“Llamas?”
“Three.”
“My God.”
“A potbellied pig named Kevin.”
He loses it.
Laughing so hard he has to brace a hand against his knee.
I grin.
“Oh, and I once gave a miniature donkey a spa day.”
He points at me.
“I refuse to believe that.”
“I've got pictures.”
“I need to see these pictures.”
“I'll show you.”
His laughter fades into something quieter.
Warmer.
“What about exotic animals?”he asks.
“Actually, I've worked with a few zoos and some private facilities.”
His expression turns serious.
“Isn't that dangerous?”
“It can be.”
“So why do it?”
I look out toward the waves.
“Because they deserve kindness too.”
Silence stretches between us.
“And I never work with an exotic unless its handler is standing right beside me,” I add.“I may be adventurous, but I'm not stupid.”
When I look back at him, his eyes catch the first hint of dawn.
For just a heartbeat, the mossy green seems to glow.
Gold flickers around the ember ring circling his irises.
Beautiful.
Wild.
