“Goodbye,” he calls toward Callum, and I puff out a laugh.
Callum pokes his head back through the doorway, brows raised. “Is he kicking me out?”
I wince.
“Out,” Fergie confirms, tap-dancing dramatically on his rolling perch.
“Fergie,” I scold through a laugh.
“I’m leaving anyway,” Callum says, waving at Fergie before turning back toward the stairs.
As I follow him down, he glances back at me. “You sure you’ll be all right? He’s been throwing a fit since this morning.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
He nods. “Well, thanks again for coming. I’ll be back tomorrow, late morning. That should give you plenty of time to snoop.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m done with the snooping, okay? Just needed an initial assessment. I might, however, use the bathtub in your guestroom. I don’t have one in my flat, and I dream about soaking in a bath at least three times a week.”
He chuckles, and my heart tap-dances, taking a page right out of Fergie’s book. “You should use the one in my room instead,” he says, reaching the foyer and shifting on his leg. “It’s bigger, with jets and bubble settings and everything.”
My entire bodywarms at the thought of using Callum’s bathtub. “Um, I’ll keep that in mind.”
He lifts his bag over his shoulder, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Have fun, then.”
I work from Callum’s home for the remainder of the afternoon. Once I finish up, Fergie and I do another puzzle before settling in to watch the match. Just like last time, Fergie spends most of the time heckling the players—particularly Callum—only breaking his streak to belt out the London Lions anthem with passion. This time, though, I was prepared and filmed the whole thing. I can’t wait to show Callum. Maybe he’ll even want to post it.
The match ends 2–1 for the Regents, and we finally call it a night. Bringing Fergie back to his cage, I stroke his back a few times before saying goodnight. Then, I head to Callum’s room for my well-deserved bath. His bathroom is spacious and modern, just like the rest of his house, and the bathtub looks more like a small pool than a bath. I run the water and squirt in some shower gel that smells like eucalyptus. Finally, I slip into the hot water, savoring the sound of the bubbles popping and the soft hum of the jets.
I close my eyes, sinking deeper into the warmth. My limbs feel weightless, my mind blissfully blank.
And then—
“Millie pretty! Millie! Miiiiiillie!” His voice travels down the hall.
I crack open one eye.
“HELLO! HELLOOOO! Millie pretty!”
“Settle down, Fergie,” I call out. “Time for bed.”
I close my eyes again, intending to fully enjoy this once-in-a-lifetime bath, but just as I’m untensing my shoulders, he goes at it again. I try to focus on the bubbles and the warmth of the water, but guilt continues to gnaw at me until I mutter, “Fine.” I climb out of the water like a soggy gremlin. Wrapping myself in a towel, I march to his room, water dripping down my legs to the hardwood floor.
“What’s going on?” I ask, almost slipping on a small puddle that’s forming beneath me.
He crow-hops on his perch towards me and bows his head for cuddles.
“Really? That’s why you dragged me out of the first bath I’ve taken in five years?”
But being the cutie he is, it’s kind of hard to stay mad at little Fergie for long. I caress the top of his head for a few minutes. “All right now, time for bed. For real this time.”
He looks at meand starts bobbing his head in a weird, jerky way.
I frown. “What—”
He opens his beak and throws up.
“Fergie,” I exclaim. “Oh my gosh, are you okay?”
