Page 16 of Pumpkin Patch Pack
Delete it. Too abrupt.
Try again: “Good evening, Hope you don’t mind a goat visitor.”
Fuck, that sounds weird.
Finally, I settle on something that doesn’t make me sound like a complete idiot.
As I hit send, I spot Maple trotting toward Emma’s cottage, her white coat visible even in the darkness.
I should go after her.
But then Emma’s door opens, spilling warm light across the grass. She steps outside, laughing as Maple bounds up to her. The sound of her laughter, soft and genuine, reaches me across the distance.
I retreat into the shadows, watching as she kneels to pet the goat, her face transformed by her smile. Something twists in my chest, painful and sweet all at once.
I can keep my distance.
I’ve spent years mastering the art of holding myself apart.
But standing here in the darkness, watching her gentle hands stroke Maple’s fur, listening to her murmur words I can’t quite catch, I’m faced with a more difficult question.
Do I want to?
6
Emma
Aflash of white catches my eye—Maple, somehow free again, prancing across the lawn in the twilight. She stops and looks directly at my window, as if she knows I’m watching.
“Troublemaker,” I murmur, but I’m smiling.
My phone pings again. Another notification, but not from Instagram this time. It’s a text message from a number I don’t recognize.
Unknown: Maple escaped. Probably heading your way. Don’t let her in unless you want another incident. -Liam
I stare at the message, my heart doing an unexpected little skip. How did he get my number?
Then my brain catches up—right, the hiring paperwork. Of course, they all have it. The real question is why the thought of Liam texting me makes my stomach do weird fluttery things instead of sending me into full panic mode?
As I’m contemplating how to respond, there’s a soft headbutt against my door, followed by an insistent bleating.
I laugh, grabbing a jacket and heading outside.
Maple stands on my tiny porch looking thoroughly pleased with herself.
“How do you keep getting out?” I ask, crouching down to her level. She responds by pressing her head against my hand, demanding scratches.
I pull out my phone and text Liam back:
Me: She’s here. No stolen items… yet.
The reply comes almost immediately.
Liam: I’ll come get her. Sorry.
I look at Maple, who’s now sitting contentedly at my feet, her pupils fixed on me with what seems like affection.
“Your keeper is coming for you,” I tell her, scratching behind her ears. She leans into my touch, eyes half-closing in bliss.
