“And you know what I wish?” I yell as I complete my circle. “I wish—oh my god, what the fuck are you doing here?”
Heath’s gaping at me from one end of the cellar.
Mouth ajar.
Eyes wide.
One foot in front of the other like he froze mid-step while walking around the rows of barrels.
He’s near the door, and I’m at least ten barrel-widths away from him.
“Sorry,” he croaks out. “Sorry. Came here to think.”
He doesn’t move.
“How much did you hear?”
I’m still shrieking.
Not because I’m embarrassed.
More becausethis is for me.
For me and The Cluckinator, who’s flapping her wings madly at him.
This is for us.
Not for him.
“Just—just walked in,” he says. “Swear to god. Just got here. Heard you shouting and I thought—I thought something was wrong.”
“Oh my god, is Lav with you?”
“No. No, she’s—she’s in town. And she doesn’t come here. She doesn’t know it exists. The secret door—yeah. No.”
That, at least, is a relief.
She sees and hears things here, but I don’t want her to see and hear things from me.
Not yet.
Not when I’m this livid.
“Are you…are you on a phone call? Or live-streaming?” he asks.
The Cluckinator squawks like it’s a stupid question, which it is.
“No.” I stop recording and stand there glaring at him, everything hanging out. “We’re in a basement without cell signal or internet, and I’m having self-therapy, okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah. Of course. Face your fears. That’s—that’s good.”
“Duh.”
“Is it working?”
My nipples pucker, and I suddenly understand why Pip walks around naked all of the time.
If I can stand here, with my nipples puckering at the sound of a man’s voice, and not shrink, not shirk, not hide, then I can do fuckinganything.
