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Thousands of dollars’ worth of cashmere sweaters. Ruined.
It’s my own fault, for way overpacking for this retreat. That’s a bad habit of mine: overpacking.
It’s just that I never know when you’re going to want to wear a royal blue sweater instead of a sage green one. I dress according to my mood, the weather, the people I might see. There are so many factors, and I like to be prepared so that I can look and feel my best.
Blue, it seems, doesn’t have a preference when it comes to the color of sweater he nibbles. He’s worked his way through red, purple, green, blue, black, and white. He’s gnawing on a sunshine yellow one, now, and seems utterly pleased with himself for how fast his sturdy teeth can turn the cashmere into pulp.
I hustle to him and tug the sweater.
“I’m not mad,” I tell him, “But I am disappointed in you.”
“Olivia, he doesn’t know what you’re saying,” Cole, behind me, grumbles.
“He might not know the words, but I’m sure he’s picking up on the essence of my message.”
I deliver what I hope is a very stern look to Blue, and then turn on my heel to take stock of the rest of my belongings. It’s actually sort of thrilling to see how much cleaning has to be done around this place.
Getting the yurt back in order will give me and Cole something to do besides exchange simmering looks.
It turns out he was right when he said there’s more to communication than words. And every time I get near him, I pick up all sorts of vibes. They’re strong, coming off of him in waves. His desire is in there, swirled up with all the rest.
He’s not saying it, but I sense he’s as confused about what’s going on between us as I am.
Wasthat kiss a fluke, anyway? Or will it be like that again, the next time we have to make a show of being a couple?
Why is it that I want—desperately—for him to kiss me again?
I steal a look at him and see that he’s eying me, too. Thinking along similar lines, given the dark, smokey look in his eye.
A flash of heat curls through my body, and butterflies stir up in my belly.
This yurt’s too small, too stuffy, too warm.
“I think Blue needs some fresh air,” I announce feebly, as I fan my face once and then grab a teeth-mawed silk scarf off the bed. I tie the end in a loop, then attach a belt to the end, so the whole thing looks a bit like a leash.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Cole pick a pair of his jeans up off the floor. There are two new holes in the knees.
“I think he should go back to his owner,” he says.
“Hey, that look’s trendy these days.” I wave toward the matching holes. “Don’t worry about it. You’ll be the hippest guy in Farmdale, next time you go see your folks.”
I’m going to ignore what he said about bringing Blue back to that heartless old-man. There’s no way I’m letting that happen.
I’m also going to ignore the strange magnetic pull I feel, whenever I glance his way.
Blue cuddles next to my leg as I tie a scarf around his neck. I loop the make-shift leash around his head.
“There!” I stand and hold the end of the belt. “Now we’re all ready for a good, long walk.”
“Did you even hear what I said?” Cole asks.
I refuse to look at him.
If I do, I’ll feel confused and conflicted all over again.
“I heard you say that we can’t keep Blue, which is crazy. He needs us.”
I head for the door. Once outside, I look down at my furry, horned friend. “Which way, bud? You pick the path.” Blue heads off, not on a path at all.
