Page 2 of Fumiko and the Finicky Nestmate
Fumiko immediately knew what she meant. Maybe because they were sisters. Maybe because they’d had this discussion so many times before. “Not that long.”
“I overheard the girls talking about some men coming here.” Zuzu dimpled. “A whole group of guests. That’s how it starts.”
“It can’t be,” Fumiko muttered, trying to think back. “Wasn’t Dru here for the last time?”
Zuzu hummed in that way that meant she liked her idea better.
“And they always send a healer first. Checkups and teas and things.”
Her sister immediately brightened. “A healer from a horse clan is with them!”
Fumiko’s confusion doubled. “Wouldn’t there be a letter?”
Zuzu vanished, only to return two moments later with her hands full of unopened mail. “One of these, you think?”
She shook her head, as if denial could make her contract go away. “I guess I’d better ask Diva.”
“I hope it is.” Zuzu peeped at her from under thick lashes. “Maybe one of them will fall in love with you. Or me. Or us.”
“You’re such a romantic,” she accused. Not for the first time.
Fumiko wasn’t sure if all trees lived and breathed love stories or if Zuzu was a special case. But reaver contracts weren’t romantic. They were a practical necessity.
That’s when a familiar rattle and squeak claimed all of Fumiko’s attention. The afternoon courier had to park his truck at the entrance to Jacaranda Circle, which was a pedestrian-only zone. So deliveries were loaded onto a metal rolling cart with a squeaky wheel that protested every crack in the sidewalk.
“Umm … I should go check.” Fumiko tried to tone down her eagerness. “In case there’s something for me.”
Zuzu kissed her cheek and let her go.
Snagging a beaded shawl on the way through her bedroom, Fumiko clattered down six short flights of stairs, turning sideways to edge around an overflowing steamer trunk on one landing and past a bristling umbrella stand on the next.
In the gathering room, where meals were shared, one of the interns was lifting knickknacks as she dusted. Fumiko offered a breathless smile. “Hello, Antigone.”
“Good afternoon, my darling. In a hurry?” There was a teasing light in the woman’s brown eyes.
“Not a big hurry,” she fudged. “Was there something you needed?”
“Yes, actually. I was wondering what you might like for dinner tonight.” Antigone was sixty-something and a preservationist, but she was also into yoga and yoghurt and healthy habits in general. More than any of the rest, she fretted over Fumiko’s diet.
“I don’t care.” Fumiko edged past a cart stacked with mismatched coffee cups. “Anything’s fine.”
“Did you eat lunch?”
“I wasn’t hungry.”
Antigone shook her microfiber dusting cloth admonishingly. “You need to eat. You should be eating more.”
“I will,” Fumiko called over her shoulder as she escaped out her front door.
A wide walkway skirted the low rectangular building that butted up against the lighthouse. It had been longer at one point, but nearly half of it had been dismantled a few centuries back to make room for Zuzu’s expanding girth. She was bigger around than the lighthouse, now. And proud of it.
Fumiko stopped and stared at all the guesthouse’s windows and doors, which were open to catch the sea breezes. The interns only ever cleaned and freshened those rooms when they were expecting company.
Was Zuzu right?
She really needed to check with Diva.
Easing through a crystal-frosted gate, Fumiko slipped beyond one of the barriers that hid Zuzu from passersby and prying eyes. Three establishments were arranged along a cul-de-sac. All part of the camouflage. All run by Betweeners.
