Maybe it could be something real.
Chapter Thirty-One
Fifi
Macy the zebra was giving me attitude again.
She had this way of turning her head just slightly to the left, blinking those ridiculously long lashes, and letting out a huff that said,I see your emotional damage, and frankly, I’m disappointed.
I leaned on the fence, arms folded, forehead resting on the warm wood. “I know, I know. I shouldn’t have said anything. But he looked at me like I’d just told him I spit in his coffee.”
Macy blinked slowly. Then, she took a step closer and began aggressively chewing on the post next to my elbow.
“Are you trying to deconstruct the entire emotional metaphor, or are you just bored again?” I asked.
“I’m gonna be honest,” a deep voice said behind me. “I didn’t expect the zebra to be named Macy.”
I closed my eyes.
Ben.
Of course.
Because nothing screams grace and emotional closure like having your accidental not-boyfriend find you gossiping to a disgruntled rescue zebra.
I turned slowly, keeping my expression light. “Would you believe me if I said she picked the name herself?”
He gave me that slow grin, the one that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made my stomach feel like a tangled strand of fairy lights. “I might. Macy has some serious personality issues. She’s a little flighty.”
“She was voted most likely to escape the enclosure with style.”
Ben stepped closer, stopping just on the other side of the fence. He looked too good for someone who'd unknowingly body-slammed my heart six hours ago, with a rumpled T-shirt, scruffy beard, that pensive furrow to his brow like he was already halfway through an apology he wasn’t sure I’d accept.
“Fifi,” he said softly.
I waved him off, smiling a little too brightly. “Don’t worry. No need to do the whole walk of emotional shame. I’m fine. Promise.”
His brow lifted. “You’re standing next to a zebra and fake-laughing like you’re auditioning for a sitcom.”
I let out a huff. “Some of us cope through humor, Ben.”
He leaned on the fence now, too, watching me. “You’re allowed to be upset.”
“I’m not upset.”
“You’re deflecting.”
I scowled. “No, I’m compartmentalizing.”
“You’re flailing.”
“I’m flirting, actually,” I snapped, before I could stop myself.
That made him laugh. And that made me mad.
“Itoldmyself not to fall for the hot guest with the tragic eyes and the forearms of doom,” I said, pacing away from the fence now, flinging my arms around like I was rehearsing for a one-woman play. “But nooo, Fifi, let’s just go ahead and roll the emotional dice on a man who’s clearly about to return to Florida, where he has probably ten palm trees and an ex with better hair.”
Ben followed me around the enclosure, slowly, like I was a spooked animal. “You think I’m going back to someone?”
