Page 17 of The Witch & the Hound
I snorted.Bet it does. Does Tail file incident reports too?
Tail writes better reports than I do.
I giggled, shook my head, and went back to cutting neat squares.
By noon, I’d packaged a dozen orders for shipping, my little e-trike trailer stacked high with brown boxes tied in twine. The ride into town was bumpy but brisk, the October wind sharp on my cheeks.
The streets were crowded with fall tourists, leaf-peepers with expensive cameras, pumpkin-pickers dragging kids toward the farm stands, and a handful of out-of-towners gawking atSeaview's witchy window displays like they’d stumbled into a theme park.
I waved to Mrs. Whitaker at her boutique when I dropped a stack of soap off for her “spiritual cleansing” basket displays, then pedaled on to the post office. The clerk barely looked at me as I stacked my boxes, muttered my thanks, and rode off again.
By midafternoon, I was back at the workshop, printing labels and wrapping the last of the day’s orders. My hands moved automatically, but my eyes kept darting to the phone, waiting for the next buzz.
It always came.
What does the rosemary one smell like?
Like rosemary. And lemon. And salt air.
Like you, then.
I pressed my palm to my burning face. “Oh my God,” I whispered, laughing into the quiet.
The day slipped by faster than usual, work broken up by his blunt, oddly funny texts. By the time I carried the last box back into the house and kicked off my shoes, the sun was gone, the sea air cooler, the moon sharp against the dark.
I curled up on the couch with a blanket and a reheated bowl of soup, phone in my hand.
What are you doing?I typed.
The dots blinked, then:Watching a movie.
Which one?
A pause.The Thing.
I laughed so hard I nearly spilled soup on my blanket.Wait. You’re watching The Thing? With Kurt Russell?
Yes.
“Oh my God,” I whispered, fumbling for the remote. My streaming service pulled it up in seconds, the little blue play button taunting me.
Don’t start without me,I texted.Let’s watch it together.
His reply was immediate.Three… two… one.
I hit play, and suddenly we were in the same movie, in different houses. His texts came steady as the film rolled.
Why are the humans so stupid?
Why is there no soap in the Arctic?
That dog is suspicious.
I texted back with giggles muffled into my blanket.Suspicious? That’s your professional opinion?
I'm never wrong.
When the first jump scare hit, I yelped and nearly launched my bowl, which had graduated from soup to popcorn, across the room. My phone buzzed a second later.
