Page 56 of Broken Trails
“Do you even hear yourself right now?”
“Alright,” he says, pretending to think hard. “Chair.”
“Chair?”
“Well, you’ve given me nothing to fucking work with, so…” He shrugs, and his lips twitch. I roll my eyes, but he just keeps going, firing off random words until he suddenly pauses, tilting his head at her. “You know… her fur’s kinda like your hair. Just lighter. And she’s got those little freckles on her nose. She’s basically a mini you.”
I groan. “Is that right?”
“Yeah. I’d say it’s fate.”
I don’t bother answering, and he hums like he’s deep in thought. “Okay. New idea. What about… Sprinkles?”
“Sprinkles?” I raise a brow.
“Yeah. Tiny white dots in her fur, freckles on her nose. It fits.”
“That sounds ridiculous.”
“Admit it. You like it.”
I bite my lip, fighting the smirk threatening to give me away. Lord help me, because I actually don’t hate it. Anything, and I mean anything, would be better than Sparklepaws. “Keep telling yourself that,” I say, and he chuckles. This time, I glance away before I find myself stuck in the orbit that is Michael Price’s tongue piercing, again.
“So, I guess that makes us… co-parents,” he says, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
“Absolutely not. I’m not co-parenting a cat with you.” The words sound ridiculous even as I say them.
“Hate to break it to you, but my name’s on the adoption papers. That officially makes me a cat daddy.” He pauses, frowning slightly. “Wait… what do they call it nowadays?” He tilts his head, lost in thought, and I can’t help but frown back at him. Then he snaps his fingers. “Fur daddy. That’s it.” He winks like he’s just solved a world crisis.
Somehow, he manages to keep his image of being young and a little reckless—sometimes even immature—but at the same time, he’s the most grounded, self-assured twenty-seven-year-old I’ve ever met. “You’re an idiot,” I tell him, but the smile still tugs at my lips.
“Yeah, maybe.” He points to my mouth. “But I’m an idiot who made you smile.”
He watches me steadily, and for a moment, I feel stripped bare under the weight of it. It’s unnerving how almost comfortable it feels, how I can actually see myself letting go around him. Carefree, even. The thought tugs sharply at my chest, anxiety gnawing at the edges. It’s too much conversation for me right now. Too much banter when all I want is a hot shower to scrub off the remnants of today’s shitshow. I push off the bench with a sigh. “Alright, Hotshot. I’m in desperate need of a hot shower.”
He leans back on his heels, grin stretching wide. “Ooh. Need me to hold the loofah? I’m excellent with bubbles.”
I let out a sound of pure exasperation, but it’s useless—the corners of my mouth betray me, tugging upward into yet another smile I didn’t plan on giving him.
“You’re ridiculous.”
Michael chuckles, palms raised in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. I’m going.” He heads for the door, shoulders loose, unbothered as always.
But just before he disappears, the words slip out of me. “Michael.”
He glances back, one brow arched.
“Thanks. For… everything.”
For a moment, something unreadable flickers in his expression. His voice is quieter when he answers. “Don’t thank me, Freckles. Showing up for a friend isn’t something I need to be thanked for.”
The door shuts softly behind him, and I’m left standing there, spiralling. It shouldn’t get to me, but it does. The sharp edges mixed with that stupid kindness… It’s messing with me. I shake my head, forcing myself toward the bathroom. My face is stiff from dried tears, my makeup’s probably a disaster, and there’s a burn low in my body that I don’t know what the hell to do with. All because of him. Michael Price, the reckless, insufferable man who’s slowly prying through walls I swore no one would touch.
21
Sweater Weather - The Neighbourhood
The fire’s already burning when I roll up the drive to Mitchell Valley Farm.
