“Huh. You’re right. They’re a lot like my parents. Apples and trees, right? I’ll think of a better compliment soon since it doesn’t take a lot to be better than they are. But I need to go walk The Cluckinator. I’ll get back to you on the most amazing compliment that you definitely deserve.”
Cricket’s a good person.
She’s a good person in a shitty situation still trying to find her way, and I like her.
Yes,I like her.
Entirely too much.
Good thing I’m moving.
Because I still don’t want to like her, even if I can acknowledge that I do.
19
A BEAVER RUNS THROUGH IT
Cricket
My new chicken,The Cluckinator, follows me when I leave Heath’s house, then hangs out near me while I garden and pretend I didn’t wake up in bed with Heath this morning.
I’ve been in love before.
Several times.
But I’m not sure I’ve ever convinced myself I was in love with a guy I hadn’t had sex with.
That part’s new.
Clearly I’m mistaken.
Just like I’m mistaken that gardening is a good idea today.
I’m not quite the superwoman with alcohol that I told Mabel and Pip and Heath that I was.
But I’ve made some progress in the garden, so I reward myself by going in search of Olivia and Samantha.
Usually they’re done with their baking by this time of the day, but I heard Lavender slowed them down this morning.
I duck into the main house to grab a treat for The Cluckinator, then she follows me across the yard and besidethe grape fields to the event center. Warm, yeasty deliciousness lingers in the air, along with the sounds of my friends singing show tunes inside.
I look down at The Cluckinator. “You’re staying in the yard, okay?”
She clucks at me.
I set out a slice of watermelon for her. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”
She doesn’t answer me this time because she’s eating.
I slip into the large stone building, walking through the empty ballroom and into the kitchen.
Samantha’s pulling fresh pastries out of the oven, and she spots me when she turns to slide them in front of Olivia. “Good morning, Cricket. How’re you feeling, love?”
“Good,” I reply as Olivia points me to a stool across from the stainless steel work table, then grabs butter to brush over the croissants.
“Last batch,” Samantha tells me as she turns the music down. “You have impeccable timing.”
“I can wash dishes.”
