“Oh, no,” I whispered.
One of the goats hopped onto Kazan’s bent knee, slipped, recovered, and bleated like the whole thing had been someone else’s fault.
I should have moved away from the window.
I didn’t.
Kazan looked up, right at me.
For a second, I froze with both hands gripping the sink and one foot on the stool like a criminal caught halfway through a very stupid burglary.
There was no pretending I hadn’t been watching. My face was practically pressed against the glass. The kitchen lights were behind me. I might as well have waved.
The goats kept bleating. One was still chewing his shirt.
Kazan smiled.
Not a polite smile. Not an embarrassed one. He smiled like he was pleased to see me there. Like catching me spying on him through his kitchen window was somehow the best thing that had happened all day.
His eyes crinkled at the corners.
My face went hot.
Absolutely not.
I dropped down from the footstool too fast. My heel caught the edge of it, and I nearly went sideways into the stove. I grabbed the counter, saved myself, and knocked the kettle lid crooked with my elbow.
It clattered loudly.
I stood there, breathing hard, as if I’d just escaped mortal danger instead of eye contact.
“Nope,” I said.
The stove sat there, black and silent and judgmental.
“Nope,” I told it again, because apparently I needed backup.
Outside, the goats were still making a racket. Underneath the noise, I heard Kazan laugh again.
That did not help.
I righted the kettle lid, then picked up the footstool and set it back on all four legs because leaving it tipped over felt too much like an admission. My hands were still shaking a little, which was ridiculous. I had survived an interstellar transport, a contract marriage office, and years with James.
But Kazan smiling at me through a window while covered in goats was what did me in.
Great.
Wonderful.
Excellent survival instincts, Maisie.
I pressed both hands to my burning cheeks and stared at the glowing jars in the pantry.
The star-figs glowed back, unhelpful as anything.
“What,” I whispered to the empty kitchen, “have I gotten myself into?”
4
