Page 47 of The Worst Possible Plan

“Going to check on the animals. Margot would be proud,” I said as I made my way over. “Our family dog whisperer. Whisperette?” That didn’t sound right.

The temporary gate squeaked as I pushed it open and locked it behind me.

The goat looked up and wandered over.

“Hey, buddy.”

The little troublemaker had the same black-and-white patchwork coat I’d been chasing all afternoon yesterday, one floppy ear that never seemed to stand up quite right, and bright golden eyes full of the kind of confidence usually reserved for toddlers and extremely drunk people.

“You really are cute.” Too cute for his own good.

He trotted toward me with his stubby tail wagging so enthusiastically his entire backside bounced with every step, looking far too pleased with himself for an animal who’d committed several crimes against festival property in the last twenty-four hours.

I shot my hand out. “Not so fast. We’ve discussed boundaries. Remember?” I narrowed my eyes at him. “And don’t poop on my shoes again, okay? I can’t afford another pair.” Not until Helen paid me.

The goat ignored me completely, as if personal space was merely a suggestion, and nudged my hip with surprising enthusiasm before attempting to investigate the pocket of my hoodie. He’d reached the conclusion that every pocket in the world contained snacks.

“Hey, hey, hey. No. That’s not yours.” I laughed, scratching between his ears. “You’re lucky you’re adorable, you little shit.”

He looked up at me with an innocent expression, and I felt a tug in my chest. I wasn’t used to animals looking at me like that. Usually snarling and spitting were involved before the combat started.

This was… different.

Nobody had ever accused animals of pretending. If this goat wanted scratches, he actually wanted scratches.

“That’s it.” I pointed at him. “Until somebody tells me your real name, I’m calling you Bandit.” It suited him. Tiny, mischievous, probably one questionable decision away from another felony.

The goat gave a happy little hop, which I chose to interpret as enthusiastic approval rather than a warning sign that he was about to climb on something expensive.

“You like that, huh?” I said, smiling. “You absolutely look like a Bandit. With that face, you’ll get away with anything. Right?”

At that moment, behind Bandit, both alpacas lifted their heads. The smaller one blinked at me from across the pen with enormous dark eyes framed by ridiculously long eyelashes. It looked permanently surprised, like every moment of its existence was unexpected. It watched me carefully but stayed where it was, politely chewing hay and minding its own business.

But as soon as I made eye contact with the larger one, it was game over.

Its fuzzy ears perked up, and it started walking over with determination.

I waved my hand at it. “Don’t even think about it.” I took one instinctive step backward, even though I already knew the outcome.

The alpaca continued approaching, its long neck bobbing happily with every step and looking like an oversized stuffed animal that had somehow come to life and developed serious attachment issues.

“I mean it.” Now I was waving both hands. “You stay there. No more alpaca drool all over my clothes. I can’t afford dry cleaning right now or new clothes.”

Another step.

I cringed as the beast kept coming. “And your breath stinks. Didn’t anyone ever tell you?”

Another step.

I frowned. “What is it with you animals? This isn’t supposed to happen. You’re not supposed to like me.”

The alpaca ignored every word as it closed the remaining distance and promptly rested its long, ridiculously fluffy head against my shoulder with a contented sigh, like it clearly believed we’d been best friends since kindergarten. Or perhaps soulmates. I wasn’t entirely sure how alpacas categorized these things.

I sighed. “Fine.” I reached up and scratched beneath its soft chin, still surprised by how the animals were behaving around me. The smaller alpaca and the donkey were ignoring me, which was much more in line with my previous experiences. Clearly these two were just… desperately lonely.

“You need a name too.” If we were going to be emotionally codependent, the least I could do was stop calling it “the alpaca.”

The alpaca hummed.