Chapter 22 #2
That she’s fucking gorgeous and she’s made my dick work again, and not just when I accidentally see her naked, which wasn’t a turn-on yesterday until she kept talking to me while she was naked, like it was no big deal, like she was comfortable enough with me to let me see everything.
That she brings me coffee beans and offers to walk Lav to the house so I can get right to my jobs in the mornings and offers to share wine with me in a gift shop instead of being terrified of me after listening to me howl like a wild animal.
And making me feel like it’s me doing her the favor every time.
“Thank you,” I stammer back.
“I can get her breakfast and take her gardening if you want to get back to your projects. I could use a dragon slayer to keep me safe.”
And there she goes, doing it again. “Yeah. Thanks. I’ll leave the food on the—ah, I have eggs ready for her.”
“I hate eggs,” Lav calls. “I want pancakes.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and count to three while Cricket’s voice carries up the stairs.
“You don’t like eggs anymore? Oh, no. Did they help sneak more dragons into the yard?”
Lav giggles. “Eggs can’t sneak dragons.”
“Hmm. Why else would a dragon slayer not like eggs?”
“They’re The Cockinator’s cousins. I don’t eat family.”
“Did you know there are two kinds of eggs? There are eggs that grow family, and then there are eggs that are just for food.”
Lav’s quiet.
“And then there’s something else,” Cricket says.
“What?”
“Heath?” Cricket leans out of her door and looks up, catching me listening in at the top of the stairs.
And I should be listening in. It’s what a good parent does. This has nothing to do with wanting to hear Cricket’s voice while she bonds with my daughter.
Fuck, I have issues. “Yeah?”
“Are these chicken eggs or dragon eggs?”
Lav leans through the doorway too, staring up at me like my answer will determine how the rest of my day goes.
And suddenly everything’s okay again.
No, better than okay.
Like I belong in my own life again.
Like life is more than a string of little stresses.
It’s joy too.
Infectious, contagious joy.
The missing piece from the past few years.
The fucking joy of being alive.
I make myself act normally as I shrug at my daughter. “I’m not the dragon expert. How do you tell the difference between a chicken egg and a dragon egg?”
“You look at it, silly,” Lav says. “What color was it?”
I scratch my beard. “I don’t remember. I hadn’t had my coffee before I cracked them.”
She huffs at me. “That’s helpful.”
Cricket sucks in a breath and claps a hand over her own mouth, clearly hiding a laugh.
I don’t mind when she’s amused by Lav.
She loves Lav and wouldn’t ever hurt her. I don’t know the same about the women at the salon yesterday.
“Also, can’t dragons disguise their eggs to look like chicken eggs?” I ask.
Lav’s eyes go big. “They can.”
“How else can you tell them apart?” I ask my daughter. “Do they taste different?”
“Of course they taste different.”
“Will it hurt me if I eat dragon eggs?”
She rolls her eyes. “Come on, Cricket. I have to go taste the eggs to make sure they won’t kill my daddy.”
“Since The Cluckinator’s still here, I need to get her some food,” Cricket says. “And also probably make sure she doesn’t meet Fluffy again.”
Fluffy.
My cat.
Shit.
I glance around, and—huh.
She’s still under the coffee table, sprawled on her back, occasionally batting at the air like she sees a bug or a speck of glitter.
I look back at Cricket.
She lifts a brow.
I clear my throat. Look at my cat again.
Then look back at Cricket. “While you’re getting food for The Cluckinator, can you please check the normal spots for… grass…seed?”
She pinches her lips together, now clearly trying not to laugh.
“Why do you need grass seed?” Lav asks.
Thank fuck that still goes over her head and she doesn’t know I’m asking Cricket in code to make sure Pip hasn’t been passing my daughter weed for my cat.
Fluffy’s definitely stoned.
Dammit.
I probably need to call the vet.
Hopefully it was finally a brand of catnip she likes, but if not—yeah.
The vet.
“Sometimes gardens need ornamental grasses,” Cricket says to Lav. “Come back and hang out with me after you find out if those were chicken eggs or dragon eggs.”
Lav throws her arms around Cricket’s waist and hugs her. “Okey dokey, hokeypokey.”
“Later-tater, alligator,” Cricket replies.
Cricket disappears back into her apartment.
Lav runs up the stairs. “I hope they’re still hot,” she says to me. “It’s harder to tell when they get cold.”
“They should be warm.”
“Can I have coffee when I turn seven?”
When she turns seven.
Shortly after the school year starts.
When I still half think that we should move. Even with Mabel fixing the fermentation building—there’s still risk here. Plus, if we can’t save the winery from foreclosure, we’ll have to move anyway.
All of us.
And that’s fucking terrifying.
With each passing day, the idea of leaving feels like shoving myself into a dark closet where I’ll never find friends again.
“You can try it and see if you like the taste,” I tell her.
Which might as well be me talking about my dating life.
I’m ready to try it and see if I like the taste.
Hope I think it’s gross, like I hope she’ll think coffee tastes gross.
But I have a feeling in my case that the bigger worry is making sure I don’t get addicted to it.