I grip my shovel hard. “I’m going to show them who’s boss around here.”
He chuckles. “Yes, you certainly look like the master of this domain.”
“Fuck off.”
The lock finally gives way and he opens the door. We go in, and I slam the door behind me. “This is ridiculous,” I snap as I march to the kitchen. “I didn’t sign up for this shit.” I begin to open the drawers in a rush. “Where is that envelope?” I open and shut all the drawers and finally locate it. I speed-read the letter and I get to point three: The ducks will need to be fed their pellets each morning and will become aggressive if hungry.
The pellets are kept in the stables.
Huh?
“What does it say?”
I look up at Christopher in shock. “They’re hungry.”
He frowns.
“We were supposed to feed them.”
“Well, what do they eat?’
“It says here, pellets.”
“Where are they?”
“Stables.”
His eyes widen and he points at me. “If you think I’m going near that psychotic sheep you’ve got another thing coming.”
I pick up my keys. “Come on, we’re going back into town.”
“What for?”
“To buy fucking duck food, what do you think?”
I sit by the open fire and sip my Scotch; red shadows dance across the wall. It’s dark, the room lit only by the lamps and the glowing embers, and a sense of achievement is running thick through my veins. Not only did I unpack a lot of my things today, I sorted the ducks.
Poor bastards were starving . . . actually, they’re girls, so . . .
I smile as the golden fluid warms my throat. Either way, they were happy to receive their stupid pellets.
I look around at my surroundings and pride fills me. I love this house; there’s so much to do and it doesn’t feel like home yet, but I know it will as soon as I hang Harriet’s paintings on the walls.
I’ve had her art close to me for years, not seeing it is weird.
I pick up my phone and glance at the time: 9:30 p.m.
Should I call Kate?
No.
She’s out with her brother, leave her be.
I want to hear her voice.
I only saw her last night, calm down.
I get up and refill my glass, walk back through the house as I look at my surroundings. I love this house, I love everything about it . . . maybe not the ducks, but everything else is perfect.
I might message Pinkie instead . . . no, I want to speak to my girl.
Just a quick call to say goodnight.
My finger hovers over the name Kate. I shouldn’t.
But I will.
I press call and I listen as it rings.
“Hi there,” she purrs.
The sound of her voice brings a smile to my face. “Hi.”
“Hi,” she repeats, and I can tell she’s smiling too.
“I called to say goodnight.”
“Did you now?”
Excitement rolls around my stomach.
“What are you doing?” she asks.