Page 6 of Honkers Under the Holly

A smile spread across my face as I typed my reply.

Me too. Pick a place where we can talk about unconventional pet care without people thinking we’re crazy.

Challenge accepted. How about the cat cafe near the pier? If they can handle cats, they can handle talk of a rap-loving goose.

I laughed out loud, earning curious looks from the other people in the elevator. I didn’t care. For the first time in months, I felt a glimmer of hope. And not just for my career, but my love life too. It had been as stale as my booking prospects ever since I came to the United States. American men were just not the same as German ones.

I practically skipped the entire way home, my mind buzzing with possibilities. Maybe I could feature Sir Honksalot in my InstaSnap posts. A plus-size model with a rescue goose? That had to be a unique angle, right?

I was so lost in my thoughts that I almost missed the commotion coming from my apartment as I approached the door. Frowning, I quickened my pace and fumbled with my keys.

I swung the door open and was greeted by a scene of utter chaos. Feathers floated through the air like snow. The contents of my closet seemed to have exploded across the living room. And there, in the middle of it all, stood Sir Honksalot, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

In his beak dangled the mangled remains of what had once been my favorite pair of Jimmy Choo pumps.

“Sir Honksalot,” I gasped, horrified. “What have you done?”

He dropped the shoe and let out a triumphant honk, as if to say, “I’ve redecorated. You’re welcome.”

I sank to my knees, surveying the damage. I was so lucky the rest of the girls weren’t home. How had he even gotten out of my room? As I picked up a tattered blouse, a glint of metal caught my eye. There, hidden beneath a pile of destroyed clothing, was a bent hairpin.

“You picked the lock?” I asked incredulously. “With a hairpin? Should I have named you Goosedini?”

Sir Honksalot just waddled over and nestled against my leg, looking up at me with what I swore was a mischievous glint in his eyes. He was so cuddly and I couldn’t stay mad at him.

I sighed, giving his feathers a gentle stroke. “You’re lucky you’re cute, you know that? Now, what am I going to wear for my coffee date with Mac?”

As if in response, Sir Honksalot waddled over to the chaos and pulled out a simple, yet elegant sundress I’d forgotten I owned. It had survived the goose massacre unscathed.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Are you my stylist now, too? Fine, I’ll wear it. But this doesn’t get you off the hook for the shoes, mister.”

I made Honksy a new couch cushion fort and began the daunting task of cleaning up. It was mostly clutter, and I got most of it swept up and all but my clothes put away by the time my phone buzzed again. Another text from Mac.

Great call with my client. Might have that solution for our feathered friend. Can’t wait to tell you over coffee. See you soon.

I looked at Sir Honksalot, who was now contentedly preening himself amidst the wreckage of my wardrobe. There was no way I could leave him here alone again. Not if I wanted to have any clothes left, or roommates.

“Looks like you’re coming with me, Your Honkness,” I sighed, eyeing him warily as I changed into the sundress he’d “picked out” for me. “Let’s hope this cat cafe is open-minded about their clientele.”

I managed to fashion a makeshift carrier out of a large tote bag, lining it with a soft blanket. Sir Honksalot, surprisingly, seemed quite content with this arrangement, settling in with only minimal fuss.

As I approached the cafe, I could see Mac through the window, already seated at a table sipping on a mug of something with, oh my, was that a plate of glazedLebkuchenin the shape of cats? My heart did a little flip. Had he ordered those for me?

No, no. Couldn’t be. Anyone would order gingery-goodness shaped cat cookies in a cat cafe. This was about Sir Honksalot. He was just being a really nice guy.

That I definitely had an enormous crush on.

The bell above the door jingled as I entered and Mac looked up. His grin went wide, then shifted to confusion as he noticed the large, oddly shaped bag I was carrying with a feathered head sticking out the top.

“Sara Jayne, you look... um, really beautiful, drool-worthy honestly,” he said, standing to greet me. Then, glancing at my bag, “Is that...?”

I nodded, setting the bag gently on an empty chair. “I couldn’t leave him alone after what he did to my closet. I hope that’s okay?”

Mac laughed, his eyes twinkling. “Of course. Though I’m not sure how the cats will feel about it.”

As if on cue, Sir Honksalot let out a honk like he was also saying hello. Several nearby cats perked up their ears, looking around in confusion.

“Maybe we should move to a table outside,” Mac suggested, already gathering his things, and the plate of cookies. “Give His Honkness some privacy.”

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