My eyes snap open. “What?”
“Seriously, I’m loving this. My Instagram is blowing up,” he says cheerfully. “I’ve got so many women reaching out to me, asking to chat. I’ve been asked out more times today than I could ever have imagined.”
Of course this is happening!
A relieved smile spreads across my face. “Well, I’m glad you’re not mad, I’m glad you aren’t sorry you got sucked into this mess, and I’m really glad you’re happy,” I say, meaning it. “And I’m glad I met you.”
“I am happy,” he says. “And I’m glad you’re happy too. Tyson seems like the real deal.”
“I think he is,” I say softly.
“So, I guess that leaves us as…what? Friends.”
“Friends,” I easily agree. I start to apologize again, then remember he’s happy, and there is no need. “Well, if we’re both happy, then I’ll let you go reply to all your Instagram admirers.”
“Thank you, and good luck, Lottie.”
“You too.” When the call ends, I stare at his name blinking on my screen. The conversation lasted only two minutes and was much easier than I could have imagined. I got lucky with Bodan. He was the perfect fake date, chin mole disease and all…
The sun is already up, past the time Mom leaves for the office, so it’s safe for me to get up. These guest cabins are nice, but I have no groceries. I need to sneak over to the main house for a cup of coffee before I can function. I slide my feet off the bed and stumble down the hall to the door, slipping into my worn flip-flops. I smile and wiggle my toes. It’s been a long time since I wore flip-flops on a Tuesday—Mom would never allow open-toe in the office.
I step out the door without slowing. Out of habit, I scan the yard and see the usual sights. Mom’s sprawling flower gardens are fully awake this time of year, coneflowers rising above the beds to catch the morning sun. Their pink and purple petals droop slightly, which, I think, only adds to their character. Tucked among them, lavender and sage sprinkle in silvery touches to contrast the roses. As much as I make fun of these gardens—because my mom lies about them—I do love them. I love this whole place, and I’ll miss it when I leave.
My eyes bulge when I spot the goat pen gatewide open!
And not a goat in sight!
Not wide open like the goats pushed it open, but wide open like someone had neatly propped it that way. Frantically, I scan the field for the goats—and for my dad. He’s the only one who would take them out, but it’s never been at this hour before.
I glance toward the barn.
No goats.
The hills.
No goats.
The porch, where they aren’t supposed to be. I pray they are just being naughty.
No goats.
My heart ramps up as my gaze cuts to the road. We aren’t near a main highway, so I don’t have to worry about them getting into traffic, but they can still get lost. “Cinnamon!” I cry, because she’s usually the best behaved and the most likely to come running.
Nothing.
“Toast!”
Nothing.
“Crunch!” On any other day I’d have to giggle I’m screaming for cereal, but today I sprint up the large hill. By the time Iscramble to the top, I’m out of breath but I need a better view of the area.
Nothing.
My goats are gone.
And oddly, so is everyone else.
This isn’t an accident.
