I flinched. ‘No.’
Aster nodded, like someone reacting so badly to a name wasn’t strange. ‘Alright then.’
He slipped back onto the rug. While I swept the sharp shards of bowl onto an old newspaper, I watched Aster from the corner of my eye. He cupped the goat’s face in his hands and peered into its eyes.
‘You still need an old man’s name,’ he mused. ‘How about Albert?’ He looked at me. ‘Is Albert okay?’
‘It’s fine.’ I dumped the broken bowls in the bin and reached for two more. If Aster was generous, he would ignore the tremor in my hands. ‘Do you like stew?’
‘If the smell is anything to go by, I fucking love stew.’ Aster stopped manhandling the goat and bounced to his feet. ‘Do you need any help?’
‘Sit,’ I instructed. The last thing I wanted was one of his feet to find a stray shard of ceramic I’d missed. I had no need for a first aid kit, so he’d have to make do with tissues and tea towels if he cut himself before I could buy one in the village.
I grabbed a couple of rolls from the bread bin and set them on a tray beside a steaming bowl of stew and a glass of water. I reached over the sofa and set it on Aster’s lap.
He tilted his head back and smiled. ‘Thank you. This looks incredible.’
I nodded and shuffled away, far too interested in the long line of his neck. Thankfully, I didn’t drop my tray when hemoaned at the first spoonful of stew. I sat in the armchair by the fire rather than close to him on the sofa.
He didn’t talk while he ate. The meal was broken by occasional groans and expressive pointing. Slowly, I emptied my bowl. This was half what I’d normally eat. If I wanted to avoid awkward questions about my lightning-fast metabolism, I’d have to load up on calories when Aster was out of sight.
His chin had dropped to his chest by the time I finished eating. I placed my tray on the floor and eased his off his lap. Carrying one of the blankets from the sofa with us, I pulled Aster’s sleeping form into my arms.
He mumbled incoherently as I set him on my bed. His hair was short, sticking out an inch from his scalp in all directions. I allowed myself to trace across his head. The brown strands were smooth. He grumbled when I pulled away, but snuggled into the blankets as I tucked them around his chin.
I retreated to the bedroom doorway and watched him snore softly.
I had to desensitise to his scent soon. This mad need to be near him couldn’t continue for the three months he’d be staying here.
I’d get used to him, and he’d be like everyone else. Tolerable, and better at a distance.
That much was clear after one short conversation. There were too many things kept shut at the back of my mind, and for good reason. Other people unintentionally dragged them out into the light.
After easing the bedroom door closed, I sank into the armchair. The goat I refused to call Albert butted his head into my shin, then settled across my feet.
‘I might be screwed,’ I whispered.
CHAPTER FIVE
ASTER
Waking up in the morning wasn’t usually the sweetest moment of my day—Lucas once likened my pre-breakfast attitude to a feral cat searching out scraps—but it wasn’t normally such a painful process served with side helpings ofwhere the hell am Iandwhat the flip is going on.
‘Ow.’ I stretched in a bed that wasn’t mine, every single muscle in my body fighting to be crowned achiest little bitch. ‘Ow, ow, ow.’
As I forced my limbs into an under-blanket yoga-esque routine, the details of the previous days fell into place. I’d run to Doughnut to complete my master’s and escape the hordes waiting to trample my heart. I’d gotten lost in a non-snowstorm and had been rescued by the hottest man alive. He cared for me in my helplessness, and apparently put me to bed like a child.
‘Incredible first impression, Aster,’ I groaned, gingerly sitting up. ‘Such a charmer.’
The floor was flagstones under a series of plush rugs. Toavoid searing off the bottoms of my feet with extreme cold, I jumped between the assorted squares and circles. First to the bathroom for a wee, then out to the main room.
I frowned. I’d assumed Callum had slept in another bedroom last night, the door of which I’d missed in my snow-induced stupor. But no, the teeny cabin boasted one sleeping quarter. That meant I’d forced Callum to undress and feed me, and had also kicked him out of his bed.
‘Gah.’ I leapt a foot in the air when a goat head appeared around the side of the sofa, quickly followed by a goat body. I’d thought I’d imagined him in my delirium. I crouched as the pygmy goat clip-clopped across the flagstones towards me, his fur a mix of whites and blacks and browns. ‘Albert?’
He bleated, showing off a pink tongue. I took that to mean,Good morning, and welcome to the mountains.
‘Thanks, old chap.’ I scratched the wiry hair between his knobbly horns. ‘Any idea where Callum is?’
