Page 24 of The Parent Playbook
“Chanclas,” I repeat, feeling my neck get hot. “Haven’t you seen that viral bit on VidHits?”
“VidHits, theapp?” She laughs, and that sound fills the stable as she pours more coffee. It lightens something in me too. “You go scrolling through VidHits?”
The heat on my neck is now creeping up my cheeks. “No, but I do have a twelve-year-old daughter.”
“Ahhh.” She sits heavily onto a stool, and I suddenly feel like we are old friends sharing stories. “I forgot about the pre-teen factor.”
“To be fair,” I try to stifle a chuckle and fail, “some of the videos are pretty funny.” I clear my throat and put on a gruff, manly voice. “Not that I watch them.”
She snorts, half spitting her late-night coffee.
“Look,” I say, getting up from my perching place. “Let’s do that last check of the electrics and then call it a night. Lily has been a trooper, and I can’t thank Doug enough for taking care of her while I’ve come out, but I want to be there when she wakes up.”
“Of course.” Angel’s voice is earnest, and I know she gets it.She’s also a single parent, after all. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
The final checks done—and she really did good work on the other electricals—we drop onto a bench on the ranch house’s porch.
It’s time to say goodbye. For some unknown reason, saying goodbye feels entirely unnatural.
“I’ll catch you again soon, huh?” is the best I can come up with.
“You really are cut from a different cloth, Scotty MacFarland,” Angel says, her voice a whisper in the stillness, her hand brushing mine lightly on the seat of the bench. It’s a simple touch, but it sends a jolt through me, electric and calming at once.
I turn to look at her, and the silence stretches. I’m lost in her gaze. The moonlight, the early morning air, and her—it’s all too perfect.
“I … uh,” I start, but my voice trails off.
Everything about her is overwhelming.
Drawing a deep breath, I muster a lighthearted tone, though my heart pounds fiercely against my chest.
“I guess I should be saying I hope not to see you again under emergency circumstances, but …” I pause, my hand inching closer to hers on the bench. “Honestly, I’d like to see you again soon. Very soon.”
Angel’s lips curve into a sly, sardonic smile but with twinkling eyes. “Careful, Scotty,” she teases, her voice low and husky, “keep that up, and you might find yourself on permanent ranch duty.”
I laugh, the sound more nervous than intended, and nod, my gaze fixed on hers. “So noted.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a blur of movement. Edgar.
“He stole the wire cutters!” I point to the tool dangling precariously from his mouth. “Don’t goats sleep?”
The absurdity of it makes me laugh as Angel springs up and sets off after Edgar. “Edgar!”
“Looks like he’s really got your goat!”
“Now is not the time for jokes, Scotty!”
The goat, seemingly aware of the game he’s ignited, dodges with unexpected agility, his hooves clacking against the wooden barn floor as we’re in hot pursuit. Wire cutters swing from his mouth like a trophy.
“Edgar, you thieving little rascal!” Angel shouts, though I hear a smile in her voice. She’s quick, but Edgar is quicker, zigzagging around buckets and over tools strewn on the ground. Angel almost catches him near the feed bins, but Edgar, with a defiant bleat, darts away at the last second, the wire cutters still secure in his grip.
“Looks like your goat-wrangling skills need a little work.” I can’t stop the tease in my voice as I watch her finally corner Edgar by an old oak tree.
With a swift, practiced grab, she retrieves her tool from Edgar’s mouth. “See everything you’re missing out on?” she retorts as she heads back, Edgar in tow.
She says it as a joke, but she’s hit the nail right on the head.
This is exactly what I’m missing out on.
