Page 20 of Peacocks

I got so excited about the project I tuned out the rest of the world… at least until I heard Lane’s car rumbling down the driveway an hour later. Then I jumped up, put away my sketches, and headed out to give the handsome man his nightly “Howdy, neighbor” to collect his sweet, stammering hello in return and to lose myself in the warmth of his presence.

Because while I wasn’t educated, I was smart enough to enjoy a good thing when I had it.

And Lane Desmond was maybe the best thing that had ever happened to me.

Chapter Five

Lane

By the end of February,the Entwinin’ festival seemed to be all anyone was talking about.

“I’m just saying, we have extra wisteria vines in the back if you need any,” Hunter said as he leaned over his kitchen island to set a cup of coffee by my elbow. I’d stopped by to take a look at his pet turkey poult, Tammy Wynette, who seemed to be thriving if a little spoiled, and when he’d offered me a drink, I’d taken the chance to get out of the blustery gray day.

The truth was, Hunter and Charlie’s kitchen had become one of my favorite places in the Thicket. It was always bright and cheerful, always smelled like Thanksgiving—probably because the men stocked up enough food at the Thicket’s side-dish festival, the Gobblin’, to last all year—and always made my chest feel warm and tight in a good way. Charlie and Hunter gave each other shit constantly, but the love they had for each other was audible in every teasing word.

I finished making a note about when Tammy might need her next vaccine before giving Hunter a curious look. “That’s nice of you, but what wouldIneed wisteria for?”

“Well, because… uh.” Hunter looked flummoxed for a moment before casually hip-checking the man beside him. “Tell him, Charlie.”

“Because of the Entwinin’, of course.” Charlie looked up from where he’d been peeling the skin off a few cloves of garlic. “Oh, shit, Lane. I bet no one’s told you about?—”

“They have,” I assured him. “Hunter mentioned it months ago, and Jay works on wreaths every night before we—” I cleared my throat, feeling my cheeks go hot. “That is to say, I’ve noticed that Jaybird makes wreaths. But the festival’s not until early April, right?”

“True.” Charlie rested his hands on the counter and leaned across, making eye contact with me. “But the Entwinin’s not a last-minute sort of thing. Not if you do it right. Anyone who wants to make a good wreath needs to source their vines now before the only ones left are the old, dried-up, gnarly ones. You want to make a good wreath, don’t you?”

I looked between the two of them. “Why would I make a wreath at all? They’re mostly for couples, aren’t they? Or best friends?”

Hunter and Charlie exchanged one of their looks that was more like a whole conversation, the shorthand of partners who knew and loved each other well. I took a sip of coffee while I contemplated what they weren’t saying.

Charlie raised one eyebrow and tilted his head toward me.

Hunter shook his head—a single, insistent negative.

Charlie raised a second eyebrow.

Hunter set his jaw.

Charlie bit his lip, and his gaze went liquid and pleading.

Hunter’s shoulders slumped, and he sighed.

“That’s… mostly true, Lane,” Hunter said carefully. “Entwinin’ wreaths aren’t like Valentine’s cards, where you give them to just anyone. Or like Christmas wreaths, where you putone on the door to celebrate the season in general. A wreath is a gesture of affection for the most important person or people in your life. A way of saying you love and appreciate them.”

I nodded. I knew this.

“And do you… I mean… can you think of anyone you’d like to give a wreath to?” he prompted. “Maybe… someone you spend all your free time with, and talk about constantly, and who smiles at you so hard he once walked into a street sign in broad daylight, just as an example?”

Jay’s handsome face and sweet, goofy smile swam through my mind, and as usual, just thinking about the man made me sigh happily.

A few weeks ago, I’d thought we were total opposites—like a fish and a bird—but now I knew better. We were different, sure, but in the way that bees and flowers were different. Somehow, our differences worked.

We weren’t sweethearts, though.

Nope.

We werefriends… though I wouldn’t flatter myself that I was Jay’s best friend since he had many.

We were… friends with benefits.

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