Page 43 of Any Second Now
Yesterday I’d posted in a few of the local online groups about her. I didn’t mention what kind of chicken she was—which I now know is a silkie, thanks to Lachlan—or about her white coloring. I figure if someone messages that they’ve lost a white silkie, it’d be a safe bet they’re telling the truth.
The responses I’ve received so far have ranged from annoying(can you tell me what kind of chicken she is and I can check if I’m missing one?)to creepy(where are you located? I can come over and check if she’s mine—are you single by the way?)to hilarious(I train chickens and have an opening in my next session, if you’re interested!).
As annoying as she is, one thing’s for sure: I’m not going to give her to just anyone.
I scoop Megghen up—I had to search online for the right way to pick up a chicken, and she actually likes it when I hold her, surprisingly—and fling open the door to the Pink Palace.
Atticus Knox is standing there in a gray Blizzard hoodie, black athletic shorts, and a backwards baseball cap, wide shoulders looking like they’ll barely pass through my doorway, green eyes twinkling. He’s got a bottle of wine in one hand and a full reusable grocery bag in the other. The sight kinda makes a breath catch in my throat.
“Oh. Hey.” I say a quick silent prayer that he didn’t hear me speaking in Megghen’s chicken voice.
“Going somewhere with the chicken?”
“I’m going to put her outside in her enclosure until it getsdark. She’s been super grumpy all day.” The chicken reaches her head aggressively toward Atticus, who retreats a few feet so I can step out of the RV.
“Does she want me to pet her?” he asks, looking like he’d really rather not.
“No, I don’t think you pet chickens.”
I squat down to unhook the enclosure and push Megghen inside. She spins around and glares at me with an accusatoryboc boc bocunder her breath.
“Nothing will happen to you. I swear.” I close the door and hook it as she stalks back toward me. “We’ll come get you when it’s getting dark.” I stand and step away. Who knows what an angry chicken will do?
“Good call.” Atticus stands next to me, watching Megghen. “I don’t want to be defending her against a bear or a mountain lion.”
“Ugh, don’t say stuff like that.” I turn to him and nod at the goodies in his arms. “What do you got there?”
“Red wine.” He holds out the bottle. “And movie snacks.”
“That’s a lot of snacks. Come on in.”
Atticus follows me into the Pink Palace. It feels much smaller with his six-foot-four frame instead of only my five-foot-four one. He seems to take up more space than he did the other night.
And when I turn to him, he’s close. Really close. I know we were alone here briefly and at the restaurant, but this is where we’ll be hanging out for the night, and it’s mere feet away from my bed.
“I’ll grab the bottle opener.” I open the drawer and pull out the corkscrew he left with me last weekend.
“I brought you a pair of real wine glasses.” He pulls a box with two wine glasses out of his bag and places it on the kitchen table. “They had it at the store right next to the wine, so I thought, why not?”
“What?” I smile and shake my head. “Thank you. But that’s ridiculous. Stop buying me stuff.”
“I like how it makes youblush when I do.”
“I’m not blushing,” I lie as my face heats.
“You are. Now give me that corkscrew.” Atticus holds out his hand and I pass him the device, my fingers grazing his palm. I pause at the delightful sensation of our touch.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, saving me, kind of. I pull my hand away and look at my phone. It’s the text chain with Lucy and January.
January
Raleigh and Atticus sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g…
Lucy
First comes love…
January
