My heart flutters as we near her street, knowing our time together is almost up.
"Would it be weird if I asked to see the ducks?" The question comes out before I can overthink it.
She glances over, surprise softening her features. "You want to do it tonight?"
"I mean, only if it's fine with you." I try for easy, like my entire happiness doesn't hinge on spending ten more minutes with her. "Just miss the little terrorists."
"It's fine." Her smile grows a bit wicked. "You're already here. Might as well check on your children you abandoned."
"Ouch." I press a hand to my chest. "Though fair."
She turns onto her street, the familiar cottage coming into view. Christmas lights outline her windows, crooked enough to make my fingers itch to fix them. That used to be my job—yearly light hanging while she directed from below, usually with hot chocolateand a running commentary about my "concerning lack of regard for ladder safety."
"Just so we're clear," she says as we pull into her driveway, "I'm not saving you if Salem tries to murder you again. You deserve the wrath."
"What happened to forgiveness?" I follow her to the door, watching her fumble with her keys in that endearing way she always does.
"Oh, I might forgive you eventually." She finally gets the door open. "Salem, on the other hand . . ."
As if summoned by his name, nine pounds of furry vengeance materializes on the entry table. His yellow eyes narrow at me, and the low growl that rumbles from his throat carries years of accumulated grievances.
"Missed you too, buddy," I say, right before he launches himself at my face.
"Salem!" Ivy's voice holds zero actual concern as I dodge the attack. "At least let him get inside first."
Everything's exactly how I remember: crystals catching moonlight on windowsills, books stacked in precarious towers, that awful crochet blanket she refuses to replace even though it has more holes than actual yarn now.
It's more like home than anywhere I've lived.
Salem stalks to his window perch, tail twitching with barely contained murder plans, as Ivy heads for the back door. "Coming? Or are you scared of more small animal attacks?"
"Please." I follow her through the kitchen, trying not to notice how she still keeps my favorite snacks in the cabinet by the fridge. "I'm already nursing one injury. Might as well collect the full set."
Cold air slices through me the moment we step onto her back porch. Our shoes grind against the crust of snow, and somewhere in the darkness, I hear the telltale shuffle-waddle of approaching doom.
"QUACK!"
Ducky appears first, his mohawk of unruly feathers standing at attention as he charges across the snow like a feathered missile. Theothers follow close behind, their white bodies glowing in the darkness.
"Holy sh—" I start, but Ducky's already headbutting my shins with surprising force. "When did you get so big?"
"That's what happens when you miss duck puberty," Ivy says, but there's laughter in her voice.
I sink to my knees, ignoring the cold seeping through my workout shorts as they crowd around me. Puddles pecks at my hands like he's testing if I'm real, while Louie makes a beeline for my fingers.
"They stay out here, even in the snow?" I ask, scratching under Ducky's chin the way he used to love.
Ivy's guilty silence speaks volumes.
"No way." I glance up at her, grinning. "You let them inside, don't you?"
"Only when it's really cold!" She crosses her arms, already on the defensive. "I can't help it. They're so pathetic, pressing their little faces against the glass."
"You're such a softie." I laugh as Quackie Chan systematically destroys my shoelaces. "Though I guess that fancy duck mansion I built isn't good enough anymore?"
"Oh, they still use it." She steps closer, and my breath catches at her proximity. "But sometimes they prefer the radiator by the couch, and the TV. They are very intoBridgerton."
"Sounds like they take after their mom."
