Page 200 of Mountain Daddy
She rolls her eyes but crosses to the door leading into the garage.
“I could’ve gotten my own,” I grumble.
If I’d known he was going to make Kendra get it, I would’ve insisted.
Joe waves me off, turning to the grill. “She’ll get one for herself.” He pulls the cling wrap off the tray of raw steaks, then looks out into the yard. “Ha, I was wondering if you’d come out for this.”
I turn to see who Joe is talking to and spot a pretty little fox standing just a few feet from the bottom of the deck stairs, looking up at us.
I’ve seen dozens, probably hundreds of foxes. But never one this close or this still.
“Buddy, this is Rocky. Rocky, this is Buddy.”
The fox lets out a scratchy noise that makes him sound like he’s spent his life smoking a pack a day.
“Hey, Buddy.” I keep my voice quiet.
His head tilts, then he darts into the doghouse Joe already told me about.
The deck door slides open behind me. “Should’ve brought another antler.”
Kendra’s voice is soft but not timid. And I feel myself holding my breath again as I turn to face her.
“He—” I clear my throat. “He liked it?”
She nods and holds a bottle out to me, another for herself in her other hand. “He loves it.”
I take the offered beer and turn my gaze back to the doghouse and the furry muzzle sticking out of the open door. “I’m glad.”
The bottle hisses as I twist the top off. And I watch the nose twitch as I lift my beer and take a pull.
The liquid cools my throat.
“You need any help?” Joe asks Kendra.
I turn back to watch the pair.
Kendra shakes her head. “The brussels sprouts are in the oven. I just need to mix up the glaze.” My nose scrunches, and Kendra notices. “Is there a problem, Luther?”
Luther.
Not Rocky.
A thin layer of my self-hatred peels away from my heart.
“No problem.” I hate brussels sprouts. But I’d rather eat them with every meal for the rest of my life than tell her. “Sounds perfect.”
My name will always sound perfect when she says it.
She narrows her eyes, like she’s seeing through my lies.
So I distract her. “Here.” I hand her my already open bottle.
She takes it in her empty hand, freeing up both of mine.
“You want to trade?” She lifts a brow, looking pointedly down at the beer I’ve already started.
“No, just don’t let go.”
