“I would be ifsomeonewould cooperate with me.” He glares at the chicken, who couldn’t care less.
“Want some help with her?”
Ezra was right—Tootsie is harmless. The chicken and I have become friendly since our first encounter, and I’ve spent more time than I’d like to admit chasing her back to her pen. We have a rapport of sorts by this point.
He huffs, putting his hand on his hip and squeezing it, almost like he’s trying to stave something off.
“Are you in pain?”
“What?” He shakes his head. “I’m fine.”
But I don’t think he is fine. Now that I’m standing so close, I can see the hidden discomfort in his green eyes. Can see how hard he’s clenching his jaw, his molars undoubtedly rubbing together.
“Help me get her back in her coop?”
He’s deflecting, but I let him have it.
I step around him, creeping my way toward the chicken. “Hey, Toots.” I keep my voice soft. “Let’s get you back in your coop, okay?”
Cluck.
“I know you don’t want to go, but you have to.”
Cluck.
“Stop being sassy, or you’re not getting any treats.”
Cluck cluck.
Ezra snickers. “I’m pretty sure she just told you to fuck off.”
“I think so too.”
I go to reach for her, but she’s too fast, moving out of the way before I even bend over fully. That’s how the next five minutes go—I chase her, she runs away. Ezra tries, too, and it’s the same result.
Eventually we get her in her coop, and she doesn’t like it one bit, clucking at us from the corner.
“She’s cussing like a sailor,” Ezra says with a grin that wobbles around the edges, his hand still on his right hip. “We really should fix this hole.”
“Is that how she keeps getting out?” I ask, looking up to where he’s staring so intently.
“Afraid so. This is more Noah’s department, but with the wedding just three weeks away, I don’t think it’s a high priority right now.”
“So let’s fix it, then.”
I don’t bother waiting for Ezra’s answer. I go to the storage shed and pull it open, figuring there has to be a ladder stashed in here somewhere.
I’m right. I reach for it, but Ezra’s there, elbowing me out of the way.
“Hey, stop. I got it. Let me—”
But the protest dies on my lips when I see the look in his eyes.
Back off,it says.
So I do.
It’s clear he’s determined to do this himself. Usually I trust him to know his limits, but I get the feeling he’s pushing himself too hard.
