravely wiggles a finger back toward her. She bats at him, claws retracted this time, and allows a scratch along her cheek. He flicks the white pom-pom at the top of the little red hat she’s wearing, only slightly crumpled from her nap. “What’s up with this?”
Much to my surprise, she didn’t have any qualms about wearing the festive costume, another point in favor of her being a better fit with a family than as a barn cat. “It’s a Santa hat.”
“Oh, that's right.” Rex’s lips tip up on one side with a smart-ass smile. I hate how much I adore it. “That old burglar who sneaks into people’s houses every winter.”
“Oh, come on,” I chuckle. “Santa’s sweet. He gives away toys all over the world. It’s a cute story.” Though the breaking and entering is a little weird now that I’m thinking about it.
“Santa’s a troublemaker, just like this one.” He grabs the kitten from me, cradling her to his chest as his hands glow. Her rumbling purr starts up like an engine. “You know what? I bet he’s a demon.”
“Santa? Let me guess, because he wears red.”
“Not just that. He trades toys for cookies, right?”
I think back on the Santa lore I know, which isn’t much. Most of what I’ve picked up about him is from pop culture. Christmas isn’t really a thing for most Turkish families aside from the prettily decorated trees in malls I noticed on our trips to Istanbul over winter break. And the evergreen tree farm I basically inherited from my demon stepfamily, who started it to try and cash in on the holiday. “Kids leave out snacks, I think.”
“Snacks for toys. Sounds like a deal to me!” He waggles his eyebrows, and the kitten meows as if in agreement. “Homeboy’s a demon. I bet he lifts some jewelry here and there. Not every house, just one in a dozen, maybe. Who would notice amidst all the cheap toys left in old socks.”
Old socks? I’m starting to think he knows more about Christmas than me. “Oh, the stockings.”
“And let me guess, the rich kids get better toys.”
I roll my eyes. Goofball.
“Demon.” He shoots a finger gun at me. “He rewards kids with toys equal to the food or stolen goods received.”
“The parents buy the toys, though.” I cross my arms and try to hide my smile. “I hate to break it to you, but Santa isn't real.”
“ Santa isn’t real ,” he mimics me in a mocking tone. “That's exactly what a demon running an international home invasion racket would want humans to think.” He brings the kitten to his face and puckers up. “Isn’t that right, troublemaker?”
I shake my head, but he’s got me thinking. All stories come from somewhere. Is that where the first idea of Santa started? He could have been a demon.
“Final point of evidence for the court,” he says. “Let’s circle back to his clothing. Red’s a stupid-ass color for someone who’s secretly running around giving away presents with no wish for anything in return.”
He has a point.
“Maybe he’s red. Not his clothes. His whole body.” He sweeps an arm down his tall, bulky frame. But he's wearing a green flannel and jeans. If Santa was all red, he'd be—
“Naked?” I burst out laughing.
Rex grins. “I can’t imagine getting down a chimney is all that easy. Big chunky dude like that? He might even have to oil himself down if he’s on a time crunch and needs to hit a few houses a night. No clothes also means no evidence left behind to tie him to the crime.”
I chuckle. “Your mind must be a strange place to inhabit.”
“Think about it.” He raps his temple and holds the cat, one-handed, at his side as he leans down to capture my lips again, his free hand grasping my jaw.
I soften against him but can’t help giggling every few seconds, imagining Santa as a naked demon thief sliding down a chimney thanks to copious amounts of baby oil.
“You know what?” I jerk back, keeping hold of his belt loops as his panting mouth passes over mine. “If this is based on some older story, maybe he got caught and tried to pass off the presents the parents wrapped as ones he was delivering.”
“Probably helped hide his junk from innocent eyes too.” He pulls me close by the nape and kisses me again.
I’m grinning so hard my cheeks hurt. “You’re kind of a genius.”
“You keep saying that, I might believe it one day.” I feel his smile against my lips just as someone walks along the outside of the shed wall, casting a shadow over us.
We clear our throats and break apart.
“Back to work?” He cuddles the kitten up against his face.
I sigh. “The holidays wait for no capitalist.”
“That’s the demon way of thinking.” He winks at me, pulling up his phone. “I’ll let you head out first. I wanna look up more of this Santa lore. I think I’m onto something.”
I root around the shed until I find a set of old pruning shears, so I have a whisper of a cover story if Ethel looks twice, which I have no doubt she will, then grab the kitten and open the door.
“Wait one fucking second,” Rex booms. His eyes are wide as he waggles his phone at me. “Have you heard about Krampus? This bastard even has horns!”
After he gives me a quick, gleeful rundown of some alternate Santa figure that I knew nothing about, I can barely breathe from laughing as I head out. The Middle Ages were a bizarre time for Northern Europe.
I drop the kitten off in her cage alongside a few of the other adoptable bunnies and ferrets. The tent is surrounded by space heaters and printouts explaining a little about each animal.
My phone dings with a new text.
It’s Chad, a local park ranger. Over the years, he’s passed off a whole host of wild animals to me to rehab and rewild. Today, he’s here for a Christmas tree.
I pause to take a breath, resisting the urge to sneak home and hide out. He’s a friend, but not close enough that he was invited to the wedding, and that one comfort keeps me from retreating. My socialization has been minimal. I’m finally responding in group chats again and taking calls again, but have avoided a large portion of my guest list like the plague. With the tree farm running on all cylinders, my family has been treating me with kid gloves. Aunt Ethel in particular has been much kinder and gentler than usual. Normally, she’d call me out for insisting on helping operations from the background. Instead, she lets me stay busy toting supplies, bringing the staff snacks, and keeping the register stocked with cash for change. Any excuse under the sun to stay away from customers? I’ve thought of it.
But today, knowing a pet shop pop-up could help the kitty, ferrets, and rabbits find forever homes, I resolved to put on my big girl panties. A little emotional support animal never hurt anyone, though, and there’s no one better for the job than my favorite prairie dog.
“Hey, Lemmy. Wanna keep mama company?” Even though he’s not open for adoption, I didn’t want him to be lonely stuck in the garage without his buddies. So I snatch him up, tuck him into the front pocket of the red apron I throw on, and head to the parking lot.
I can do this. I’m going to be normal and talk to people like I wasn’t just publicly humiliated a couple months ago. Courtesy smiles are my bread and butter. Or . . . they used to be. I wipe my sweaty hands on my jeans and approach his familiar station wagon.
“You made it!” I greet Chad and his family. I’ve met his niece and her daughter before in town, and I compliment the baby's elf attire. Just adorable.
“Birdie.” He tips his hat at me. “You’re looking as lovely as a swarm of Gosta fireflies at dusk.”
I grin, always amused by his wonderfully goofy compliments that tend to skew pastoral. I don’t even notice his companion until she steps around his tall frame.
“You’re Birdie?” a beautiful demoness asks. There’s an overly curious gleam to her eyes.
“I am.” I gulp. I don’t know her, but has she heard about me in the rumor mill? Her smile slants into a teasing line. Right before I start to spiral, I notice the blinking horn monitor she’s sporting. One I’m exceedingly familiar with, so I hazard a guess. “You must be Iggy.”
“Guilty.” She grins, thrusting out her hand. We shake. Her grip is firm. She smells great. Her attire is fashionable in an edgy way with sharp eyeliner and a sleek bob to match. This is Rex’s friend? They couldn’t be more different. “I’m so pleased to meet you, Birdie. You’ve got a lovely property. And look at that.” She points at the viewing platform. “I bet building way up there was a massive pain in the ass. Tell me, just how big and dumb was the big dummy you tricked into lugging all that stuff up there?”
I burst out laughing. Okay, the friendship is making sense now. She’s got some bite.
“Real cute, freak,” Rex says, coming to stand opposite me. His thick forearms cross and eyes dance as he locks onto Iggy. The amusement in his gaze sends a dark emotion coiling around my solar plexus. I have the irrational urge to call off the friendly chitchat and pull him away with a hissed, Mine .
Rude. Illogical. Completely uncalled for.
I hide the burning sensation well. I’ve always been good at that. The urge will die down. Maybe. Just because I’m letting my emotions breathe lately doesn’t mean I need to go off the deep end. Control is key.
And patience has its reward. As our conversation continues, I pick up on what’s really going on. Iggy is obviously flirting with my favorite park ranger, and Rex couldn’t care less.
As we walk through the Christmas tree farm, anytime I risk a glance at Rex, he’s already watching me with a hungry stare. Oh my, could he sense that little jealousy moment? Maybe, because he seems to take every opportunity to touch me—a brush of his arm or a hand on my lower back. It makes me desperate to be alone with him again, wondering how soon we can sneak away.
Turns out, not soon at all.
For the next hour, we’re swept up in showing Iggy, Chad, and his family around the property. The sharp demoness has a real head for marketing. While Rex is volunteering with me, she’s been with the park rangers and immediately hones in on my vision for promoting local wildlife through community education.
“Why not cross-promote with the parks department? Mutual interests and a shared target audience are a good foundation for a partnership.”
I gasp. “Why hadn’t I thought of that before?” They could lead educational hikes or host wilderness classes in my new space. My brain bubbles with ideas, and when Chad offers his help to get my proposal into the right hands, the excitement fluttering in my chest makes me feel like I could float away.
“Would you also share info about my upcoming holiday event?” It’s a big ask, but he agrees readily, and my hands shake as I realize I don’t have anything to give him. I pull out my phone to text him the time and date with a promise to send him more information soon. Dang it, I really wish I had something ready. I really need to update my website and get organized.
“It’s all here.” Rex produces a roll of blue paper from his pocket and hands it to me. A stack of fliers.
A Wild Hearts Holiday: Solstice at the Sanctuary.
My hand flies to my mouth as my eyes cloud with surprised tears. Seeing it in black and white makes it somehow real, but it’s the last word that really snags me in the feels—sanctuary.
Wild Hearts Sanctuary. Not a tree farm or luxury retreat. A sanctuary is what I really want the ranch to be known for.
The flier has the date and time with cutesy cartoons of animals drinking hot chocolate and pulling sleighs and decorating a Christmas tree.
“I didn’t have time to show you,” Rex says bashfully. “Noelle worked these up and printed out a bunch. She was ready to start papering the whole damn town, but I talked her into waiting until you approve the design.”
“They’re perfect.” I grasp his hand, almost lost for words that they worked together to do that for me. I shove several at Chad with giddy excitement.
“One’s enough,” Iggy grabs it. “I can make copies. We’ve needed something seasonal for our local attractions board in the visitor center. This is perfect. I’ll make sure everyone takes one.”
I clutch the rest to my chest before stuffing them in my lower apron pocket, knowing Lemmy’s buckteeth would rip them to ribbons in seconds.
The whole crew heads to the barn, since Rex promised Chad he’d show him all the fancy tools. They set up some logs on a cutting block to try out the axes and chainsaws.
“This looks fun,” Iggy says, reading over the bulleted list of activities for the holiday event. “One last hurrah before Rex has to leave, huh?”
Rex has to leave.
The words rattle through my mind, darker and more sinister each time they echo. I watch him set up a log to chop, and that damn horn clamp blinks at me like a ticking time bomb. On the worst day of my life he was there to save me, in more than one way, from going over a cliff. I really lucked out when he offered to volunteer here. He’s so insanely skilled at so many things it blows my mind, all the tiny competencies others might miss.
Even now, he walks Chad through the proper technique to wield a massive double-headed ax. How each blade has a different purpose—one finely sharp, the other a fatter angle for rough chops. There’s a precise way to stand. A safe way to swing.
He knows it all.
I imagine running this place without him. I’ve done it for years. It’s only a few extra chores and would entail finding some trustworthy ranch hands or contractors to do some of the projects I can’t. But he just . . . fits.
I shake my head. No. This place isn’t his responsibility. We had a deal. Twelve weeks. He’s already done so much for the new and improved Wild Hearts Sanctuary as it is. I can be thankful without getting all weepy about him leaving.
“Rex seems happy,” Iggy says quietly, folding the flier and tucking it into her pocket. “He looks like a natural here. Right at home even with his stupid flame tattoos.”
My chest warms. Tightens. Right at home. That’s exactly what it feels like to me, too.
“Wait, were you the friend that gave him those tattoos?” I cover my mouth in surprise and Lemmy pops out. Iggy was the goth friend who tattooed Rex in high school.
“Technically that’s the coverup to my hack job, which was just a bunch of curse words.” She chuckles with an impish smile. I imagine her hands on his neck, and again a possessive hiss whispers at the back of my mind. He’s mine . But when she feeds Lemmy some of the peanuts I gave them for treats, I shake the irrational thought away. That was years ago, and there’s clearly nothing like that between them.
“You guys must’ve gotten in so much trouble,” I say.
“He did, for sure. His parents had a Devout demon tattoo the flames—a ritual design, so it was allowed for a minor as a religious exemption—then grounded him for an entire semester, all the way up until he moved away.” Iggy glances to where Rex is chopping wood and cracks a nostalgic smile. “My parents never found out, because he refused to rat me out.” Her gaze cuts to me, eyes darkening as she grabs my forearm. “Rex is one of the good ones.”
“I know.” I squeeze her back, understanding it’s not a demon’s deal she wanted to make, but a truth, as a demon, she needs to share.
“Do you?” she asks, eyes narrowing and flashing at me. She doesn’t need to convince me of Rex’s true nature, the one he keeps well hidden beneath all his grumbles and bluster. If I still held any bad opinions about him, they’re dust in the wind these days.
“His heart is solid gold,” I say, using a metaphor common to demonkind. She nods and steps back, tucking her hands in her pockets and fixing her face to an impassive, cool expression again.
It’s a high compliment that a demon friend, even removed from each other for years, would be so willing to defend his character. Be so protective. I like to think I’d feel the same about him too. Even after he leaves. Even if we only see each other every few years when he visits his family in town.
Oh, how that eventual reality makes my heart twist.
Rex is only here with me for a few more weeks. The recurring mental reminder of the time ticking by makes me antsy. We’re already kissing every chance we get, but I want more. And why am I resisting? Women have casual relationships all the time. When he leaves, we can still maintain some friendliness.
I hope.
Wintertime, full of holidays and celebration, is the perfect time to embrace hope again. I need that now more than ever as I chart a new direction for Wild Hearts too.
Sunset rolls around soon enough, and the last families leave the Christmas tree farm as we close down. Most of the fliers are gone and I have some adoption paperwork to look over. I’m worn out. At the same time, my heart is full. My stepmom and family give me hugs as they pack up to head back to town.
It was so worth it to put myself back out there today. I finally feel like I can show my face in public. I can start living my life again.
Rex and I load up a pull wagon to cart the adoptable animals back toward the house together while the sun fades to pinks and purples around us. Usually we part ways at the fork in the road leading to the barn, clean up, then have dinner on the porch outside. But even with the space heater, it’s getting colder every day. Is he still comfortable in the barn? Seems kind of ruthless of me at this point.
Tonight I’m going to invite him in. We can watch a movie together with the fireplace on. Cuddle up as the snow falls outside. He could sleep on the couch if he wants.
Or . . . with me.
I have to make the first move though. Rex has been patient with me, never pushing the kisses too far. While I’m still sweating about how to suggest he move into the house, he stops me.
“Hey. I have something I want to show you, but you can’t be mad.” He holds both of my hands, letting the wagon handle drop to the ground. “I broke into your house.”
“What?” I rear back. He’s in my house all the time. “It’s always unlocked. I don’t understand.”
“Fuck, of course not. I’m saying this all wrong.” He rubs a hand down his face. “It’s a present actually. That doesn’t make sense either. Just, uh, can I show you?”
“Yes, please.” I watch him curiously as we head back. He helps me feed and put away all the animals in the garage, and when we enter the house he tugs me past the kitchen. My face flushes as we walk through my bedroom and into the master bath.
“This.” He opens the sliding glass door and turns on a sleek black showerhead.
“Oh, wow.” I recognize it from a picture on the box. It’s my gag wedding gift, the one he joked that I could masturbate with. A delighted shock lights me up like a firework from my cheeks to my fingertips. I barely restrain the desire to laugh, to smack his arm, to cover my face in something close to embarrassment.
I must look as confused as I feel, because he shuffles his feet and stammers, turning a dial and clicking some buttons. “It’s high end. I installed a steam mister too so it kind of stays warm all the time, like when you’re using the detachable head. It has over thirty settings or some shit. Oh, and I turned off the flow regulator so you can get some serious water pressure.” He spins around as I take it all in. “Shit, you hate it.”
With the hot water raining down in the shower, a mist clouds the room, drifting around him and sneaking toward me like fingers of warm, scented air. I really shouldn’t have waited this long to put us both out of our misery.
“No, I really don’t.” I step closer. “Although, I have a question for you.”
There’s no time like the present to grab this demon by the horns.