Page 15 of Sunshine
He shakes his head, laughing. “Never seen a bird so in love with a human before.” He looks over his shoulder. “Except for Herald. You gotta watch for him too.”
“Harold?” I swallow hard as I set the bucket and jug on an antique wood milking stool just inside the screen door. “Who’s Harold?”
“The big gander.”
“Gander?” I tighten my robe as I step out on the deck, letting the screen door slap slowly shut. “That’s a goose, right?”
Jay nods at me. God, there’s a pet goose too.
“He’s not innocent like Jake here.” Jay crouches down to pat the rooster who’s come over to investigate us.Jake scoots away when Jay’s hand comes near, once again in his professional NFL-worthy zigzag. “Herald is protective as all hell and only lets certain people near the barn. Took me six months of bringing him cooked spaghetti before he stopped chasing me and biting my ass.” Another laugh from Jay makes me laugh too, except mine’s the nervous kind. And I can laugh despite the threat of the killer goose because I nevereverplan on going near the barn.
“Avoid Herald. Gotcha.”
“Well, gotta go,” he says, looking at his smartwatch. “Got an econ quiz this morning. I’ll be back after school.”
“Right, good luck. And please thank your mother for the welcome basket. It was a lifesaver.”
Jay gives me a smile and a wave before heading off and I take the still-warm milk into the kitchen. It’s warmth suddenly making me question putting milk in my tea. Another crow from Jake outside makes me forget the weirdness of it though, and I head into the back room to shove a shelf in front of the chicken flap.
“No chickens allowed,” I holler and dust my hands together.
After finally plunking down in my chair with a groan worthy of an octogenarian, I take three moan-worthy sips of my morning brew and open my email. The first thing I see is an email from Paige—well actually it’s two, one from her personal account which I read through and reply to with ease, and one from her business account, which I decide to avoid until later. I am well past my deadline on a three-book deal and even though she’s not pushing me, the publisher is pushing her and I feel like a failure whenever we talk business, which, as the email subject line states, has been too long.
But every attempt I’ve made at writing the last book has failed. And I’m past considering I’ve lost my touch. I know it now. Maybe that’s Gary’s fault, too. Maybe he was my muse. I consider this for only a minute and despite my sour mood, laugh. The only thing Gary could inspire is a pack of lawyers to salivate. I was writing, and selling well,long before him.
Now, if I were considering a man with muse-like qualities, I’d definitely consider the man from last night. He was… pure heat, the kind that burns, but you like it. I’d bet my New York Times Bestselling Author tag he’s inspired a plethora of hearts to beat between thighs, nipples to tighten diamond-hard, and lips to part in gasps of wanton, needy pleasure.
I lick my lips, grabbing my laptop and open my word processor. I’m well into a scene I wouldn’t dare publish, whenthe rumbling and beeping sound of heavy equipment yanks me out of it. Those are things I’d expect to hear from downtown Toronto, not here and certainly not at—I look at the clock on my laptop—eight in the morning. I try my best to ignore it so I can write even a few more sentences, especially since they’re hard to come by these days, but the thud-thud-thud of hammering, shrill buzzing of some sort of saw, and various other noise polluting tools join the cacophony of construction sounds.
“What the bloody hell?” Slamming my laptop shut, I rise, looking out the back window for the source. I can’t see anything out of the ordinary though. The chickens are still pecking away at the too-long grass, unfazed, and the cow, ponies and horses are grazing in the field nonplussed, so…
My phone rings just as I spot a glint of movement at the back of the property between a patch of a few dozen trees. The original house, the one Gran’s grandparents had built, sits back behind the tree line near the more popular road into town.
Glancing at the call display on my cell, thoughts of the old stone foundation and noise coming from that direction vanish and are replaced by angry bitterness.
“You’re not supposed to call me, Gary,” I say in way of a greeting, already starting to pace the kitchen. “That is why I’m paying a large portion of my future retirement savings on lawyers, remember?” I grit my teeth. “And you should bloody remember since my money is paying for yours too.”
“Now, Tess, it’sourmoney, remember?”
I bite back a curse at his sing-song bullshit reply.
“Our money that you never earned a dime of?” I hum. “Such a man that lets his woman pay for everything.” I say the last thing in a breezy way, and he swallows hard enough that I hear it through the line. I know exactly where to hit him. In the manhood. To which there is very little of in myhumble opinion.At least compared to my jogging-pant-wearing neighbor.
“Speaking of that…”
“What? Your lack of manhood?” I quip. “Oh, sorry that was in my head.”
A huff of frustration through the speaker makes me smile. I know I shouldn’t bait him. It’s really not good for my bank account.
“No, Tess, I’m talking aboutourmoney.”He puts extra emphasis on ‘our.’
I gather a breath. “What aboutthemoney, Gary?” I roll my eyes, feeling tension gather behind them.
“I’ve decided not to marry Marie.”
At first there’s a flicker of satisfaction that maybe he was dumped but then I remember I want him to get married. Him getting married is the best possible thing for me. Alimony ends when he remarries.
“Why not?” I blurt, my words filled with way more emotion than I want him privy to.
