“Tell me,” she says as she sips the signature cocktail, “will you be happy here?” I see the concern in her eyes. It makes me angry. Mad that she would stay unhappy if she thought that’s what I needed. Angry that her sister takes advantage of her all the time, doing the same thing. Frustrated that she feels it’s her job in life to bend herself into a pretzel for the people she cares for.
“Hyacinth, the truth is—I’ll be happy anywhere on this planet, as long as I’m with you. You’re my mate. My north star. My honeycomb. I was alone by choice, but I was not happy. I was surviving. You have brought me to life, since I met you in the desert, all dehydrated and sunburnt. Seeing you ooh and aah over simple things today, like your favorite chai, or a favorite author’s book, is the very bottom of what I want to give you. Those should be yours everyday. I want to give those to you each and every day. So yes. I will be happy here. As long as you’re here next to me.”
She reaches out and takes my hand and squeezes. Her small fingers are electric, causing ripple of sparks across my hand.“Thank you,” she whispers, and it’s here that I notice tears in her eyes.
“Oh. Don’t cry. Anything but that.” Panic rises in me. I made Hyacinth cry. Reaching forward to swipe away her tears with my other hand, she grasps it. Kisses it.
“They’re happy tears, promise. No one has ever put me first like you do. I just—I don’t know how to process this feeling. This—being cared for this way. I love it. I love you.”
“Come on, let’s go home. We have kits to feed.”
Together we walk to the edge of town, admiring the long shadows of the giant cactus. I kiss her gently on the lips, licking off the sweetness from her drink. “I love you, Hyacinth. I will care for you every day. I take great pride and pleasure in that responsibility.”
I lower onto all my legs, she hops onto my back, and we take off for home. For now.
Epilogue
Hyacinth
It takes two weeks of back and forth between the house and Westfang, but eventually we are moved, kits and all. Turns out, Sting already owned a small house just outside town, very similar to the one we stayed in. When I call it the ‘cabin,’ Sting gives me a weird look.
“It’s made of adobe. It isn’t a cabin.”
“I didn’t say log cabin,” I say with a tease in my voice. “But it’s cute, small, surprisingly homey.” At that, he snorts.
“Why surprisingly homey?” he asks, a twitch at his eyebrow.
“Well, you live alone. You’re a grumpy cowboy. Cozy isn’t really the first image that springs to mind when I think of where you might be living.” I shrug, enjoying the range of emotions on his face as he processes my words. For a brief second, I wonder if I’ve hurt his feelings. But then he stalks toward me, a sly half grin on his face, and my core clenches in anticipation.
He presses me up against the cool adobe wall in the kitchen. Handmade tile counter stretches out to my left. “Cozy isn’t a word in my vocabulary. But I do like to be comfortable. If you want to make the place co-zi-er,” he stretches the word out likeits foreign to him. I resist the urge to giggle. “Then please do. This is your place now. Yourcabin.” His lips are gentle but hungry against mine. I open to him, eager to claim him here, claim this place as mine. Ours.
“The rescue is here to assess the kits for release.” Sting’s voice is somber. He looks from Cupcake, snuggled against my chest, up to my face, eyes sharpening when he sees the tears on my face.
“This always happens. It isn’t a big deal,” I sniffle as I speak. I see the question in his eyes. “When animals get healthy. They go home to owners, or like here—released into the wild. And it’s so bittersweet. I’m excited for them. I’m sad for me. I’ll miss Cupcake and her siblings. I’ll miss feeding them twice a day. I know it’s silly. I’ve done the training. This is for the best. I—”
I’m so embarrassed that I’ve burst into full on tears. Cupcake stirs, whimpers in my arms, then lick me. Sting reaches for me, pulling me into a giant hug.
That’s how the rescue folks find us. Big green orcs, wearing wildlife vests, carrying a toolbox filled with vet equipment, and grumbling to themselves.
“How are the kits?” The one who introduces himself as Granite. His partner, Rhett is hunched, pulling out equipment.
“Healthy. Weaned. Ready for the wilderness,” I say, trying to summon my professional vet tech persona, but it’s a lost cause. I’m too tearful.
The orcs are surprisingly gentle as they handle each kit, saving Cupcake for last, which is a kindness they didn’t need to offer me. I’m grateful.
It’s brief. Too soon, the kits are in a box headed for the orcs’ Jeep, where they will supervise their release. Sting offered that we could go, but it’s better this way. As they drive off into the heat of the day, I start cleaning their pen, filling the wheelbarrow with their straw bedding to dump in our new compost pile. By the time I’ve scrubbed everything down, including their water bowl, Sting has returned with a glass of iced chai for me.
“Come on, come sit in the shade and breathe for a minute.”
The porch here is smaller, but we’ve already discussed plans to enlarge it, adding a flower and herb bed along one side. When I suggested an outdoor tub, Sting’s eyes went dark, pupils dilated, as an answer. I’ll take that as a yes.
“Your heart is so big, so open. I’ve never met anyone as willing to love anyone and everyone as you.” Sting’s words surprise me, pull me out of my internal moping over Cupcake.
“You’re sweet. But you’re the one who rescued them. Named them. Took Lily and me in! Look at you! You’re just as open and willing.”
“Giving someone shelter is not the same as loving them,” he grumbles, then pauses for a minute, looking out into the distance. “You’re right, not everyone would give shelter to motherless kits, or lost sisters, especially without ulterior motives. I’m glad I’m the one who found you. You’re so easy to love. I hope you know that.”
“I do, but only because you tell me that almost every day.”
