What issue?
And push the phone back into my pocket.
Nora’s already in my backyard when I step out, broom in hand, ready for battle. The sun has barely broken the darkness of night into the gray of dawn, but she’s here, just like I knew she’d be—hands on her hips, wearing those ridiculous boots that look like they’ve seen better days and another one of her odd nightgowns from the sixteenth century.
I wonder if she’s wearing anything under that. Probably not—she’s mentioned she sleeps naked.
Fuck.
“Jericho,” she says, like my name’s a curse word. “I think he’s hiding under your shed.”
“Yeah? Last time you said he was in the bushes, and he nearly took my head off when I checked.” I lean the broom over my shoulder, squinting toward the shed. “You are not to be trusted anymore.”
This time of day is when we revert to bickering like we still dislike each other and consider it foreplay of what is to come. Eventually.
She rolls her eyes, flipping her messy braid over one shoulder. “You could just say thank you, you know. I didn’t have to warn you and could just watch you get eaten alive.”
I snort. “Oh, sure. Like you weren’t going to poke me with your pitchfork the moment the rooster attacks.”
She shakes the makeshift weapon in her hand. “Look,either we work together, or he keeps waking us both up at five a.m. since it’sourbird, you know,” she adds with a grin, reminding me about our earlier conversation.
A scream rings out—sharp, smug, and very rooster-like. It echoes from under the shed. We both freeze.
“Okay, truce,” I mutter. “But if he charges, you’re on your own.” I regard her with a lazy smile to confirm that I won’t move a finger if he attacks.
Rolling her eyes, she pushes the pitchfork in front of her and heads toward the shed. Nora crouches low, trying to peer under the wooden slats, and I can’t help but notice the way her nose crinkles up in concentration.
“I think I see him,” she whispers, bringing me back to the hunt. “He’s—oh, nope, never mind, that’s just a big rock.”
I groan, leaning my broom against the shed. “You’re hopeless.”
“It’s not like you’ve managed to catch him so far.”
She gives me this look—one that’s half challenging, half… well, I don’t know, something softer. But before I can figure it out, there’s a flurry of wings, a squawk like the world’s angriest alarm clock, and the rooster shoots out from under the shed, right between us.
“Get him!” Nora yells, and suddenly we’re both stumbling over each other in a desperate attempt to corner the bird. She lunges, I swing the broom, and the rooster zigzags like he’s been training for this his whole life.
He darts left, and we follow, nearly colliding with a garden gnome I didn’t even know I had. Nora trips, and I catch her elbow before she faceplants onto the ground. It’s almost reflex, and for a second, she steadies herself against me, and her eyes flash up to mine.
“Thanks,” she says, breathless.
“Yeah, don’t get used to it,” I mutter, but there’s a grin tugging at my lips. I shove her back into the chase before I can think about it too much. This… touching is too dangerous, especially under the cover of night. Especially after the tenderness we showed to each other. Hunting the rooster is comfortable, convenient. Something that doesn’t require much contact. Usually.
The rooster, meanwhile, is making a break for Nora’s yard, slipping through a gap in the fence like a feathered Houdini. We scramble after him, practically falling over each other as we try to block his escape, but he’s too fast. By the time we burst through to the other side, he’s perched triumphantly on top of Nora’s porch railing, chest puffed out like he’s just won a medal.
We both stop, panting and glaring up at the bird. He cocks his head, gives us one more ear-piercing crow, and flaps up to the fence again, disappearing into the morning mist.
Nora bends over, hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath. “You know… I’m starting to think he’s smarter than both of us.”
“Starting to?” I swipe a hand through my hair, leaning on my broom. “I think he’s got a degree in tormenting neighbors.”
She straightens up, looking at me like she’s deciding whether to laugh or smack me. “Well, at least it’s a temporary truce.”
“Yeah, yeah, until tomorrow, when he wakes us up again, and we start the war all over again.”
“Same time then?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.
I roll my eyes. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
