I scratch my head, hesitating, but I’m running out of options. And besides, it’s not such a terrible idea. At least he seems fond of her, which is more than I can say about any of his former sitters.
“I’ll takegood care of him, I promise.” Her eyes are now gleaming with anticipation. As if I’d be doinghera favor by letting her spend time with Fergie.
“Okay. You’re sure you don’t have anything better to do with your evening? He can be fun for a few minutes, but he’s a handful.”
“I really don’t,” she replies with a cheeky grin. “Have anything better to do, that is. And I’m sure we’ll be fine. Instalove, remember?”
I roll my eyes, but a smile escapes me. “Well, thank ye, then. You’re a big help. I’ll pay you for it.”
Her face breaks into a smile, and she shakes her head. “No need. That’s what friends are for,” she says before spinning on her heel and walking away, her flowery perfume lingering in the air.
Friends? The word feels so foreign in my mind. I’ve never really had friends growing up. Maintaining social relationships doesn’t exactly come easy to me.
“Fine,” I call after her. “But I owe ye one.”
Her giggle resonates as she turns the corner, and even though I usually hate owing anyone anything, being in debt to Millie Templeton doesn’t feel as heavy as it should.
Chapter 10
Millie
The next morning, I bounce up to Callum’s door, ecstatic about the prospect of spending the night here. My offer to him kind of just slipped out, but I don’t regret it. I want to help, especially when it’s about an adorable creature like Fergie. The poor guy doesn’t deserve to be alone all night. That said, I know my dad won’t like this, which brings an uneasy feeling to the pit of my stomach. I haven’t told him about this pet sitting gig—for obvious reasons. I guess he’s right, in a way. It’s a bit outside the scope of my job description. But I know it’s not as sketchy as he’d make itout to be, and being friendly with Callumwillhelp me do my job more efficiently. I have to trust my gut on this one. Plus, Callum won’t even be there while I’m pet-sitting. That’s the whole point.
I ring the doorbell, and Callum opens right away, his hair still damp from the shower.
“Hullo, come in. Thanks for getting here so early.”
“No problem.” I smile, stepping into the now-familiar home. The cedar-clean scent I noticed before wraps over me like a warm blanket, and I breathe it in. The team has to leave early for Manchester, and I wanted to make sure I knew everything about watching Fergie beforehand. I’m a hundred percent certain Callum will murder me if I harm his bird in any way.
“I was about to make his food. Maybe you can watch?” Callum suggests, scratching the back of his head. “It’s pretty straightforward, but he has a strict diet. Pellets with fresh fruit and veggies—courgette, apple, steamed broccoli, that kind of thing.”
My eyes bulge. “Wow! I didn’t know I’d have to cook for him.”
He gives me a sidelong glance, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s holding back a smirk. “Already regretting this, eh?”
“I wouldn’tsay that. I’m just not the best cook, that’s all.”
“Don’t worry, he doesn’t need a Michelin-star dining experience,” he says, grabbing a small chopping board and a ceramic bowl. “Mostly raw stuff. No salt, no oil, no seasoning. He’s basically a clean-eating influencer with wings.”
I chuckle. “Does he do yoga, too?”
“He prefers salsa dancing,” Callum deadpans, reaching into the fridge.
I blurt out a laugh, leaning against the counter and watching as he pulls out a handful of small containers—prepped slices of red pepper, peeled apple, chunks of courgette, and steamed broccoli florets. Each container is neatly labelled and stacked, like he’s running a health retreat.
“You pre-cut everything?” I ask, impressed.
He shrugs, measuring a few pieces of each ingredient into the bowl. “Makes it easier when I’m crunched for time before practice.”
He adds a spoonful of pellets from a tin on the counter, mixing them gently with the produce.
“He can’t have avocado, onion, garlic, chocolate, caffeine—basically any of the fun stuff. Grapes are fine, and berries are great, but only a few at a time or he gets hyper.”
“Noted,” Isay, watching him pour the mix into a smaller ceramic dish with the name “Fergie” painted on the side in smudged blue letters.
Callum rinses his hands and nods at the bowl. “You can give him that now. And if you need to bribe him to behave, he loves walnuts. Just a quarter, though. Not too much.”
“Right,” I say, carefully picking up the bowl. “So, no chocolate soufflé?”
