Page 34 of Touch the Sky
I narrow my eyes. “Doesn’t that mean the…strawberry? Your full last name is Gauthier The Strawberry?”
I thought I was done laughing, but I begin cracking up all over again. This pint-sized hurricane who looks ready to shoot lightning bolts at me with her bare hands is named after a berry.
“Why is that funny?” she barks. “Also it’sraspberry, not strawberry.”
I place a hand on my chest. “Oh, my mistake. Raspberry is much more dignified.”
“Itis,” she asserts. “It’s a very well-known and respected surname in the province of Québec, which you wouldn’t know about because you stink of Ontario.”
I let out a shocked peal of laughter. I’m sure more people must be staring at us now, but I can’t stop.
“I stink of Ontario?” I screech.
She sucks in a breath like she’s about to double-down on her declaration, but at the last second, she clamps her jaw shut.
“Shit,” she mutters. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m trying to make you like me.”
I point a finger at her, a satisfied grin tugging at my mouth. “Aha! You admit it. Youarebuttering me up.”
She scowls.”No, I’m just trying to…to… Okay, yeah, I was buttering you up.”
She sighs, her shoulders drooping. She takes a conciliatory gulp of her pint and then stares down into the amber liquid.
“Does it make you feel better to know it was totallynotworking?” I ask.
She snaps her gaze up to glower at me. “No.”
Then she seems to think better of the glowering and sighs again.
“Sorry,” she blurts. “Look, I really do feel bad that I made you think I hate you. I don’t. It would be crazy to hate you after, like, a week of knowing you, and besides, I actually think you’re…cool. Very cool, and a good person.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “You think I’m a good person after a week of knowing me?”
“Yeah,” she says, with way more conviction than I was expecting. “I mean, you do good things. You helped my mom. You were very patient with all our horses, even the ones who are assholes about getting shoed. Also, you seem like you’re a really good mom to Shel.”
Her words shoot straight into my chest, pricking a target I didn’t know was there.
“Oh,” I murmur. “Um, thank you.”
“Plus, you’re a woman farrier,” she adds, “and a lesbian, which means you’ve probably been through a lot of shit to get where you are, so yeah, I think that’s pretty cool, and I’m sorry I didn’t give you a good impression.”
I fight the urge to reach up and rub my sternum, where it still feels like she’s pierced straight to the heart of me.
“Wow,” I say after blinking at her a couple times. “Um, thanks.”
She leans forward over the table, her expression hardening. She jabs a finger at my face.
“But don’t you dare ever laugh at my last name again, Ontarian.D’accord?”
I almost gulp.
“D’accord,” I assure her.
She extends her hand for a shake. Her hands are a little rough, knuckles criss-crossed with a couple miscellaneous scrapes and her palms calloused from working on the farm. The hardened skin brushes against my own thick calluses, formed by years of handling heavy farrier tools.
I’ve never been with someone with hands like mine, and for one wild moment, all I can think about is what it would feel like to have her run her fingertips up the side of my body, let herpalms span the breadth of my ribcage, her nails digging in just enough to bite.
“What’s your last name?”
