Chapter 17
Theo
Turns out, farm labor in the early morning is more of a workout than my usual run.
Between chasing goats and hauling lumber, Fable’s dad and I are working up a sweat, despite the cool, misty air.
Layla’s wandering the garden with Fable’s mom, Mary, while Dave and I fix the fence on one side of the goat pen.
He didn’t seem surprised at all when I strolled up in place of his daughter—simply hugged me and put me to work.
His phone dings in his pocket, and he sets down his drill to grab it. A snort of laughter barrels out of him. “Seems Fable’s finally awake. She says, ‘Sorry I’m late! Be right there.’” He peers at me under the brim of his blue cap. “Should I give her a hard time for sleeping in?”
I can’t help smiling as I remember the sight of her in bed this morning. Long lashes fanned over her cheekbones. Hair in a wild tangle on her pillow. Sleeping so soundly I couldn’t wake her. “Nah.” I toss a broken fence board into the trash pile. “She was exhausted.”
Dave types a response, then almost immediately, my phone buzzes.
Fable: Really?! Why didn’t you wake me up?
Theo: You looked so peaceful, sleeping beauty.
Fable: Did you carry me to my bed last night?!
Theo: No, that was Layla.
Fable: ??
Fable: I’m coming over there.
Theo: You want to explain how you got that bandage on your head? ??
I snap a selfie of me crouched by a fence post and Dave in the background, both of us thumbs-up, grinning.
Theo: We’re almost done. Don’t worry about it.
That goes unanswered. I imagine her scowling down at her phone. Letting out that adorable, stubborn growl of hers.
It’s a shame I’m not there to hear it.
Dave and I get into a groove for a bit. I grab boards and hold them in place, he drills in the screws, then we move to the next.
“Is Fable doing all right?” Dave asks after a few minutes.
I’m so startled by the question that I nearly drop the next board. It’s strange to be the one who might know the answer to that. In some ways, I barely know her, and in other ways . . . well, I feel like I always have.
But I don’t know how much she shares with her family.
I have a hard time believing Dave knows about the broken stairs or the unsafe railing, because he’d be over there fixing them right now.
Do they know she’s barely moved into that place?
That Gramps’s things are still in boxes, and she only has the bare minimum of her stuff taking up the cabinets and drawers?
Do they notice how sad her eyes get every time Gramps comes into the conversation?
Do they know how hard she is on herself?
How many times I’ve seen her cry in the last week and a half?
None of that is for me to share, though. “She’s doing okay. We’ve been working together on the A-frame, you know, in exchange for her helping me with this Arthur stuff,” I tell him, trying to shift the conversation.
He takes the bait. “How’s that going? Mary said you’re hoping to buy the practice?”
“Yeah, I’d love to buy it with Garrett. Both of us run the place.” I shrug. “But Arthur is hesitant to include me. He doesn’t think I’ll be sticking around here long enough.”
“But you will?”
I nod. “I’m staying. Being away made me realize—this is home.” I hold up the next board. “I just have to show Arthur this is my dream.”
Dave screws another board into place, then pauses. “You have a gift with animals, Theo. They trust you. They know you’re one of the good ones. If you need anything from me to help prove that to Arthur, I’m here. Whatever it is.”
Animals have always been a source of comfort for me, but my father hated the idea of having a pet. He had every excuse in the book—they’re dirty, loud, annoying—and we were never allowed to have one. But I would befriend every animal I met, desperate to fill that space in my heart that wanted one.
Then, on a random Thursday evening—after the divorce was final and we’d moved into our new house—Mom showed up with a dog.
She’d found him behind the dumpster at the elementary school.
He was sad, untrusting, hurt in ways we couldn’t see—so similar to how I felt at the time, and I had an instantaneous connection to him.
I like to think we healed each other in little ways for years.
Chance was there to hug when I needed him in the middle of the night.
He showed me that despite the fights I was getting into, I knew how to be gentle.
He taught me that I could do this one thing—take care of him. And that became enough.
The job at the clinic is the one place I trust myself, and maybe that’s why Arthur’s doubt hurts so much. It feels like he’s stripping away the one real thing I let myself have, and that means I’m going to dig my nails in and grip onto it with everything I’ve got.
I take a steadying breath and nod. “Thank you.”
As I walk up the steps to the A-frame, I spot Fable through the glass. She’s cross-legged on her couch, with a mug of tea in one hand, and scrolling through something on her computer with the other.
I turn the knob and . . . it’s locked. Good girl.
She gives me a sassy little grin before snapping her laptop shut and carrying it to the kitchen counter.
Taking her sweet time, she shuffles to the door and eyes me through the window, the mug tucked between her hands.
She’s wearing a form-fitting white shirt, light-wash jean overalls, and fuzzy socks.
Looking cozy and warm. I have the overwhelming urge to wrap my arms around her and breathe her in.
“Good job locking the door,” I call as Layla jumps up, her one front paw balanced on the glass.
Her brows arch. “Learned my lesson last time.”
Oh shit. Does that mean—? The memory of her with that toy between her thighs burns behind my eyes again. Something hot and achy shoots through me, and my heart speeds up. She can probably hear it through the window.
Her eyes go wide, and she whips the door open. “Oh my god, Theo. I was taking a shower! Stop looking like”—she waves a hand vaguely in front of me—“that!”
Layla zips in the door and I hear a distant screech from Knocks. Apparently, their temporary truce from when they slept curled up together on the couch with me has ended.
I bite the inside of my cheek. “What am I looking like?”
She leans on the doorframe and narrows her eyes over the rim of her mug. Sunlight reflects off the gold hoop in her nose and brightens the strands of damp hair around her face.
“Like you were thinking about last night,” she says matter-of-factly. “Which can’t happen. We need to pretend those few minutes didn’t exist. Okay?”
Ah, so I’m supposed to completely forget it was my name she moaned while she was getting herself off? Fuck if that’s ever going to happen. Those two breathy, desperate syllables will be burned into my brain for the rest of my life.
“It’s totally normal. Everyone does it. We’re moving on,” she announces with finality. But I can see the pink painted beneath her freckles. The way she’s chewing at her bottom lip and avoiding eye contact.
“Right.” My voice is gravelly. “Doesn’t matter at all.”
“Nope.”
“Never think about it again.”
“Easy.” She takes a sip of tea, still not looking at me.
“We’ll be very chill about it.”
“Arctic tundra chill.”
“Absolutely.”
The space between us pulses with heat. There’s nothing chill or arctic happening here.
I step closer and her breath hitches. My fingers graze her chin as I tilt her head and inspect the bandage, enjoying the way I can feel her breath against my throat.
I tuck her hair behind her ear, and she shivers under my touch.
Oh, sweetheart, I can see right through this charade. She’s stubborn enough to never admit the truth, but it’s written all over her—she’s not nearly as unaffected as she wants me to think.
Clearing my throat, I step back, and Fable spins away before I can say a word. I smother a grin, following her to the kitchen, where we discover Layla and Knocks lying on the floor together.
“Have you decided about the coaching position?” I ask, needing to shift the conversation away from last night. If I keep thinking about it, all my blood will be pooling in inappropriate places.
She casts me a long, weighted look. “It’s gonna cost you a free space.”
Hope ignites in my chest. “Can I get us matching shirts?”
“Hell no.”
“Come on,” I beg, shamelessly using my best puppy eyes. “They’re the Unicorns. We need a shirt with a unicorn on it.”
Her shoulders drop, and she glares up at the ceiling, begging the universe for something. “Fiiiiiine,” she groans, not sounding happy about it at all.
“You won’t regret it. I’m going to make sure yours says ‘district champ.’”
“I already regret it.”
“Too bad. It was a free space—dealer’s choice! Only stipulation was that it follows the plot, and given the gossip around our town, I’d say it does.” I don’t give her a chance to argue. “Now, come on. I need supplies. It’s steps-replacement day,” I announce, tugging her after me toward the door.
She drags her feet. “I have to work.”
“Me too.” I tip my head toward the stairs. “I’ll knock it out while you’re gone today. Then you don’t have to worry about it.”
There’s a huff of annoyance as she pulls her still-wet hair into a bun and secures it with a green scrunchie. She loops a bag over her shoulder and across her body. “No touching my stuff though.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I nod, walking backward toward the door. “Should I look for a bookshelf too? Finally gets these books out of boxes?”
She seems taken aback by my question. Her feet stall on the hardwood floors. “They’re Gramps’s.”
“Yeah, I know. Are they going to live in these boxes forever? We could get them out. Let them see the world!”
Her fingertips graze the nearest box. She stays quiet for so long I don’t think she’s going to answer. Then she whispers, “Maybe one day.”
And that’s good enough for me. I know exactly what to get for her birthday.