Page 27 of Purring for Her Lion
I stare at him, forgetting the chickens for a second. “Was that…did you just laugh? At my joke?”
He looks down, the corners of his mouth threatening a smile. “They do seem organized.”
I’m still reeling when we hit his property line, where my chickens are now busy tearing up his perfect grass.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, already shooing them back. “I swear, they’re doing this on purpose.”
He just nods, thoughtful. “We need to rethink your entire setup.”
“The coop?”
“Everything.” His voice is pure conviction. “Your homestead layout is inefficient. Vulnerable. The dragon will need space. Security.”
I blink, trying to keep up. “Are we talking a coop repair or a total renovation?”
His eyes lock on mine, unwavering. “Both.”
So instead of spending an hour setting up the incubator, I end up watching Roarke sketch a full homestead redesign on my kitchen table. The dragon egg sits nearby, humming with quiet presence. Roarke’s hands are huge, but precise, making neat lines on printer paper I scavenged from my dusty office.
“Chicken coop here.” He marks a spot far from the current coop. “Higher ground. Better drainage. Further from predator access points.”
I peer over his shoulder, trying to follow. “But that’s where I wanted my herb garden.”
“Herbs go here.” He taps another spot, no hesitation. “Morning sun. Sheltered from wind. Close to kitchen for convenience.”
I don’t know if I’m impressed or steamrolled. “Have you been planning this since you first saw my place?”
His ear twitches. “Maybe.”
Of course.
“And what’s this?” I point to a big area labeled with a symbol I don’t recognize.
“Dragon enclosure.” Like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “For when it hatches.”
Right. Because soon I’ll have a fire-breathing lizard running around. Just another day in paradise.
“And here,” he adds, “goat pen.”
I blink. “Goats? I don’t have goats.”
“Yet.” He says it like it’s already decided. “You’ll want them. Good for milk. Clearing underbrush.”
“Will the dragon eat them?” I ask, only half-joking.
He gives me a flat look. “No. Blue mountain dragons are primarily fish and game eaters.”
“Oh. Good.” I look at the plan. It’s a lot. Overwhelming, but also… exciting. Like he sees something here I never dared to imagine. “This is going to take forever.”
“Several weeks.” He’s matter-of-fact. “Working around my clinic schedule.”
A little jolt goes through me at the idea of him here, every day, for weeks. “You don’t have to?—”
“I do.” Simple. “The egg is a shared responsibility now.”
Our eyes meet over the plans, something thick and unspoken passing between us. We’re in this together, whether we chose it or not. I look away, cheeks burning.
“Well, if you’re going to be working here, you need fuel.” I escape to the kitchen, clinging to normalcy. Cooking—I can do that. “I’ll set up the crock pot. We can work and eat all day.”
