Page 51 of Take Me to the Wedding

He scattered the feed around the yard, and sure enough, the hens popped out of their condos and began pecking at it.

I took a basket and followed cautiously after Mia.

“Got my eggs!” Lilly said shortly, holding out her basket, which somehow held six. “Aren’t they pretty?”

“Nice,” Caleb said, lifting one out of her basket.

“So,” Tyler said, “did you know that you can tell what color eggs a hen lays?” He looked considerably less miserable than last night, thanks to the modern wonder of allergy meds.

Ani flicked her gaze up, all interested and wide-eyed.

“You look at their ears,” Caleb said.

“Chickens don’t have ears, silly,” Lilly said.

“Caleb’s right.” Tyler pointed out the small oval of skin next to a chicken’s ear hole. “If it’s brown, they lay brown eggs, and if it’s white, the eggs are white.”

“Cool. You’re so smart, Ty,” Ani said with a wink. Tyler smiled, proud to be complimented for his smarts. I was glad the two of them seemed to be getting along better today.

The couples were together, except for Gabe and Jason, who’d taken a hard pass on breakfast, so all looked well on the Western front. As for me, I walked with purpose around the coops, getting up the courage to stick my hand in one to grab my breakfast.

After most of us had found eggs, Lilly said, “I’d love to get out of this hen yard before I get my tennies messed up.” She called to Caleb, “You coming?”

“Yeah. Sure, as soon as I grab a couple of eggs, I’ll be right there.”

“’Kay,” she said. I’ll save you a seat at breakfast.”

Okay. I didn’t know what had changed after the square dance, but she actually seemed eager to be with Caleb this morning, and that was a good thing, right?

Caleb was checking for some eggs nearby when I reached into a nearby coop to grab an egg, just as Farmer Brown had directed. A sudden stabbing pain pierced my index finger. I withdrew my hand from the coop as if I’d been burned or stung and gave a cry, stumbling backward. Caleb caught me, preventing me from falling on my ass, just as a chicken flew out of the coop, squawking angrily.

I felt two things at the same time. The first, I admit, was pain. A trickle of blood dripped from the tip of my finger. I didn’t want to put it in my mouth—I mean, chicken saliva and all that—and I certainly didn’t want to wipe it on my shorts, so I stood there, holding my injured finger with my other hand.

Caleb was at my back, hard as a tank and so big I felt completely enveloped by him.

For one millisec, I felt… safe. Breathless. Embarrassed. And very aware of his hands on my arms, holding me, steadying me. Preventing me from falling into the hay under the coops which I felt certain would be full of surprises I didn’t want to encounter.

But I didn’t need safe. I regained my balance and examined my finger. “I think I just got pecked.”

Brent walked over, took a quick look, and said matter-of-factly, “Some of the hens think they’re hatching actual chicks,” he said. “I should’ve told you not to reach in if the hens haven’t left. Sorry about that.”

“Not your fault,” I said.

“Did you just reach under an actual chicken to get the eggs?” Lilly asked, somehow right next to Caleb, wide-eyed.

I laughed it off. “I guess I stuck my hand into places where it doesn’t belong.” And into other people’s business where itdefinitelydidn’t belong, I added to myself. I decided I didn’t want to know what happened between Caleb and Lilly anymore.

That was my job. To help them connect. But now that they seemed to be connecting, it was painful.

The chicken who’d pecked me was hopping around near the coops, still protesting loudly. I didn’t blame her. Still cupping my bleeding finger, I bent over the chicken crates and said “I’m so sorry, girlfriend. I get it.” She was unimpressed with my apology, because she flew right back into her coop.

“Are you sympathizing with that chicken?” Caleb asked, brow lifted.

I straightened out. “I invaded her privacy. I tried to take something she’s been working on for a long time.”

Lilly walked up and stood beside Caleb. “It’s just a confused chicken who, like, thinks she laid an actual egg.”

“She did lay an actual egg,” I said. “It’s just not the kind that will turn into a chick, but she doesn’t know that.”

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