Wren: Please tell me you survived your stint in jail.
Birdie: Barely. It’s a miracle I didn’t come out with a tattoo and a nickname that Charlie would never let me live down.
Wren: Did she get a copy of your mugshot yet? I have to see it immediately.
I let out a theatrical sigh.
Birdie: Ugh, not you too! You’re supposed to be on my side.
Wren: One of my best friends ends up in a holding cell, and you expect me not to want to see the proof? Please.
Birdie: Sorry. There was no mugshot.
This time, I feel zero guilt lying about it.
Wren: Such a tragedy.
“It’s absolutely not,” I mutter quietly.
Charlie throws a glance at me through the rearview mirror as she drives down Main Street. “What are you mumbling about back there? You should be celebrating now that you’re a free woman, not sulking like someone stole your muffin.”
I look up from my phone. “Just checking in with Wren.”
The four of us have been friends since kindergarten and were inseparable through high school. I used to think we’d all stay inBluebell forever until Wren dropped the bombshell that she was moving to Florida with Cole, her boyfriend. We’ve never been a fan of his, but after they had Lottie, we knew she wasn’t coming back. At least our group chat keeps her in the loop on all the town gossip.
Charlie lets out an exaggerated gasp. “She’s texting you outside the group chat. The audacity.”
There’s no way I’m telling her what Wren is pestering me for, or she’d probably flip a U-turn and march into the sheriff’s office herself.
“Wren probably figured staying off the chat would keep you from being distracted and avoid getting pulled over again for texting while driving,” Briar says from the passenger seat, smirking.
Charlie got lucky when Walker pulled her over and let her off with a warning since it was her first offense this year. I’m not the only one with a knack for bending the rules—me for my unauthorized animal rescues, her for breaking traffic laws.
“Birdie was texting me while being chased by that angry goose she found on the roadside. How could I not reply and tell her to record it?” Charlie asks innocently.
It was terrifying in the moment, but I caved and got her the video. I nearly died tripping over a rock while trying to capture the raging goose that looked ready to eat me for an afternoon snack, but against all odds, I managed to walk away with only a scraped knee while still somehow rescuing the ungrateful bird in the process.
I open my mouth to reply, but my tongue refuses to form words as I struggle to stay awake, the rhythm of the car lulling me closer to sleep. As Charlie and Briar carry on about her questionable driving habits, my eyelids grow heavy and my phone slides from my hand onto my lap as I nod off.
“Birdie. It’s time to wake up, babe. You’re home.”
I slowly blink my eyes open at Briar’s soft voice, and I smile when I look out the window to see we’re idling in front of my farmhouse. I take it in like I’ve been gone much longer than twenty four hours. Its pitched roof with twin gables and black shutters that match the railing along the wraparound porch. The fading white paint and the wood siding show years of weathering that only give it more character. Overall, the place is modest and a little run-down, but it’s mine, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
The breeze rustles the large oak out front and reminds me I need to pick up more sunflower seeds on my next shift. It houses a family of squirrels I’ve grown quite fond of, and they seem to like the kind we stock at Prairie Pines.
I shake my head and stretch my arms over my head, letting out a long yawn. “Thanks for bailing me out,” I say to my friends.
“Technically, Walker did that. We just came by with coffee and a getaway car,” Briar jokes, flashing me a cheeky grin from the front seat.
I chuckle. “You’re right. Next time, you’d better bring a full marching band and confetti.”
“Sorry, our budget only covers a kazoo player, but maybe we can squeeze in a few party poppers if we all pitch in,” Briar says with a wink.
Charlie turns in her seat to face me. “Don’t forget the oversized sunglasses to offset the visual trauma of you in a green jumpsuit.”
“Glad that you’ve decided my future jail stint is inevitable. How considerate.”
“What?” She shrugs, holding her hands up. “I’m just being realistic.”
