He laughs and shrugs up one shoulder. “I like burgers and eat them a lot. Don’t tell my mom.”
I grin as I watch him flip the burgers. They sizzle and crackle, sending more amazing aroma my way.
“Anything I can do to help?”
“Almost done here,” he says and then sweeps his gaze over my notebook. “What’s that?”
“I was profiling the budgies,” I explain as I perch on the arm of the patio chair. “To rehome them.”
His lips thin out and his eyebrows pinch together. “You move fast.”
“I think it’s normal speed. Not everyone works in turtle mode like you.”
He snorts. “Turtle mode. Are you calling me slow?”
“You drive five under the speed limit at all times.”
“My best friend’s the sheriff. What can I say?” He gestures at the house with his spatula. “Want to get the table set?”
I step back inside and drop my notebook off in the bedroom. Clo sees me, squawks happily, and flies over to my shoulder. I sing him songs I make up along the way while I set the table. I’m feeling more relaxed and content than any other moment since I stepped foot off the airplane.
And, as if on cue, my phone rings.
Denver.
“Why is he calling?” I ask Clo, a flare of irritation burning through me.
Clo cocks his head to the side as he listens to my ringtone. Since I can’t ignore Denver forever, I sigh and answer the phone.
“I can’t talk long. About to eat dinner,” I say quickly upon answering. “What’s up?”
He’s quiet for a beat. “Hello to you too, Nora.”
“Hi.” I stifle a sigh. “Sorry. It’s been a long, tiring day.”
“Apology accepted. How are you?”
There’s an awkwardness between us that never before existed. Resentment still curdles in my belly. I wish I would have stood up for myself and come to the funeral. Should have, could have, would have. Hindsight is 20/20.
“I’m okay,” I tell him truthfully. “Spent all day going through Grandma’s cottage. Found some letters she wrote to my grandpa and?—”
“What about us?” he blurts out, cutting me off mid-sentence. “How arewedoing?”
My chest tightens. “Not good, Denver.”
“Tell me what I can do to fix it.”
Bitterness rears its ugly head. For one, he could let me finish telling my story. Prioritize me for once. But do I say this to him? Nope.
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” I say in a chilly tone. “You always do.”
“Babe—”
“I’m plucking starving,” Elias booms as he enters the kitchen, a plate of steaming burgers on a plate.
“Who’s that?” Denver demands on the other line. “Are you having dinner with a man?”
The accusation in his words makes my blood boil. So I don’t say anything cruel, I blurt out that we can talk later before ending the call abruptly.
