Not going there.
I had emails to finish, a report to finalize, and I was here for solitude, not…whatever that was.
Still, as I climbed the stairs back to my room, I couldn’t shake the sound of her voice from earlier.
“I smell like a barnyard.”
No one said things like that. No one owned it like that.
And no one had looked quite so beautiful while saying it.
Which meant it was time to double down on avoidance. No more accidental hallway run-ins. No more watching her from the corner of my eye.
Just me, my laptop, and the logical structure of a spreadsheet.
That was safe.
Predictable.
No hay involved.
I stepped into room four, shut the door behind me, and opened the laptop as I set it on the desk. The screen flared to life. My inbox blinked awake. And I stared at it for a long, long minute.
And then typed exactly four words:
“Out of office: Activated.”
I hit send.
And let the silence settle in again.
The thing about being alone is that you start to forget what it feels like to be flabbergasted.
I didn’t mean by deadlines or flat tires or people saying one thing and meaning another, but genuinely, bone-deep surprised. It was the kind that snuck up on me, hit me in the ribs, and made me forget I was supposed to be sulking.
I was standing by the window, mug of cold lodge coffee in hand, pretending to check the weather while just avoiding my laptop, when I saw her.
Fifi.
She was out by the coop, knees bent, arms outstretched, hair slipping loose from whatever attempt she’d made to tie it up. She was chasing something, running sideways in an awkward crouch like someone trying not to scare a ghost.
A second later, I spotted the culprit.
A chicken. Obviously.
It flapped out from behind the coop, wings going wild, legs moving faster than physics should allow on something that puffy. The thing looked like a malfunctioning feather duster with anger issues.
Fifi lunged for it and…
Missed.
Skidded slightly in the grass, then popped back up with the sheer determination of a woman whorefusedto be outwitted by poultry.
I should’ve turned away. Gone back to work. Focused.
Instead, I stayed rooted to the spot, watching her.
And not in a casual, oh-look-someone's-chasing-a-chicken way.
