She’s funny, she’s kind, she’s smart, and she’s ambitious and curious in a way that’s unmatched. More than anything though she doesn’t stand by, she never just watches. But I couldn’t possibly tell her I never had a type because she’s been at the center of what I’ve found attractive since I was twelve.
Therefore, I lie. “I like curvy brunettes who don’t need glasses.”
“Oh, the opposite of me in every way?” She rises to her knees and pushes my shoulder. “That’s such a jerk response,” she says, but she’s also laughing. “The glasses dig was particularly uncalled for, Murphy.”
I don’t know if I should laugh or cry. She’s so cute and yet so at peace over me not liking her.
“What’s your type?” I must hate myself because I know the answer will hurt. She admitted she told her mom I wasn’t it. She’s tall, about an inch or two more than me, so I imagine someone taller than her. Something I’ll never achieve.
Her laughter dies. “I don’t know.”
“Walsh. You just established that’s not an acceptable answer.”
“Truly, I don’t know. Looks-wise I just don’t care.” She tucks in her knees and glances at me. “Does that make sense?”
“Sure. But then, there must be something. Deal-breakers or personality criteria?”
She tilts her head in thought and her short blonde hair spills over her shoulder.So pretty.“I would want someone kind.” She answers slowly as if she’s really thinking it out. “Who I wouldn’t be afraid of showing Nity to. Who I’d trust never to hurt any of the dragons here.” She takes a breath. “But moreover, I want the person I date to be my best friend.”
This is how I know my crush on Farren isn’t going anywhere. Because as soon as she says all this, all I can think is I could be that guy. I want to be that guy. I basically am that guy except the best friend part. Until this summer I’d thought even a friendship impossible. Yet, the sun seems to glow with opportunity. Sprawled out in the grass talking about our lives, Farren could easily become my best friend, something I’ve never had before. And maybe, just maybe, she could tolerate me long enough that I become hers.
“Sounds nice,” I admit.
“Thanks, Murphy.” She offers me a small smile before launching into the broken keel case.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONEWHEN MENDING DRAGONS AND MISCONCEPTIONS
JAMES
For the next few days I learn all I can about each and every dragon species and study Dr. Walsh’s cases like I’ve never studied before. For the first time I’m learning to learn. Not for good grades or parental approval. I’m acquiring knowledge for myself.
I still haven’t gone on a standard vet visit with Dr. Walsh yet, but I complete my chores around the sanctuary, falling into a happy routine. Every morning I help Jeffrey in training and cleaning. Every afternoon I spend time with Farren, Nity, and the babies. Three days after Farren and I lay in a meadow and I lied about finding her attractive, she barges into the barn as Jeffrey and I are mucking out the stalls.
As soon as I process her presence, Farren’s crashing to a stop and averting her eyes. “What are you two doing?”
Jeffrey leans on his shovel, all crooked angles and good humor. “Isn’t that obvious? We’re doing the most manly of things of course. Cleaning.”
“I didn’t realize cleaning was a shirts-optional operation.”
“We’re bonding, Farren.”
I guess that’s accurate. Jeffrey and I have become friends of sorts these past weeks. I’d argue our “bonding” is due to Jeffrey’s steadfast conversationas we scoop poop or bale in new hay, not the half nakedness, but maybe there is something to it. Because I know not just the colors of his upcoming wedding to Shelly (lavender and something called fern green), but also how they are learning to fold the dinner napkins into cloth wyverns, and how Shelly’s grandmother, who raised her, we all agree is being a bit too domineering for an eighty-seven-year-old.
Farren sees through Jeffrey though. “Ah, huh. And when’s Shelly stopping by?”
Jeffrey grins before returning to his shoveling. “In an hour for lunch.”
“Ah. There’s the truth.” Farren turns her attention to me and I straighten and maybe flex a little. I relish that for a second her eyes drop to my torso before snapping away. “Don’t let him pressure you into taking off your clothes.”
Jeffrey snickers. “Shouldn’t I be the one telling you two that?”
Great, just like that I’m thinking of clothing removal and Farren in the same sentence. I feel myself go red, which is not helping uphold the charade that I dislike her.
“What? Why would you ever need to tell—Jeffrey!” she stammers.
He’s full-on laughing now as he shovels. “What? You think I haven’t heard how your parents found you two in Nity’s cave?”
Farren doesn’t dare look at me and I busy myself with inspecting the shovel’s worn wooden handle. “Nothing happened,” she protests.
