“Where do you want it?”
Those words…could mean something very different, in another context.
But in regard to the actual bird cage, I have not given this topic a moment’s thought. “Over here against the wall would be great,” I say.
He gets it in place and even checks that it’s centered. “Anything else heavy I can bring up for you?”
As much as I would love to watch him carry ten boxes of my junk through the door, I want a shower even more than that. Plus, I’m Southern. If someone is going to do manual labor for me, I feel obligated to feed them, and I am in no position to feed him anything other than organic parrot pellets. I don’t even know if the water is still on or what’s in the fridge, although if Maggie died a few weeks ago, I’m not sure I want to find out.
“No, you’ve already helped so much. I really owe you one.” I smile at him hopefully, praying he sees the appreciation and interest more than the wet rat.
He looks down at me—
And his face falls.
“Wait. You’re bleeding. Did you cut yourself moving the cage?” He reaches for my hand, which is absolutely covered in blood, and I feel sparks again.
For a moment, I don’t actually know.DidI cut myself? But then I remember Doris—Maggie—bit me at the waterfall. The water seemed to staunch the blood at the time, but the wound must have opened up again.
“Self-inflicted friendly fire. By which I mean a parrot mistake. You know how they say a falling knife has no handle? A scared bird has no friends. It’s not a big deal. Happens all the time.”
We both look down at the excessive blood dripping to the ground.
“Please tell me this doesn’t actually happen all the time….” He trails off, worried. “Or at least that you’re on good terms with the Red Cross.”
“You’re right,” I say. “It doesn’t happen much. She hasn’t nipped me like that since our first week together. She was just startled, and I forgot about it.”
Hunter turns on the faucet, and I’m grateful to see that it works. “Run your hand under the water, and I’ll look around for a first-aid kit.”
“There’s not one,” Maggie says in my head. “Unlike some people, I wasn’t clumsy.”
“You were pretty clumsy when you bit me,” I mutter.
“What?” Hunter looks up from a junk drawer.
“I don’t think you’re going to find anything,” I tell him, louder. “Maybe just hand me some paper towels? I’m sure it’ll stop bleeding if I settle down.” My heart has been doing jumping jacks since he got here, probably pumping out all sorts of extra blood, which I definitely do not mention.
There’s half a roll of paper towels on the counter, and he brings over several and gently wraps them around my finger. “Compression will help,” he says. “Trust me, I know. I work with a lot of power tools. I have a first-aid kit in the truck—”
“It’s fine,” I say.
He’s still holding my hand, and I want him to stay there.
“I mean, it’s not deep. I’ll wash it with soap, make sure it’s dry, keep an eye on it. I’ve had my tetanus shot.” He still looks concerned, so I add, “Hopefully I won’t get rabies. Or turn into a were-parrot.Caw, caw,I want to suck your blood.”
He grins. “Wouldn’t that be a vam-parrot?”
“Oh, please, no. The last thing we need is a parrot with fangs that will live forever instead of just a century.”
He laughs, and it emboldens me.
“See, here I was just thanking you for helping with the cage, and now I owe you twice, this time for saving my life.”
His answering smile makes my middle go all warm and swimmy. “Maybe you could buy me a drink sometime, if I’m not being too forward? Coffee or wine, as you like.”
It’s like a tiny orchestra begins to swell in my chest. I haven’t felt this way since the first time Billy asked me out in eighth grade, as if the world is a new book just cracking open, full of delicious possibilities and adventure.
“Sure. Yes. Wine would be great.” I’m smiling so wide my cheeks hurt. “And I won’t be covered in blood and feathers. Promise.”
