Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 106538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
I give him a sad smile and a slow nod before focusing on the pizza.
“Tell me, how did you end up living with two guys?” he asks. “Is it a financial situation or a kink?”
I pick a mushroom off my pizza and flick it at him.
“You’re such a child.” He laughs, peeling the mushroom off his neck.
“I’m not the child. I’m trying to have a serious conversation about your daughter.”
“And I’m trying to have a serious conversation about your living arrangements.” He takes a bite of pizza, but his smile still reaches his eyes, even while he’s chewing.
“Brandon, my brother, was friends with Fitz. He moved in when a room opened up. And when they built a she shed in the backyard, I moved into it. I’d been living with a friend who returned to Nebraska, so I chose to live here instead of looking for another roommate. When Brandon died, I eventually moved upstairs to his old room. It was hard at first, but now it’s a comforting space for me.”
“And when will your roommates be home? How long do I have to make my move?”
I laughed. “Will’s on shift until tomorrow morning, and Fitz is visiting his grandma in California until his fiancée, Jamie, returns, which should be soon. She’s a travel nurse. They met when she rented the she shed.”
Three knocks at the door pull our gazes in that direction. Ozzy gives me a questioning glance.
I shrug while sliding my chair back. “Probably someone selling something.”
When I reach the door and open it, my prematurely aging neighbor smiles through his full, dark beard. “Maren, what a pleasant surprise. How are you?” Reagan removes his straw cowboy hat and smooths his hand over his thick, messy, salt-and-pepper hair. His jeans and ratty T-shirt are as weathered as his loose, wrinkly skin.
“I’m well. What’s up?”
“You haven’t seen Kentucky and Slim by any chance, have you?”
My eyes narrow. “Uh, I’ve been to Kentucky. But I’m not sure what you mean by Slim.”
He chuckles. “You’re funny. I love your sense of humor.”
“Thanks, but I’m not trying to be funny.”
“Oh, Kentucky and Slim are two of my chickens.” He named his chickens after chicken restaurants. That’s a little messed up but kind of funny.
“Sorry, I haven’t. I take it they’re missing?”
He scratches his throat. “Yeah. But they must be close by. They don’t wander far from the roost. I need to find them before it gets dark. Ya never know what might get a hold of one of ’em. You don’t by any chance have a few extra minutes to help me look, do ya?”
“Actually, I’m in the middle of a—”
“We’d love to help,” Ozzy says, stepping next to me and opening the door a little wider. “I’m Ozzy.”
“A new roommate?” Reagan asks.
“A friend.” Ozzy shoves his feet into his black boots and ties them.
“I’m Reagan, and I’d really appreciate all the help I can get. Here.” He reaches into the pocket of his baggy jeans and holds out his fist. “Take a little crumble with you in case you find ’em.”
Ozzy opens his hand, accepting the chicken feed, while I slip on my white sneakers and step onto the porch.
“Here ya go, Maren.” Reagan punches his fist in my direction. I take the rest of the crumble. “Kentucky is a buff gold-and-orange mix, and Slim is chestnut. If you see one, hold out the feed to attract her. When she’s about done pecking the treat from your hand, pick her up by holding both wings snug to her body so she doesn’t flap, and then hug her close to you. Feel free to pet her. They love it when you pet ’em.”
“Where should we start looking?” Ozzy asks with a straight face while I curl my lips together to keep from laughing.
This isn’t happening.
“You go that way; I’ll head in the opposite direction,” Reagan says. “You might have to take a peek in some backyards. I wouldn’t go more than a few houses down. Like I said, they can’t be too far away.”
“Got it.” Ozzy returns a resolute nod.
When Reagan heads down the driveway, Ozzy winks. “I was hoping we’d get to look for chickens tonight.”
I snort. “Stop. I’m so sorry. You didn’t have to offer—”
“I did. This is my first chicken hunt. How could I say no?”
We turn right at the end of the driveway.
“Speaking of hunting, what if we find them dead?” I ask. “Several neighbors have hunting dogs. And nobody cares for Reagan’s rooster, which wakes us up so early. Someone might kill one of the hens just to send a message.”
“Let’s be positive.” He playfully nudges my arm.
I don’t look at him, but I smile.
We scour the block, sneaking between houses to peek into neighbors’ backyards. Just when we’re about to give up because the sun has set and there’s minimal illumination from the streetlights, I spy something out of the corner of my eye.