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“I think Erica still has some Funfetti,” Dad said hesitantly, looking pleadingly over at Mom.
With a haughty sniff, Luna walked over to the door, opened it and motioned impatiently at Mom to lead the way.
It might have seemed rude, but she didn’t have a disrespectful bone in her body. It was just another step closer to the Luna that we’d known and loved for so many years. It had been happening more and more, but there was always this air of fear or insecurity when she did things like this before now, regardless of how relaxed she looked.
This action right here had none of that. It was the response of a confetti cake lover who had self-confidence and who felt secure and safe with the people around her.
I wasn’t the only one who realized that and saw it for what it was.
Sounding almost choked, Mom said, “When I’m done, I’m going and buying the whole store out of Funfetti.”
“Really?” she hobbled out the door behind her, sounding absolutely delighted at the prospect.
“Hell yes,” Mom’s voice sounded from further down the hallway. “And I’m getting every pot of Funfetti frosting and sprinkles I can find too. White, blue, purple, pink…”
“It comes in green as well,” Luna added.
“Whatever they have, I’m getting!”
The door closing behind them prevented us from hearing whatever else they had to say.
An idea hit me, and I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone.
“Whatcha doin’?” Archer asked.
“Looking on Amazon for Funfetti stuff,” I muttered, then swore when I saw the words on my screen. “Shit!” They had none in stock. Not one thing!
“Too late,” Tate smirked smugly. “And I got a gift receipt with it, so she knows who it’s all from.”
Normally, I’d kick his ass, but I had an idea he’d never be able to beat.
Texting Rich, who was on his way here to pick up a part, I gave him my request and then text Mom to let her know.
Now to distract Miss. Priss!
Luna“I’m not sure about this,” I repeated for the billionth time from fifty feet in the air. Ok, maybe not fifty, but it felt like it.
“We’re not doing anything complicated, just walking,” Noah replied, yet again.
This conversation had been going back and forth for the last hour ever since he’d told me what this afternoon’s plans were. Then, when we’d got to the stables, and he’d thrown me like an Olympian javelin thrower onto the horse’s back, I’d started repeating it over and over again, but in a more panicky tone.
Because I was freaking the hell out!
“The horse doesn’t like me,” I tried.
“Yes, he does. You named him when he was born!”
I had. I’d called him Boo-Boo because I’d thought it was cute. Also, because I was a dork. I hadn’t taken into account the fact that the cute tiny foal would grow up into an Amazonian sized Trojan horse.
“He’s trying to throw me off his back!”
“No, that’s just his body moving.”
“My weird booty foot doesn’t fit in the stirrup!”
“Yes, it does. It even has space to move around because men use those stirrups too.”
“He just ate, you’re not supposed to do any exercise after you eat.”
“It was an apple slice.”
“I think he has gas. I’m pretty sure he just farted.”
“No, he sharted. Horses can walk, fart or shart at the same time.”
“Gross,” I muttered.
“Gramps can do that,” he added helpfully.
I thought about the handsome guy who was Hurst Townsend and frowned. Nah, no way! He was a gentleman.
“How is your Gramps?”
“Him and Grams are fine. They still have their house at the ranch,” he said, reminding me of the beautiful place that his family had. I’d visited it many times before Dad went out of his mind. Well, more out of his mind than he had been before. “He’s turned into an old pervert, though.”
I frowned at this. “Huh?”
“He’s started shopping at some bondage site online saying it’s aimed at old people.”
“Maybe it is?” I stared at Noah’s back wondering how exactly he had decided it was a bondage site.
Old people might need stuff that young people didn’t. Like those grabber things to pick stuff up off the floor. Some people might use them for perverted things whereas old people just needed them.
Stopping his horse, he hitched up his right butt cheek and extracted his phone from his back pocket. If I’d done that, I’d have toppled off the horse, but he made it look easy.
Tapping on his screen, he waited for it to load and then passed it over to me.
“Bon d’Age?”
“Yup, he says it means ‘good age’ or some shit like that,” he snorted and then grimaced.
Flicking through the pages on the site, I went between laughing and groaning. By page four, I was gagging. To each their own, but that last thing was unnatural.
Then a thought hit me. “What has he bought?”
