Page 3 of Knotting Autumn

Warm, green flannel draped over my shoulders, and Sawyer’s cozy scent enveloped me, a mix of wool and amber with a sweet and nutty edge, like chocolate-hazelnut spread. Grabbing the collar, I pressed the fabric to my face, hiding my grin. I loved when he lent me his clothing.

“Thanks, Soy-boy.” Wrinkling my nose, I stuck my tongue out at him.

“Have a good day, Tum-tum.” Sawyer’s laugh burst out of him as he squeezed my upper arms and gave me a gentle shove out the door.

“Hey!” I squeaked, pivoting to smack his chest.

Sawyer caught my wrist and tugged me back. His other hand wrapped around my waist as an embarrassingly high-pitched giggle bubbled up in my chest.

Burying his nose into my neck, Sawyer sucked in a breath, sending sparks down my spine. Goosebumps broke out over my arms, and I twisted in his hold.

“That tickles!”

After a moment, Sawyer let me go. “You’d better go and be a responsible adult, or I’m going to drag you back inside and force you to snuggle with me and watch anime all day.”

“Tempting,” I said, pursing my lips and pressing my index finger to my cheek in my best anime girl impression.

Sawyer reached for me, and I leapt back, batting his hand away. “Come back, my waifu!”

Snorting, I stepped further out of reach. “I’ll see you tonight, Sawyer-san.”

His rich laughter followed me as I crossed the street and followed the sidewalk down toward Cluckingham Palace.

Chapter 2

Chicken Shit

Cluckingham Palace smelled like hay, fertilizer, and chicken shit. Granted, fertilizer and chicken shit smelled pretty damn similar, but after three years working in the farm supply store, I could tell the difference by scent alone.

That was how I knew that the fertilizer had been delivered and Margie hadn’t bothered to put it away. Sighing, I stashed my purse in the back, grabbed a random nametag, and clocked in on the computer.

“Morning, Margie!” I hollered, taking a moment to clean up all the little scraps of papers and granola bar wrappers she’d accumulated since opening. I didn’t mind cleaning up. Her aunt and uncle owned the store, and she was eager to please them. But she was a bit of a mess—not just in a practical sense. Three divorces and back living at home, Margie was chaotic but lovable.

“Thank goodness you’re here,” Margie yelled. “I can’t find the keys to the forklift.”

Shaking my head, I jogged to the rolling doors and promptly found the keys.

“You’re the best, Autie!” Her hot pink lipstick clashed with her orange curls, and electric violet flashed on her nails as she accepted the keychain and squished the stress-ball pig attachedto it, causing its eyes to bulge and poo to protrude from its butthole.

Shaking my head, I stepped back and let her steer the machine and lift up a pallet of dark green bags with pictures of gleaming tomatoes and cucumbers emblazoned on the front.

Stocking the new deliveries took about an hour, and then Margie sat down in the back to work on office tasks, her nails clicking away at the keyboard merrily while I gathered cleaning supplies and headed to the front.

The soft cheeps of baby chicks grew louder as I reached the steel troughs we kept them in. Heat lamps clipped to the edges kept the little fuzzballs warm.

Reaching down with gloved hands, I removed their food and water containers and got to work scraping out their poop. Oddly enough, it was one of my favorite tasks.

A little chick rushed up and pecked my wrist, causing me to giggle in surprise. Bending over at the waist, I wiggled my fingers, scratching its tiny chest as it fluffed up its wings. Tail feathers shaking, it pecked my fingers.

“Watch it, you fuzzy little nugget!”

Someone made a choking sound, and I shot up to see two men standing in the shop. My cheeks flushed. I’d been bent almost in half to reach the chicks, putting my ass on display for the strangers.

Talk about a peep show.

The two men stood there, staring at me.

One was slim and tall with a tangle of black hair falling over pale skin and eerie gray eyes. A hoodie covered part of his head, throwing shadows across sharp cheekbones. He hunched as if he didn’t want to be that tall, his eyes darting around the shop.