Of course they are.
They hate their pen.Just like me.Maybe that’s why I have so much patience with them.
With rolling grass, a picture-perfect red barn, and a flower garden my mom pretends she tends for photo ops, they much prefer roaming free over the hills.
I haven’t given up on them yet.
They may be a tad feral, but I know they’re still trainable. Toast is my sweet baby, and he only responds to my voice. I got lucky enough to bottle-feed him when he was little. Not that him losing his mama was lucky, but me getting to be his nanny was. Then there’s Cinnamon, the only female and a real easy keeper. She’s hardly any trouble. Well, unless the other two pressure her. She’s not totally innocent.
Lastly, there’s Crunch. Let’s call him the instigator. Together they make the Cinnamon, Toast, Crunch trio. Yes, it sounds cute, but it turns out it’s not. It’s actually a giant, throbbing headache.But they are my headache and, oddly enough, I love them. I text back:
Tell Crunch if he keeps running away, I’m going to lose my job from leaving work so many times.
Dad replies with a single photo of Crunch standing proudly in the middle of my mom’s prized flower garden with a mouthful of something he shouldn’t be eating. I snort-laugh loudly. Two seconds later, my mom pops her head in my doorway, and she snaps her fingers at me. “Lottie, decorum, please. Snorting is gross.”
“It was a goat photo,” I whisper with a small shoulder shrug. She’s usually a control freak, but not this bad. She’s never popped her head randomly into my office to snap at me.
“Decorum,” she repeats as she wags her perfectly manicured nail at me.
Swallowing, I wait for her to leave, which doesn’t take long. She never gives me more than a couple seconds of her time. The moment her heels click away, I sag back in my chair. My attention returns to my phone, where there’s a notification from a news app. It’s a clip of me and Mom shaking hands with the people she met yesterday—the heiresses of some drugstore chain who donated a lot of money to her campaign. Mom is happy. I look happy.
I tap on the photo and zoom in on my smile, which I can barely tell is fake. I appear mostly normal. Absolutely nothing like the girl who crawls under fences to drag a goat by its horns while lecturing it about manners.
Or the girl who daydreams about July.
And the man I shouldn’t miss.
I close the notification before my heart gets an idea. Because I know what Mom would say.You need to date Ivy League,not hockey league. He’ll ruin the image we’ve built. Then he’ll destroy your whole life, not to mention you’ll be left broken-hearted and poor with no career.
Swiveling in my chair, I make sure my back is toward the door in case someone walks by. They don’t need to see my forlorn expression. This is a nice life for someone else. Sighing, I start plotting how I’m going to fix that fence when I get home. Nothing is safe with Crunch around. He needs a barricade. I push my lower lip out, deciding that might not be such a bad idea.
I’m pretty good at making those.
I already have one around my heart.
A shuffle in my doorway pulls my attention. I smile when I see it’s not my mom. “Hey, Brett.”
His knock on the doorframe hits the same time our eyes meet. “Your mom is sending me out for coffees. Want to walk with me?”
“Coffee sounds good.” My reply is automatic as I search for an excuse. He’s given me the creeps ever since our weird half date. Sure, it was years ago, but the memories still haunt me. My attention snaps back to my phone, and I pick it up like I’m offering evidence. “I better not. My goats got loose again. If I don’t show up to help and at least fix the gate, my dad will find a reason to make them permanently disappear.”
His lips curve into a teasing smile. “Oh, Crunch is at it again.”
“I guess.” I stand, slide my computer off my desk as I shut it, and stuff it into my computer bag. I take a moment to sling it over my shoulder. When he doesn’t move even a toe out of my doorway, I figure something is up. “So, I’m headed in the opposite direction, but we can walk out together.”
“Yeah, I’d like that.” He’s still staring at me. My eye twitches as I resist rolling my eyes, and we fall into step together, heading down the long hallway.
“How was working on the speeches committee today?” I ask after the silence gets cringe.
“Oh, you didn’t hear?” His tone drops to an almost inaudible level, and I’m forced to glance at his mouth and resort to lipreading. “That wasn’t the speech committee. That was PR cover-up.”
“Cover-up for what?” Nervous bubbles fizzle in my gut. There always seems to be some reporter falsely accusing my mom of something, and I never get used to the feeling of being on guard.
“From yesterday …” His words trail off before he interrupts himself. “You seriously didn’t hear about it? It’s been all over social media.”
My eyes bulge as I struggle to keep my voice concealed while we pass the last few offices in the hall. “I haven’t heard a word. The phone has been ringing off the hook with requests for meetings…” It’s my turn for the words to trail off as it suddenly makes sense. Something disastrous went down. Hence all the phone calls. I rush out, “What happened this time?”
Slowing his steps as we reach the exit, he pushes the door wide open, letting me pass first before following behind. As soon as it closes, he slides his phone screen toward me. “Why don’t you just watch?”
