Page 2 of A Fowl Match

I am mortified.

“Are you okay?” his deep voice murmurs. He reaches a hand out to help me up. I can almost make out a look of concern marred on his otherworldly features. I am absolutely lost in his gaze. I look from his outstretched hand and back to his eyes. Willing myself to take his hand in assistance, I do so reluctantly. I grasp his hand loosely as his fingers latch mine.

He tugs me straight up in one swift motion as if I weigh nothing. It takes the breath right out of my chest. I sway on my feet, willing them to stay planted on the ground. His fingers are still locked with mine. They steady me in place so I’m grounded to the spot.

I’m speechless, willing my brain for any semblance of a thought.

Nothing. I can’t think of one thing to say.

His eyes continue to search mine—waiting—probably looking for some sort of sign that I’m okay. Oh, that’s right, he asked me a question!

Speak Violet. Say something to the handsome stranger or he will think you’re crazy.

He probably already thinks that.

“I’m alright. Thank you.” My voice sounds scratchy and quiet. The white lie feels bitter on my tongue—I’m the furthest from okay right now. It’s not because of my massive fall or the shambles of the once beautiful pots, though. I’m used to falling on flat surfaces, leaving damage in my wake. It’s the presence of the man before me that has me scatterbrained.

“Are you sure? You don’t seem okay.” He looks perplexed. “Maybe next time you should try and watch where you’re going. You hit me in the head with one of those pots.”

So that's what that clunking noise was. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Why do I always make bad decisions? “I’m so sorry! Areyouokay? Do you need to see a doctor?” I fire off questions sporadically, hoping I didn’t give him a concussion with that hit. It was a hard one, because those things shot through the air. “I can take you over to Dr. Newman. Her practice is right across the street. She can check you out and make sure you’re okay.”

“No doctor. I’m all good. It was one of the plastic ones. You shouldn’t have been carrying that many anyway.” He sighs, looking down at our hands. I didn’t realize I was still holding his hand.

His expression changes and he suddenly releases my grasp. The warm embrace dissipates from my shaky hand, leaving it cold and empty. He appears to have come to an internal decision that I’m fine. His nonchalant shrug and spin away is enough of a sign. Then he continues down the sidewalk as if nothing occurred between us.

I look down at my feet and the pots surrounding me. “Wait a minute!” I jog down the sidewalk after him. “Can I buy you a drink or something? I owe you an apology.”

He turns back as I catch up to him, out of breath. “No worries, honestly, there's no reason to apologize. Although the offer is tempting, I have too much going on today to stop for a drink.”

In my mind that translates to,I’d rather do anything else that doesn’t involve you.

“Oh, well, I hope you have a good day!”

One of his eyebrows goes up. “You too, Miss.”

Miss?Do I look like a Miss to him? I guess he’s more interested in running away than knowing my actual name.

As he retreats, I can’t help but notice his gray suit and dress shoes again. They look so out of place. It makes me wonder who he really is. He isn’t from here. I would have recognized him. And to forget a guy as enthralling as him,no way. Maybe he’s a local that I’ve just never met? Or a tourist showing up? He doesn’t look the type to go hiking, especially being in a suit, but what do I know. I guess I’ll never find out.

I collect the broken pieces littering the ground and throw them in the trash, saving the few pots that survived to bring back to The Not So Secret Garden (NSSG), my shop.

“Thanks for the help, Grumpy,” I mutter under my breath sarcastically at his retreating form. I breathe a sigh of relief and suddenly feel a bit better. One that I seem to have been holding onto throughout our entire interaction.

Chapter 2

Dustin

“Whatthehell?”Igrumble.

I slap my hand against the nightstand with my eyes still closed. I need to shut off the annoying ass sound. It continues a crescendo.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

In my sleep haze my eyes flicker open. Through my blurred vision I stare at my phone screen. Four thirty in the morning. The noise isn’t coming from my phone. It’s coming from the front door.

That’s when my surroundings come into view. And it hit’s me hard. I’m on the farm, not in my apartment in New York City.

I flip over the cover and drag my feet across the carpet, down a few steps to the front door. I open it, the dark sky filters through the gap.

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