Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 42882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 214(@200wpm)___ 172(@250wpm)___ 143(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 214(@200wpm)___ 172(@250wpm)___ 143(@300wpm)
“Dave’s figured out that his mating season will come eventually, and he’s gotta be patient,” Lane had said when he’d looked over the flock a few weeks back. “Speaking of which, I have this friend back in Georgia who happens to have some peahens…”
My smile had taken up my whole face. The words Lane spoke could’ve come out of my own mouth. I couldn’t resist teasing him. “Seems like a lot of your stories start that way these days, Doc.”
Lane had blushed a mouthwatering pink from his head to his collarbone. “Yes. Well. Possibly. In any case, about the peahens…”
Lane liked to joke about my obsession with taking care of people and putting other people’s wants before my own, but Lane worried about the animals in his care like they were his own family. He didn’t just do his job; he lived it, pouring his heart into every furry or feathered creature that crossed his path. He was thoughtful and honest, always saying exactly what he meant, even when it wasn’t what I wanted to hear. He made people—me—feel like we mattered. And he was so damn appreciative of even the littlest kindness.
It was no wonder I’d fallen for him hard and just kept falling.
Once again, I was not an idiot.
I wished the peacocks a good day, then went back inside and washed up. Preparing breakfast for Lane was second nature by now since I got the privilege of doing it three or four days a week. I whipped up some scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. Without thinking about it, I grabbed the honey jar out of the pantry and set it on my kitchen island.
The first few times I’d stayed at Lane’s place, I’d noticed him drizzling honey on his toast, so I’d bought some at the farmer’s market. Now, whenever he reached for it automatically, like he was used to it always being there, it gave me a little thrill.
I shook my head at myself. One of these days, the man was going to figure out that I never ate the stuff myself. He was going to recognize that this honey was a gesture of… of… un-casualness… and I was going to feel like a fool.
Still, I couldn’t see to stop myself.
A few minutes later, Lane’s footsteps shuffled across the floor.
“You know you’re ridiculous, right?” Lane’s voice was warm and scratchy, still thick with sleep.
I glanced over my shoulder, nearly dropping my bacon spatula. Lane’s hair was wilder than I’d ever seen it, and he had a deep crease down his cheek. He’d grabbed a long-sleeved Bovines Alumni T-shirt from my drawer, and seeing it on him was making me, uh… display… in a way that Dave would be mightily jealous of.
“Am I?” I said, forcing myself to look closely at the eggs so Lane wouldn’t see whatever foolish look was on my face.
“Mmm.” He flopped onto one of the kitchen stools. “Barely dawn and you’re playing short-order cook. And I happen to know you were in your workshop past midnight.”
He knew because that was where he’d found me when he’d come home, himself.
I chuckled. “Gotta make sure folks have a happy Entwinin’. Liz Stoke has been waiting a whole year to propose to Crystal Rivera ’cause she wanted to do it with a wreath. An Entwinin’ wreath is the purest form of love there is.”
“Sure,” he agreed, but when I turned toward him to plate the eggs, I noticed a little frown on Lane’s forehead.
“You okay?” I asked, setting his plate in front of him.
Lane reached for the honey and paused for a second before he started drizzling honey on his bread. When he looked up at me, his eyes were soft. “Yeah. I’m great. Thank you for breakfast.”
“No big deal.” I turned back to the counter and gave it a wipe, even though it didn’t need it.
The sound of Lane’s crunching toast filled the quiet, and I glanced over to watch him chew with his eyes half-closed like it was the best thing he’d eaten in days.
I couldn’t help but smile to myself.
“So, um…” Lane finished eating and set his fork down a little nervously. “I’ve got a short day at the clinic today. Want to meet me for lunch? Say… noon?”
I blinked, caught off guard. We’d never done lunch before. Breakfast, sure. Dinners too, mostly at home. Lunch felt… different. It was the time of day when all the Thicket gossips would be out and about. Not that I expected Lane to, like, lay one on me in the middle of the Thicket Tavern or anything.
Though I sure wouldn’t mind if he did.
Could this be a step toward un-casual? Or is it just lunch?
Suddenly, I felt nervous too, and my mind flew downstairs to the best, most important Entwinin’ wreath I’d ever made—one I’d started designing back in February ’cause it needed to be special, a wreath to end all wreaths—and would probably never have the guts to give the man I wanted to be Entwined with.