11. Willa #2
When I looked up, the whole family was watching us.
“That was amazing,” Samantha breathed.
Traig stood, carrying Gravy carefully to the fence.
For the next twenty minutes, we let the kids interact with both creatures while their parents asked questions. Rex kept asking about the melting thing. Rina wanted to know if they could teach Gravy tricks.
Jim and Samantha kept looking between their kids and us.
Samantha asked about any potential behavioral issues.
“They sometimes forget their shape after squeezing through tight spaces,” I said. “One of ours came back slightly oval after going under a door. It corrected itself within an hour. You just need to be patient with them.”
Jim and Samantha exchanged a look.
“We’ll take both,” Jim said.
The paperwork took another thirty minutes. Traig walked them through the adoption agreement while I prepped travel carriers for Biscuit and Gravy.
When the family left, both kids waving from the back seat, their new pets secured beside them, I turned to find Traig watching me.
“You’re good at this,” he said. “The people part.”
My face warmed. “You’re good at the details part.”
Something eased in his face. “We work well together.”
I looked away before I could say something I’d regret.
“I should grab lunch in town,” I said. “I’ll be back before the family arrives to meet Rue.”
“I could make us lunch if you’d like. There are plenty of ingredients in the break room, plus some leftovers from yesterday’s group meal.”
“Alright,” I said.
The kitchen area of the break room was small, barely big enough for one person to reach everything comfortably, but we made it work.
Traig pulled ingredients from the refrigerator. “How about leftover roasted trillamond sandwiches? Krem cooked yesterday. And he made plenty of brillon root.”
“Sounds yummy.” Though I’d never had them before, I was eager to give them a taste.
He set things on the counter. “Caramelized brillon root, sauce, and half a loaf of vreth.”
“Sandwiches?” I asked.
“If that works for you.”
“It does.”
He handed me the trillamond. “Can you slice this into very thin pieces?”
“Of course.”
I found a knife and a cutting board, positioning the meat carefully.
His hand covered mine, adjusting the angle of the blade.
“Like this,” he said. “Let the knife do the work.”
His palm was warm against the back of my hand. His chest was close enough that I could feel the heat of him through my shirt.
“You learn quickly,” he said. His breath moved the hair at my temple.
I forgot what I was slicing.
“Willa.”
“Hmm?”
“The meat.”
I looked down. I’d stopped slicing and was standing there with his hand over mine and my brain completely offline.
“Right,” I said. “Meat. Slicing. I’m doing that.”
His mouth twitched against my ear. “You’re not doing that.”
“I’m thinking about doing that.”
His low laugh rang out.
I focused on the meat, slicing slowly, each piece falling away in thin, even strips.
A curl fell forward across my cheek.
Traig’s hand lifted but stopped. His fingers hovered near my face before he reached past me for the sauce.
I tucked the curl behind my ear and pretended I hadn’t noticed he’d almost touched me.
He moved to the stove, heating a pan.
“Is this a dish your family made?” I asked.
His hands stilled on the pan.
“My family didn’t do much together,” he said. “I mean, my parents did, but they left me home with help more than not.”
How sad.
He didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t push.
“My mom made lasagna every Sunday,” I said. “Using the same recipe and same pan. I can still smell it.”
“That sounds nice,” he said quietly.
He toasted the vreth while I plated the brillon root. We assembled the sandwiches together, him adding meat, me spooning sauce, both of us moving around each other like we’d done this before.
When we sat down to eat, the building gently breathed around us.
The sandwich was savory and rich, the vreth crispy on the outside and soft inside.
We ate quietly, but it wasn’t awkward, and our legs occasionally bumped underneath the table.
We’d just finished when the timer on his tablet chimed. Fifteen minutes until the Rue family arrived.
We washed the dishes and put away ingredients, neither of us speaking much. We were thinking about what was coming.
The SUV was nice, a newer model. People who had money but didn’t necessarily flaunt it. Traig and I stood at the front door as a couple in their forties stepped out, followed by a teenage girl who hurried toward us.
“Hi,” she said, extending her hand to me first, then Traig. “I’m Mandy. These are my parents, Tom and Lisa.”
Tom shook Traig’s hand.
“Thank you for meeting us today,” Lisa said with a smile.
“Our pleasure,” I said, because it was my job to make people feel welcome even when my stomach was in knots.
Mandy held a notebook under her arm, the pages flagged with sticky notes.
“I did a ton of research,” she said as we walked around the building toward the enclosures.
“Bloombacks are herbivores, right? They need open grazing space and sheltered areas during bad weather. Their flowers change with seasons and emotions, which means monitoring them can help identify health issues early.” She looked up at Traig. “Is that right?”
“That’s exactly right,” he said, his spine rigid, his tablet held against his chest.
His gaze fell on the bloomback enclosure.
Fern and Rue grazed near the far fence, Fern’s flowers deep lavender, Rue’s coral pink.
We reached the enclosure.
Mandy pressed against the fence, her face lighting up. “They’re beautiful.”
Rue lifted her head, studying us before she returned to grazing.
“That’s Rue,” I said. “She’s the one you inquired about.”
“Can I meet her?”
Traig nodded.
I opened the gate, and Rue approached, her flowers brightening as Mandy crouched to her level.
“Hi,” Mandy whispered. “Hi, beautiful girl.” She reached out slowly, letting Rue sniff her hand before scratching behind her ear.
Rue leaned into the touch, the pink of her blooms deepening.
Tom and Lisa hung back, watching their daughter with expressions that made my chest ache.
These were good people. Mandy loved animals, had done her research, and would give Rue an excellent home.
Which made what was coming so much harder.
Mandy pulled a pink collar with a matching lead from her back pocket, holding it up.
“I got this for her. Is it okay if I try it on?”
“Sure,” I said.
She slipped the collar around Rue’s neck carefully, attaching the lead with a small clip.
“Perfect,” she breathed.
I opened the gate wider.
Rue stepped through calmly, following Mandy into the open area between the enclosures.