Rubbing the back of my neck, I take a seat on my favorite bag of flour, next to my sister, sitting on top of a barrel of root beer. “I’m tired, too, but having you here helped pass the time.”
“Yeah?” she asks, grabbing basket filler from the large open box next to her. She stuffs a fistful into a brightly colored basket,pushing it aside, continuing on. “The day didn’t go by because you were fantasizing about my neighbor, right?”
My cheeks flame and I dust my hands along the apron on my waist, flustered. “No,” I say, wiping at the chocolate streaks on my wrist. “I was not.”
She kicks my foot with her good one. “Was to.”
“Was not!” I repeat, my argument losing all backbone as soon as I peer over at her. She’s grinning, ear to ear. My shoulders slump as the image of Jack in a low-slung towel flashes through my mind again, a trail of hair leading down to his?—
“He's hot, right?” My sister derails my thoughts, thank goodness, because I have zero business fantasizing about Jack Hopper’s…carrot.
I get back onto my feet and blink at her, lips pursed. “No, he’s not hot, with his rippling muscles, dark swoopy hero hair and his inability to keep a shirt on. He’s ugly, ugly, ugly,” I say sarcastically, checking the last item off the list for today. Sliding the tray of petit fours into the fridge, I untie my apron and help my sister to her foot, sliding crutches beneath her arms so she can hobble to the car.
“You know what’s always intrigued me about him,” she says, continuing this conversation for what reason, I’m not sure.
“No, I don’t,” I reply, “and you don’t have to tell me.”
I push open the back door, and Carrot Creek’s early evening laps at our feet, the sky a gradient of pinks and purples. The air holds the freshest scent, like a Bounce sheet, seriously, and when I let my eyes temporarily roam the horizon, it’s all green grass and blooming flowers. A gentle breeze tosses my hair over my lips, and I tug it back.
“See why I live here?” my sister says, stacking her chin on my shoulder as we enjoy the view.
I turn to her. “It’s pretty, I’ll give you that.”
She hops alongside me as we get to her car, and I help her inside. “You really don’t want to know the intriguing thing about Jack, huh?”
I shift the car into drive, and a tumble of dust trails after as I head down the dirt road toward her cottage. “Fine. What’s so intriguing about the shirtless hottie next door?”
She turns the radio down, and twists in her seat to face me, gripping her crutches. “I’ve never seen a woman go over there. Ever.”
That low-slung towel and belly full of trimmed hair and knotted muscle appears in my mind again, and I swallow the sudden lump in my throat. “So? Maybe he goes to their houses.”
She shakes her head. “No, he never really leaves. He stays home, just hanging out at the burrow most of the time.”
“The burrow?” I cock an eyebrow as I flick my blinker on, coming to the stop at Buck Rd. and Binky Blvd. Turning, Chelsey’s cottage comes into view.
She nods. “His cottage is named the Burrow.”
“He named his place?” I ask, pulling up next to the small, cozy home, a puff of smoke lifting from the chimney. I shift the car into park and face my sister.
She taps the window, smiling, and I follow where she’s pointing, spotting a sign tucked into the lily bush that I’ve never noticed before. “Hopper’s Burrow,” I read aloud.
“Well, he needs to keep his pet inside the burrow.” We get out and I help my sister inside, pausing my story until the door is closed. I don’t like the idea of Jack hearing me, and apparently the man is always outside. Hanging our coats, I explain. “Last night I saw a bunny outside, wearing a necklace, you know, so it’s clearly his pet. And it was so cold! So last night I went over there and laid into him. You know, like, if you’re gonna be a pet owner, be responsible! Don’t make your bunny sleep outside when it’s nearly freezing!”
My sister limps to the kitchen, and puts on a tea kettle before settling into her chair at the table. Opening a can of soup, I put it on the stove and throw some bread into the toaster. “What did he say to that?” my sister asks.
I pull my long hair into a ponytail, ready for a hot shower to de-chocolate. I shrug. “Not much. I caught him right out of the shower, I think and—” I shake my head, unwilling to revisit that smokin’ hot memory for the millionth time today. I’m starting to find myself pathetic for how much I’ve revisited it. “Anyway, I told him to bring his bunny inside and then I left.”
The toast pops up, and I butter it while my sister drops tea bags into mugs. “He should. And if you see that bunny outside again tonight, you should go tell him. Stay on him. You’re that bunny’s advocate now,” she urges, eyes set on mine, serious and dark.
Bracing one hand on my hip, I use the other to stir. “If you’re his next door neighbor, how come you’ve never been Big Bunny’s advocate?” I question honestly.
She shrugs. “I’ve never seen Big Bunny. I must be at work or asleep when he’s been out.”
I think about that for a moment. “It’s weird how Jack’s seemingly always out front,” I continue, thinking aloud. “But I’ve only seen his Big Bunny in the evenings, and Jack isn’t around.”
“They’re on opposite schedules,” Chelsey says, offering a solution.
Briefly, I revisit my bunny freedom theory from earlier. Maybe Jack lets his pet do whatever during the day, and come back to eat and snooze at night. “Still, no matter what, that poor thing should be inside when temperatures are as low as they were last night.”
