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“In other words, you just want us to be nice to each other without having any real plan for sustainability?” I jab a finger into his chest. “I’m not the one who started this, remember? I was happy in my own little bubble. You were the one who showed up and started fucking with me and my work. Now you want to be friends?”

He moves my fingers off his chest and nods.

“Would that be so bad?”

Yes. No. Asshole.

His voice drops to a smooth and calming tenor. My eyes narrow at his attempt to coo me like a cornered animal. He takes a step toward me and lifts his hand, bringing it to my face. Fighting the urge to place my face in his palm, I step back. His breath curls white in the moonlight as he exhales. His fingers curl inward before his hand drops to his side.

“Frankly, yes, it would be that fucking bad.” I shake my head vigorously at the stupidity of the whole thing. “You defaced my flowers. You stalked me. All to get me to leave. Now, you want to be friends, without any idea how this whole thing will work?”

“I’m trying. I don’t claim to have many friends, and in our line of work, friendships don’t exist. But I’m trying…for you.”

“For me? Seriously?” I huff. “Oh yes. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Thank you, thank you.” I finish my theatrical performance with a vitriolic glare, pinning him in place. “You fucking started this.”

“Wha—that’s not what I meant at all. I don⁠—”

I walk into the tree line, trying to put as much distance between us as possible. Once he’s out of sight, a nagging feeling draws me back. Keeping to the cover of the trees, I glance back. He kicks at the dirt and slams his fist against the trunk.

I watch him walk away, his shoulders slumped, his gaze fixed on the ground. A pang of guilt hits me, accompanied by a nauseating urge to comfort him.

While heading home, everything he said runs through my mind on a continuous loop until I’m exhausted.

19

Taking a sip of my third cup of coffee and cursing Zarya for her ability to create a coma-inducing tea, I try to prepare for the day. At any moment, she will be here with what I’m sure is a truck full of decorations for Litza’s party, even though it’s just the three of us. Zarya has an unmatched talent for turning any celebration into a parade.

I trudge upstairs. My sluggish toes catch on the steps twice before getting to the top landing. I really need to ask Zarya what she puts in her tea. Probably some semi-paralytic derived from a special flower found only in the tops of the Amazon rainforest.

Stepping out of the shower, I get dressed as quickly as I can, knowing I’ll have to drive up to Lennox’s estate to pick up the snake and make it back here in time before Litza arrives.

I arrive, still groggy but determined. The maid greets me at the entrance and says that Lennox is expecting me in the serpentarium. When I enter, he is hovering over the large terrarium. He must hear me coming, because he turns to look over his shoulder.

“Good morning, sweetheart. Have a good night?” he asks with a look that seems almost accusatory.

“Not like that,” I say with a chuckle. “It’s Zarya’s tea again. I never remember to take it early enough.”

“Pity. I thought you were finally breaking out of that shell and having more fun. You’re too young to waste it alone.” He steps toward the terrarium, holding a box.

“I enjoy life!” I say. “You seem to be in better spirits. Last time I saw you, you seemed upset.”

He lifts the snake and pauses for a moment before gently placing him in the box.

“Yes. I’m sorry about that. It’s just stress.”

His clipped response tells me I’ve hit a nerve. Deciding not to pry, I smile and take the box from his hands.

“She’s going to love him! I’ll take photos of her with him for you!”

“I would love that. Now go on! You’d better get back before the party!”

I pull him in for a hug that lasts longer than usual. I wish I knew what bothered him. Making a mental note to visit again soon, I head out.

I arrive home to what can only be described as chaos. A sheet of metallic streamers now covers one living room wall. Boxes of faux roses have taken over my couch, and pool noodles have been attached around the entrance to the living room.

Gerald sits on the coffee table next to a little gold hat. His needle like talons work feverishly, shredding it to pieces.

“It’s okay, I already got photos of him wearing it,” Zarya says as she enters the room and takes the remnants of the gold hat away from him. His tail flicks sharply, signaling his disapproval. He darts from the room with the small tassel—of the now destroyed hat—clenched between his teeth.