“You can do hard things,” I repeat, cautiously twisting the handle.
The mechanism disengages and I pull the door toward me, inch by slow inch. A hint of lilac mixed with something earthy drifts through the crack.Definitely left the garage door open last night.
I stretch my neck toward the crack, hoping to sneak a peek. But my vision is completely blurred by some fuzzy white fixture wedging itself in the gap. What the?—
Something wet bops me on the nose.
Too startled to scream, I fall back onto my ass for a second time, catching myself by my palms.
A large, furry face topped with a crooked bright blue hat pushes through the open crack, swinging the door the rest of the way open.
“You’re—you’re a—llama?” The words escape my dry throat as barely more than a whisper. Of all the types of intruders I pictured—a confused chickadee, the Great Pyrenees from the nearby farm, Yogi in search of his pic-a-nic basket, or a man dressed as the Hamburglar—a furry white llama wearing a hat never crossed my overactive imagination.
The dusty-white creature props its two front legs on the single stair leading from the garage into the house and simply stares at me with those big black doe-like eyes. If that didn’t make it fucking adorable enough, ears appear to grow from the sides of its strange blue hat, standing at attention. Those ears arethe same height as a dirty silver colored horn protruding from said hat.
“Are you supposed to be a unicorn?”
The llama tilts its head, seemingly intrigued by my voice.
“It’s a little early for Halloween,” I say, remembering the alfalfa pellets left behind by the former resident. The earthy scent makes more sense now. “You came looking for treats, right?”
The animal lets out a low hum. I can’t help but think it sounds a little…sad.
If I’d known there was a harmless animal in my garage as opposed to a serial killer, I might’ve called Macy. She’s the animal whisperer veterinarian. I’m just a retired storm chaser who hasn’t figured out what she wants to be when she grows up. I’ve never seen a llama this close up before. Will it try to bite or spit on me if I hug it? Because I really want to hug it.
I cautiously rise to my feet when I hear the faint whine of a siren.
Wyattwouldspeed through town with lights and siren blaring. A thrill races through me at his quick timing. One I hastily shake off because the man is just doing his duty as sheriff. He cares about everyone in this town—even the ones who drive him up a wall. He’d rush across town for any Emerald Creek citizen in distress. This means nothing.
Of course, I wonder for a beat, just how many of the citizens have him on speed dial.
The animal doesn’t seem bothered by the noise, even as the siren volume increases at Wyatt’s approach. In fact, the creature just stares at me expectantly, as though I’m supposed to invite it inside. The llama lets out another hum. This one sounds curious if I had to wager a guess.
“I’m losing my damn mind,” I mumble under my breath as the siren goes silent. “No way can I speak llama.”
“Actually, Birdie’s an alpaca.”
My gaze shifts to the tall, dark, and unfairly handsome man standing in my garage wearing jeans and a fitted T-shirt advertising the Emerald Creek Wolves coed softball team. One Wyatt jokingly callsthe beer league.He’s been trying to convince me to join the team since I came back to town last summer, but it felt too commitment-y to do more than offer to be an occasional sub.
“An alpaca?” I ask, clearing my throat in hopes he missed the wobble in my voice. “Are you sure?”
Is Wyatt attractive? Yes. Any woman with eyes and a pulse would confirm as much. But until a few weeks ago, I never saw him as anything more than my best friend’s pain in the ass older brother.
I considered him a completely platonic friend. I wasn’t stealing up and down glances of his hard, muscular body. Or constantly replaying the way he carried me to my bed wearing his button-up shirt I’ve yet to return and tucked me in. There was even a glass of water and ibuprofen on my nightstand when I woke in the morning. Has a manevertaken care of me like that?
“Llamas are bigger,” he explains, interrupting my rampant thoughts. “And their ears are taller.”
“Huh.”
“Hey, keep her entertained for a minute,” he adds. “I’m going to grab Thor’s leash from my truck.”
“On it.”
Wyatt spins on his heel and jogs away. My gaze trails after him.
Am I crushing on Wyatt Knight? Nope. Not going there. Not today. Not ever. But because Iama flesh and blood woman, I admire the way those Levi’s accentuate his very nice ass.
Birdie boops me with her nose again, as though to say she caught me.
