Page 48 of The Pumpkin Spice Cafe
‘Here you go. Nice to have someone else serve you a drink every once in a while, right?’ Estelle leaned against one of the columns of the big wrap-around porch.
‘Yes, very. Thank you so much, but I was just thinking I should probably go.’
‘Go? But Logan should be back any minute.’
‘That’s okay. I don’t want to bother him. I’ll just talk to him some other time.’
Estelle raised a snow-white eyebrow, not at all convinced.
‘I’m not like everyone else in this batty little town,’ she said. ‘If you and my grandson have something going on, I don’t need to know about it.’
‘I ... we...’
‘Exactly. No need to discuss it.’ Estelle wiped her hands on the frilly apron she’d put on over her tie-dyed sweatshirt and neon-pink leggings. ‘But I do think you should stay. Logan’s been shy ever since he was small. It always makes me happy to see him make a friend.’
Jeanie smiled at the older woman. She couldn’t let this nice grandma down by running off now. Also, the thought of a shy little Logan was doing something mushy to her insides. She focused on the chickens.
‘Do they have names?’
‘I’m sure they do. That boy names everything, but I can’t keep track.’
Thinking of big, sturdy, bearded Logan as ‘that boy’ nearly made her laugh out loud. ‘Did he always like animals?’
‘Oh, yes. He used to bring all sorts of critters home. Birds with broken wings, squirrel pups without mothers –don’t need a psychology degree to figure that one out. Anyway, I had to draw the line the time he brought a bat into the house thinking it was injured. Turns out the damn thing was fine, just cold. Once it was nice and toasty in our house it shot out of the shoebox and started flying around the house shrieking like a, well, like a bat out of hell.’
Jeanie laughed, covering her face with her hand. ‘Not a bat! Terrifying.’
Estelle nodded. ‘Henry managed to chase him out, but from then on all rescues were relegated to the barn.’
‘Makes sense to me.’
The sound of truck tires on the gravel driveway ended the conversation.
‘There he is now. I’ll let you two chat.’ Estelle winked at her like she did not believe for one second that Jeanie was only here to chat. Great. Even Logan’s nana was onto her farmer-seducing ways.
Jeanie didn’t know if she should get up and meet Logan halfway down the drive or if she should sit here awkwardly and wait.
She went with sitting awkwardly.
A little fuzzy chicken hopped into her lap while she waited, making her feel a bit better. She patted its fluffy head, and it made a happy little coo-chirp sound. Meanwhile, Logan stepped out of the truck, not noticing her at all.
She watched him say hello to –what was, according to Estelle – an alpaca. Logan scratched the animal between the ears and Jeanie could swear the alpaca smiled. He made his way the rest of the way down the dirt path to the house, eyes on his boots until he was nearly to her.
By this time, she felt absurd for not calling out to him sooner, but she now had two chickens in her lap, and she was pretty sure one had climbed the steps and was looking for a way to perch on her head.
His gaze met hers and his eyes widened in surprise. He took her in, the whole ridiculous scene, Jeanie in her new, pre-torn jeans, her hair still tied back from work, with an assortment of birds twittering around her. One might have been drinking her tea. Was that bad for chickens? Oh, no. She did not want to be responsible for killing one of Logan’s chickens. Jeanie tried to shoo it away.
‘No, no. That’s not for you little chicken. You don’t want to get sick, do you?’ The chicken cocked its head and stared at her with beady eyes. ‘Shoo.’ She waved her hand toward it and the chicken hopped up onto her arm like it was a perch. Well, damn it. She placed this chicken in her lap to join the others. Good thing these were weird tiny chickens, or she’d be out of room.
She looked back up; Logan was still staring at her.
He hadn’t budged. He was just frozen, watching her. His mouth tugged up in the corner.
She grinned back. ‘I think your chickens like me. These are chickens, right? They’re weird.’
‘Silkie chickens,’ he said, striding toward her, a sort of shell-shocked look on his face.
‘Ooh ... fancy,’ she teased.
