Page 4 of Indiana Idealist
Glaring down at Camille’s fancy shoes, I say, “You might want to get some work boots, if you’re going to be mucking around out here.”
Rather than taking it as a helpful suggestion, as I had intended, she gets even more fired up. Steam practically billows from her ears when she glares at me and says, “You might want to stop bossing me around.”
I shrug my shoulders before saying, “Just a suggestion to keep you from ruining your Jimmy Choos.”
“They’re Prada,” she answers automatically before her eyebrows cinch together. “I’m surprised you’ve even heard of Jimmy Choo shoes.”
“I guess I’m full of surprises,” I tell her with a smirk that I hope conveys that she shouldn’t underestimate me.
Rather than being impressed, Camille rolls her eyes at my cocky response before whirling around and tromping back in the direction she came from.
Just when I think she might let me have the last word, she waves the lawyer’s letter in the air with her fist and, without turning back, yells, “You’re going to pay for this, Sullivan.”
I’m smiling, despite my best efforts to the contrary. Something about the spitfire of a woman is absolutely irresistible.
Reminding myself that she’s a reckless polluter, I kneel down to check the soil around one of the biggest trees on the lot. Grabbing the tree’s thick trunk, I say aloud, “In another year or two, you’ll be seven feet tall and get retired to the backlot. You’ve worked hard to bring holiday cheer to the Johnson family for numerous Christmases. It’s almost time for one of these young saplings to take over for you.”
I stand back up and swipe my hands down my jeans before saying, “Well, Charlotte, it’s official. I’ve started having full conversations with the trees.”
Turning my head from side to side, I suddenly realize my beloved pig isn’t nearby. I call out loudly, “Charlotte?”
Just then, I see her plump rump disappear into the woods following in the path toward Camille’s house.Dammit!
5
CAMILLE
Charlotte and I are sitting comfortably together on my front porch steps when Leo emerges from the woods. He looks as annoyed as I had hoped he would that his pig followed me home.
I scratch behind the sweet animal’s ears and give Leo a syrupy sweet smile before shrugging my shoulders and saying, “She seems to have taken a liking to me.”
“I can see that,” he mutters as he trudges closer to us.
Since it’s obvious that his pet’s affection for me gets under his skin, I say, “Perhaps we should work out a shared custody arrangement for her, since she obviously enjoys spending time with me.”
“Shared custody?!? She’smypig,” he blusters. When I remain quiet, he narrows his eyes at me and says, “Wait. What happened to you thinking it was disgusting to have a pig for a pet?”
“Charlotte’s special. Aren’t you, sweet girl?” I tip my face down to grin at her.
“Yeah, she’s pretty special––and headstrong,” he grumbles the last two words as he crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the porch railing, evidently giving in to the realization that Charlotte intends to stay here for a while.
Nodding my agreement with his assessment, I say, “I guess the term ‘pig-headed’ is pretty accurate.”
As if sensing that I have just insulted her kind, Charlotte chooses that moment to turn her head and root into the pocket of my slacks. A plump blueberry falls out, which she promptly devours.
Leo bugs his eyes out as his gaze darts between the two of us. His face is already turning red when he strikes out with the accusation. “Did you lure her away from me using blueberries as treats?”
I’m clearly busted, so I remain quiet. My lack of a denial infuriates the man further. Practically shaking with rage, he yells, “You pignapped her!”
I snort out a laugh, sounding more like a pig than Charlotte, before repeating the preposterous term, “Pignapped? Hardly. It’s not like I forced her to follow me.”
“No, you just bribed her.” After a moment, he stands to his full height to hover over me before adding, “You’re as bad as a clown in a van trying to lure children inside with candy.”
“Now you’re just being ridiculous.” I shake my head at his outlandish accusation.
“You’re the ridiculous one,” he tells me before whirling around to head back to the path that leads to his property. He calls over his shoulder, “Come on, Charlotte! It’s time to go home.”
Charlotte doesn’t budge. I purposely don’t touch her, so that he can’t accuse me of bribing her to stay with me.
