Page 8 of Peacocks

I waited while he grabbed a hoodie. To be fair, I tried not watching his chest and abs while he pulled it on, but once again, it would’ve been wrong not to appreciate the glory of it up close and personal, in a way I rarely got to. I was only human, after all.

As he slid his feet into his shoes, I cleared my throat. “So, a couple years back, my friend John over in Nuthatch accidentally got peacock eggs from the farm supply instead of turkey eggs—don’t ask, John’s got a lot of things going on—and when thedamned things hatched, they were definitely not turkeys. Since all the chicks were male, he decided to keep ’em and make the best of it. He was gonna start that rental company I mentioned once the birds were old enough to grow tail feathers.” I winced. “But it seems like Dave’s lungs grew along with his train. He’s gottenloud, and he kept squawking at John’s dog?—”

“That’s odd. Peafowl aren’t usually noisy outside of mating season,” Lane said, holding the door open for me. “I wonder if the dog was scaring him.”

“Maybe.” I jogged down the steps and over to the side door of the garage. “But Dave’s not supposed to be doing his tail feather thing outside of mating season either, and here we are. Maybe Dave’s mating senses are going haywire, and he forgets what he’s supposed to be looking for in a mate.”

As soon as I opened the door, the bird in question began squawking at us. Within moments of catching sight of the gorgeous man behind me, Dave’s tail feathers came whipping up too, spreading majestically like a magician waving a deck of fancy cards.

“Same, Dave,” I muttered to the bird under my breath. “Same.”

Lane took in the sight of the makeshift bird enclosure I’d created in the space. “You must have bought up all the baby gates in town.”

I shook my head. “Nah. John picked ’em up at the Walmart over in Lafayette. It’s the only way to keep them from messing with my tools.”

I’d shoved all of my woodworking tools, machinery, and half-crafted Entwinin’ wreaths to one side of the garage while the other half was now a peacock habitat.

“Wow.” Lane ignored the birds, his gaze drawn to the Entwinin’ wreath that lay on my workbench. It was nothing special yet—a simple twelve-inch wreath in the shape of a Celticknot, just waiting for someone to take it and add their own special stamp with flowers or charms of some kind—but he seemed stunned. “You made this? For your festival? Is it… is it for someone special?”

“Well, yes… and no.” I grinned. “The Entwinin’ is a chance to show the most important person or people in your life that you love ’em. So I guess you might say that every person who receives a wreath is special tosomeone, but if you mean special tome, in a romantic kind of way? Nah. Never twined a vine for my own sweetheart before.”

I’d actually never had a sweetheart to twine one for, if I were being totally honest, but I worried that saying so might sound pathetic, so I hurried on.

“Giving a wreath’s not always romantic—some folks give wreaths to their closest friends ’cause that kind of love’s no less important—but it’s always about creating something that symbolizes how much the relationship means to you. It’s a real individual thing. The shape you choose matters, the type of wisteria branches you use matters—you gotta get the whippy ones for best results, and you can’t get those late in the season—and the things you decorate it with matter too. It’s supposed to be a labor of love.But…”

My grin turned wry. “The truth is, Lane, that there are lots more folks in the Thicket with love in their hearts than there are folks who can twine a vine. Not that anyone expects perfection, of course—the real perfection is the love that the maker has for their Entwined.” I shrugged. “But nobody should have to lose a finger to a penknife just to show their love, so I always make up a bunch of extra wreaths for folks to decorate.”

Lane looked like he might have some follow-up questions, but just then, Dave let out a mighty squawk that suggested he was not okay with being ignored.

I found myself laughing. “Keep your feathers on, Dave.” I shook my head at Lane. “You can guess why John was a desperate man when he came to me this morning. The squawking is upsetting his wife and every animal at his place. Worst possible time for me to acquire new family members since the Entwinin’ is coming up, and it’s looking to be bigger than ever this year, but I agreed to take them all ’cause I couldn’t separate Dave from his bros, you know? I put them in here because I didn’t know if it was okay to leave them out in the cold.” I gestured to the four animals making themselves at home in the musty space. “I asked my friend Diesel about it, but he keeps his chickens in a freaking palace, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they had their own Netflix account. I’m not sure he’s the best person to take advice from.”

Lane climbed into the enclosure. “Well, peafowl are pretty hardy as far as the cold goes, but they’ll want a roost. Even a broomstick or two-by-four mounted a few feet off the ground would work. They like to tuck their feet up under their breast to stay warm.”

He approached the troublemaker, who was still hell-bent on shouting over us. “I can’t believe I couldn’t hear this from upstairs.”

“Not yet, anyway. I think he’s been getting louder since he got here,” I said grimly. I pointed at the ceiling. “But I made sure the place was really well insulated before you moved in. I’d hate to disturb you.”

Lane shot me a smile that was sweeter than any smile he’d ever given me. “You really would, wouldn’t you?”

I lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. With Lane looking at me like that, the squirming feeling was back a hundredfold, and it was having all kinds of predictable results on me. “It’s not that complicated,” I said.

“No,” he said softly. “I guess it’s not.”

I frowned, but Lane had already turned back to the peacocks. “These baby gates might discourage the peacocks from walking around, but you should know they can definitely fly over them if they want to. After tonight’s cold weather, we might want to move them out back so they can roost in the oak tree. There are some branches on that one they’d love, and the backyard is fully fenced, right?”

I watched him squat down to inspect the screaming peacock. Lane’s hands were gentle as he smoothed his fingers over the bird’s body. “Dave seems bright. Obviously full of energy.”

I grunted. “Thisenergyis going to keep both of us up all night if he gets any louder.”

Lane turned to smile at me over his shoulder. “If the insulation isn’t enough, you could always try earplugs.”

“Then I wouldn’t be able to hear you if you need me,” I said without thinking. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wished them back in. “I mean… heh. Not… not that you’d needme. I just meant, what if someone murdered you? Loudly? Or like… used a chainsaw? I’ve heard about that.”

Lane’s eyes had gotten progressively wider as my mouth had gone off on its little joy ride. “What if I’mchainsaw massacred?”

“That wouldsuck,” I emphasized.

Lane tilted his head at me, the edge of his lips quirking up a little. “Little bit.”

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