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I clarify, “Oh. We’re not dating.”
He studies me for a second, then lifts his eyebrows doubtfully. Then sets about packing up his gear. “None of my business. But if you’re into her, I’d advise you to lock that down. A free spirit like her won’t know you’re into her unless you make it plain.”
I thank him for the unsolicited dating advice and the vet care before handing over a stack of bills.
“Get going,” I mutter.
He gingerly wags the stack of bills before folding it and tucking it into his pocket. “Appreciate your business,” Doc says with a wide grin.
Moments later, I find Sara in the kitchen, feasting on blueberry pie and chattering with Mrs. Palmieri. Her dog, Sparky, is growling at the tawny fur ball in Sara’s lap. Chutney, for her part, is simply snuggling between Sara’s thighs and wiggling her nose.
I feel ya, bunny, I think with a twinge of jealousy. I wish that’s where I was right now.
“When I was younger, I tweezed the hell out of my eyebrows, and don’t you know, they do not look right no matter what I do,” Mrs. Palmieri is saying when I stroll up on them.
Through a mouthful of pie, I hear Sara say, “Castor oil. Every night. It works!”
Mrs. Palmieri cackles dryly. “My great-grandmother would force me to take that stuff whenever I was constipated as a child. If I even smell the stuff now, I’d probably vomit. I’ll make do with my brow pencil, thank you very much. Oh, hello, Gunther, dear!”
Sara turns to see me and gives me a wary look, hugging Chutney closer to her chest.
“Want some pie?” Sara asks, pushing the pie plate closer to me. “Or do you have to call the Humane Society to come to pick up Chutney?”
I give her a look of caution and lean into her, resting my hand on the back of her chair.
“Sweetheart, you know I would never send Chutney away. I’m sorry for making that joke earlier.”
Her eyes widen at the word “sweetheart,” but she picks up what I’m doing. I want Mrs. Palmieri to assume Sara is my girlfriend, giving us an extra layer of security if anyone asks her questions about Sara or the rabbits.
She lifts her chin. “I’m sensitive about animal jokes.”
Her pouty bottom lip entrances my eyes, and I would love it if Mrs. Palmieri would skedaddle.
“I know you’re sensitive, baby. That’s one thing I love about you.”
Sara sucks in a breath. Perhaps that was a bridge too far because I see the heat slowly spreading up her neck.
Mrs. Palmieri clears her throat and slides off the stool. “I’d better be going. You two enjoy your pie. Come on, Sparky.”
The dog growls again as the woman places it on the floor and guides it out my front door on its leash.
I don’t pay too much attention as she leaves because my eyes are still trained on Sara’s sexy mouth.
When the door closes, her eyes turn to slits, and the temperature in the room drops about fifteen degrees.
“That’s one thing you love about me? What are you trying to pull, Gunther?”
I stammer, “I-I….”
“Baby? Sweetheart? Are you serious?”
“I was just trying to….” I want to explain that it was a matter of security to let my neighbor assume we were lovers, but words are getting stuck in my throat because the truth is, all of it is true. I’m falling for her. And calling her “baby” and “sweetheart” just came out naturally because I have real feelings for her.
I just can’t say it out loud.
She waits for me to finish.
“Trying to what? Fuck with my feelings?”
