Page 4 of Peacocks

“You think? Lane. Bro.Buddy. I’m a little worried about you. Do you think maybe you’ve been working too many hours at the clinic? You seem to have taken jumping-to-conclusions lessons from the worst of the Thicket gossips. Is it Alva? Is she a bad influence?”

I thought about my business partner and her respect for the townsfolk’s privacy. “It’s not Alva.”

Hunter tilted his head before grinning at me. “Then maybe it’s jealousy.”

“Jealousy?” I squawked. “Me?Me? I don’t get jealous. Just ask Chad.”

I screwed up my face, remembering some of my ex’s parting comments about me not caring about anything that didn’t “have fur or feathers” and his desire to find a man who “actually paid attention to him.”

Even a year later, the words stung… maybe in part because they were true.

“Besides,” I went on seriously, “Blythe Nelson isn’t my type! Jesus, Hunter.”

He barked out a laugh as we walked into the chill of the afternoon. “Lane, let me put this in a way you might understand. You know how turkeys sometimes strut and puff out their chest and drag their wings on the ground?”

I gave him a worried look. “Hunter, your Tammy is a hen, not a tom. She shouldn’t be strutting?—”

He huffed. “She’s not. I meant… look, you know how cows wiggle their tails? Or how wolves will bring a kill back to their den to share it? Or how penguins give each other pebbles?” He leaned closer and wiggled his eyebrows. “Or how stags sometimes butt their antlers into trees because they really want to be butting other things into… other places?”

I stared at him slack-jawed. “Wait… really?”

Hunter nodded with satisfaction. “Now you’re getting it.”

“Hunter.” I put a hand on his arm. “If Tammy is exhibitinganyof those behaviors, please bring her to the clinic. It could be serious.”

He laughed. “Okay, you’renotgetting it. I’m not talking about my turkey, Lane. I’m talking about you and your landlord.”

I shook my head. I felt stupid for not getting his point, but I really couldn’t see what stag ruts and wolf kills had to do with Jaybird’s constant presence in my space.

Hunter put a hand on my arm. “Maybe you should ask your landlord who he’s really got his eye on,” he explained. “You might be surprised by his response.”

Hold up. Did Hunter mean he thought Jay was interested in…? With…me?

No. Not possible.

Jay was friendly, yes. Neighborly. Strangely, evenaggressively, thoughtful. But he was like that with everyone, it seemed.

And even if, through some fluke of nature, hewasinterested in me… the two of us had about as much in common as a… a cow and a rabbit. A rainbow trout and a mourning dove. I liked looking at him, sure, but he wasn’t meant for me.

I was too embarrassed—and late to work—to stick around and interrogate Hunter further. Instead, I bolted back to the clinic and busied myself with vaccinations and well checks. When I finally left, it was almost eight o’clock. It was pitch-dark, and the cold air immediately sank into my bones.

The sandwich was long gone, and my stomach rumbled with the need for dinner. There were several enticing options awaiting me upstairs at my place. I could scramble some eggs, pour a bowl of cornflakes, or even microwave a chicken tikka if I was feeling fancy.

My eyes betrayed me as I pulled into the driveway by straying immediately to Jay’s parking spot. His truck was there, and warm lamplight glowed in the windows of the house.

He was home, but tonight, he wasn’t outside to greet me. The garage where he was often working was closed, for once.

My breath hitched, imagining him inside, dancing to the country music he liked to play. One time, I’d caught him grilling out in the yard, singing into his spatula while his steak sizzled. Another time, I’d seen him through the window, singing into a can of cooking spray while he baked something that smelled cinnamony.

He was silly and playful, and there was something about his freedom to be his unique self that…

Okay, fine. That attracted me to him.

Maybe we were less like a trout and a dove and more like a yappy Jack Russell terrier and a derpy golden retriever.

My eyes remained riveted to his kitchen window as I stepped out of my own vehicle and closed the door. There was no sign of him inside. I finally gave up and focused on making it up the stairs to my apartment without face-planting on the remnants of this morning’s ice… when I noticed something on the Welcome mat in front of my apartment door.

It was a glass Tupperware dish with a blue plastic lid. My heart thumped erratically.

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