“And fries and pizza?” I tease. “I guess you’ll have to wait until another place opens.”
She quietly groans, rubbing her temples while she follows me into the donut shop. There’s a sweet, faint scent of vanilla in the air. A staticky radio forecasts the weather in the background, which I don’t hear the rest of as someone emerges from the kitchen and shuts it off. At least we won’t be here when a tropical storm hits.
I order a baker’s dozen donut holes and an egg sandwich, the latter of which makes Barbie’s eyes go soft the moment I hand it over to her. She chirps with delight as we head outside, where the baking heat of the morning sun greets us.
And a raccoon.
I see it the moment Barbie gasps, and I reach for her wrist before she takes any step closer. We lock eyes. By we, I mean Barbie and me. Not the raccoon.
“What are you doing?”
“That thing might have rabies.” I hear a low chittering sound from the wild animal, and Barbie wrestles herself out of my grip before I can shoo him away. “Barbie?—”
“He has a collar,” she notes, shoving her half-eaten egg sandwich into my hand. “He’s obviously someone’s pet.”
“We don’t know that. It could be a tracker wildlife services use to, you know,trackwild animals.” My words fall on deaf ears. Barbie pays me no attention as she crouches low and pries the paper bag in her hand open. “You, of all people, should know that we don’t feed wild animals. He’ll become dependent on humans?—”
“Okay, I know you’re not supposed to,” she says, retrieving a donut hole. The damn raccoon’s ears perk up when she holds it out to him. He scurries over, the tag on his neck glinting in the sunlight. “But he’s clearly domesticated, not a wild animal, and certainly not rabid.”
“Do you want a trip to the emergency room?” I ask blandly. “Because this is how you’re gonna get a trip to the emergency room.”
“Don’t be such a hater—His name is Nemo,” she gasps.
“So he’s a backward ass omen?” I deadpan. My brows knit in horror when she brings her hand closer to the small, plump beast while he’s distracted with the treat in his grubby little paws. “Barbie, donotpet the rabid animal.”
“I wasn’t going to,” she protests. “I just wanted to make sure he’s not lost.”
“Lost from his pack like a rabid animal?”
“I think a group of raccoons is called a gaze,” she mutters off-handedly. “And you know he’s not rabid. He’s groomed. And his collar has a cute little charm on it.”
Before she can check the tag, we hear a loud, “Hey.” We look to our right. Even the damn raccoon, who crams the rest of the donut hole into his mouth and takes off, sprinting toward the bushes.
“What seems to be the problem, officer?” I ask, folding my arms across my chest.
“Feeding wildlife is not permitted in this town,” he drawls, swaggering over toward us with his thumbs resting on his duty belt. Christ. We’re about to be arrested because Barbie decided to moonlight as a Disney princess today. “We’ve been dealing with an infestation of wolves and other wild animals. Been on the receiving end of plenty of reports and call-ins, too. The last thing this town needs is for these wild creatures to think they can make themselves at home here.”
“I’m sorry, Officer Jones,” Barbie says, squinting at his nameplate. “I didn’t know any better. My husband told me not to feed him.”
“That’s why you should always listen to your husband,” he says, chuckling to himself. Barbie and I exchange sideways looks. We both have matching grimaces going on.
“Of course,” she says in a tone I’d recognize anywhere. It’s the syrupy sweet one laced with a hint of venom. For once, I’m not the sucker on the receiving end. “I won’t do it again, officer.”
The officer nods. “Now, I’ll let you folks off with a warning,” he says. “Listen to your husband so you won’t ever have to risk landing your pretty little face in hot water.” He winks at me.
I stare back, my stone-faced expression verging on glare, and while I want to tell him to fuck off with that nonsense, I also don’t want to risk getting my ass hauled off to jail. Lara will never let me live it down.
He breaks into a whistle as he saunters off. Barbie and I glance at each other the moment he slips into the donut shop.
She blows out a frustrated breath. “I’m glad we didn’t get in more trouble, but…”
“It’s okay, Bee. You just wanted to give a pet raccoon a little treat,” I say. “It’s not like you’re the one behind the wildlife infestation here.”
Her shoulders droop. “We could have gotten arrested?—”
“We weren’t, so let’s not dwell on it any longer,” I suggest, and she stares at me with an uncharacteristically alarming amount of sadness in her eyes. “Come on, Bee. We’ve got a lot of things on our agenda today for our honeymoon.”
“Shouldn’t we talk to Ed about his mixed signals?” she responds.
