Page 11 of Where the Little Birds Go (Little Bird Duet 1)

“It’s okay,” I assure him, kicking a pebble with the tip of my knock off Converse. “Like I said, I don’t live too far from here. Plus, it’s mostly lit the whole way.”

“Mostly,” he repeats. “I’ve already made it my civic duty to walk with you. Unless you want to walk across the street and let me get my car. I won’t even kidnap you.”

Rolling my eyes, I glance over at him. “I appreciate that, but it’s okay.”

“What if I offered you candy?”

“Do you drive a white van too?”

He snorts. “White Jeep, actually.”

Now I’m laughing. “My brother once told me I’d get easily kidnapped if someone offered me free pizza. Sad thing is, he’s probably not wrong.”

“Does that mean you want the ride?”

“Jeeps do have windows…” I shake my head and keep walking, a smile on my face. “But, like I said, I prefer walking.”

“Is your brother older or younger?”

“Older.”

“Is he your only sibling?”

I nod.

“What’s his name?”

“Gavin.”

We walk for a few seconds in silence.

Then he breaks it with, “This is the part where you ask me if I have any siblings. The answer is no by the way. I do have a cat named Fred though. He likes to steal the strings from all my hoodies and hoard them under my bed.”

My eyes go to his hoodie before I giggle and meet his eyes. “You have a cat named Fred?”

He pulls out his phone and opens his photo gallery before showing me an array of adorable pictures featuring a chubby yellow tiger cat. One of them even shows a pile of strings next to him like they’re his most prized possessions.

“He was supposed to be mine,” he explains, shrugging. “My mom took a liking to him and they get along better. He just uses me for my hoodies.”

I’ve always wanted a cat. When I was six, I smuggled a stray one into my room using my backpack. It didn’t take long for Mom to figure it out because the cat was making weird noises and smelled bad. It was friendly enough with the brightest blue eyes I’d ever seen. Mom fell into a bad allergy attack when she found it and told my Dad to take it to the local shelter.

“We have a dog named Buddy. He’s a chocolate lab and one of the sweetest animals. I know he prefers Gavin to me. He sleeps in his bed all the time even though we’re not supposed to have animals in them. Mom gave up that fight a long time ago.”

We get further down Main Street until some of the other smaller businesses like the art gallery light up the street. People mill about and laugh at something before breaking apart and going their separate ways for the night.

“I’ve always wanted a cat,” I admit, even though at least a minute has passed since the conversation lulled into silence.

“Why haven’t you gotten one?”

“My mom is allergic.”

He hums out a reply.

Another minute passes before he says, “I guess you could get your cat fix from Fred sometime. He loves the attention.”

I slow down, stumbling when my shoe catches on uneven pavement. Corbin grabs my arm to steady me, not letting go until I’m on stable feet again.

“You want me to come to your house?”

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