Page 40 of Moonlight and Mischief
“I’m not sure,” I say. “I took a lot of classes on environmental sustainability in college. And it seems like something worth doing. If I wasn’t involved in a pack, I guess.”
“Interesting,” she says, studying me. “Okay, new question. You win the lottery, what are you buying?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
“What about a fancy sports car?” she asks.
“I’ve got the car I want.”
“What about something ridiculous like a lifetime supply of your favorite candy. Or a bathtub full of sprinkles.”
“That sounds likeyourdream.” And now I’m imagining her in a bathtub of sprinkles with whipped cream instead of bubble bath. Freaking fantastic.
“Maybe.” Her giggle dances around me, infusing warmth into my skin. “But I think I’d prefer a swimming pool full of marshmallows.
“What would you buy?”
Marigold pauses, nibbling on the tines of her fork. “I would have said my own cabin. But I’m kind of enjoying staying in yours.” She grins at me, and it draws out my own smile in response. “But a car would be nice. Something practical but also cute like a sunflower yellow jeep.”
“I could see you in something like that,” I say. It’s tempting to make that vision happen, but a new car is not a gift you give to a friend. Maybe someday.
She asks more inane questions and we laugh over our answers. It’s a luxury to eat together during a pack dinner. No one bothers us or even looks twice at us, or not that I notice. It feels normal, like we are a couple. For a fewminutes, I can pretend.
8. Meteors and Makeovers
MARIGOLD
Tuesday goes by in a blur of teaching and cleaning, but on Wednesday, I’m committed to babysitting Hawthorne and Crickett’s brood so they have a date night - or date afternoon, since their children are so young. It’s something I do every other Wednesday. Hawthorne is cool with my temporary home, so I’m left with the task of entertaining a toddler and young child in Jasper’s cabin.
Oh, and I may have forgotten to tell Jasper about it.
“Ready to add the salt?” I ask Daisy, holding my breath as she wobbles the measuring cup on the edgeof the bowl.
Jasper steps through the front door and stops short, blinking at the young guests we have. “Hey guys, what’s going on?”
Daisy spills the cup of salt half in the bowl and half over my hand and across the counter.
Smiling maybe a little too wide, I say, “I’m babysitting. Want to help make some playdough?” Sighing, I sweep the salt into my palm and dump it into the bowl.
He recovers quickly, shucking off his hoodie and crouching beside Dahlia’s blanket to ruffle her dark curls before joining us in the kitchen. “It’s like making cookies?”
“Easier, because you don’t have to bake them.” Daisy holds onto the edge of the spoon while I begin to stir in the salt.
“Cool, what’s in it?” He pokes at the lumpy dough.
“Flour, salt, cream of tartar, water, and whatever we use to make it smell good or add color,” I quote from memory. It’s not my first time making playdough.
To my horror, Jasper pinches a blob of dough from the bowl and pops it into his mouth. His eyes go wide and with a quick jolt, he spits the dough into the sink.
“It’s pretty salty,” I say apologetically.
Turning back with a strained smile, he says, “I know that now.”
Daisy snorts between laughs. Once she’s recovered, she narrows her eyes at Jasper. “You can add the flavor if you want, normally it’s my job. You can borrow it if you really want.”
“Really? What flavor are we making this delicious dough?” he says, playing along. My hands tighten on the bowl, resisting the urge to hug him. He doesn’t have to help entertain her.
“Pumpkin spice!” Daisy blurts.
