Pippi
The rest of that day?
A blur.
We arrived back to the isle and found it in shambles.
A water cyclone had struck here too when the curse broke and ripped a big chunk of the dock up.
The tourists were in a frenzy, traumatized from the periwinkle twister, and scarred from seeing hordes of mythical creatures transforming into naked humans.
Most of the guests loudly demanded refunds, claiming they and their children would have nightmares forever .
And the freshly turned humans were dazed, as they huddled inside Brew he would brush my knuckles as we sat together at dinner, stroke my hair as we perused the shelves in a store, hug me every chance he got—and he gave the best hugs. They were big and boisterous and warm and secure. Just like the man himself.
He was high energy, though, likely because his diet consisted of sugar, more sugar, extra sugar, and French fries (or “c hips ,” as he called them).
He was a junk food junkie, and he was always wired.
Those long legs of his didn’t have a walk mode.
He ran everywhere, only slowing down when he found me struggling to keep up.
“My legs are littler than yours,” I’d grouch at him.
“Ah, you may have little legs, but you’ve a big heart,” he’d throw as a sappy response, knowing it would make me smile. “And I’d not have you any other way.”
It was incredible.
Being with someone who suckled my affection, my love, and fed it right back to me. Someone who gave , instead of took.
And I’d never known, never realized, life could be this way. That it could be so full of joy.
I squinted at the screen, my eyes blurring, smooshing the words together in a big glob. I honestly couldn’t tell if what I’d written was English or jabberwocky.
But jabberwocky or not, it was done .
I rolled my shoulders, wincing when they crackled (spending multiple hours crouched over a desk was a dangerous activity for those in our late thirties) and gently wiggled Cocoa out of my lap.
Cocoa mewed tiredly, yawned, and curled into a tighter ball.
“Uh-uh, ma’am,” I murmured. “This is your official eviction notice.”
Cocoa rolled herself into a bone-shuddering stretch, flashed me a look that said she was cursing me and all my unborn offspring for daring to inconvenience her, and slithered to the floor, dragging herself into the cat hut under my desk.
Such a tragedy, the things I put this cat through.
I stood, stretched, winced when that stretch made me sound like a bowl of Rice Krispies, and strolled from my little corner writing nook to my airy, open-concept kitchen.
Finishing a book—a full-length doorstopper of an epic romance—called for some wine.
And maybe some chocolate.
And—
With a soft clink , the door to my apartment opened, and that was all the warning I got before my two-legged golden retriever (a.k.a, Alistair) barreled into the room and swept me into a bone-crushing hug.
“The key worked okay, I take it?” I laughed.
“Like a dream.” He beamed and cupped my face. “Hi there.”
“Hello yourself.” I frowned a little when a twinge of sadness rolled through him. “Are you alright?”
He stroked my cheek. “It was a hard day. I was in the bank earlier and they had a big vase of orchids. And…well…Some days are like that, you know?”
They were.
We’d talked about this before. Openly.
Some days he still mourned for Indigo… wept for her. And I wept with him, because I hated seeing him in pain. The ache of losing a loved one like that was an excruciating wound that would never fully heal.
Some days I still found myself searching for Jackson in a store and got a kick in the gut when I remembered that part of my life was over.
It was hard sometimes. Healing from past relationships. Past hurts.