Page 59 of Lone Wolf in Lights
“Hey, no fair!” Charly laughed, trying to maintain her pose as the goat enthusiastically headbutted her thigh again, looking for attention.
Aubrey was faring no better; a pair of twin goats had taken an interest in her feet, nibbling on them as if convinced they were hay. “Ouch, okay, that’s my toes, not a snack,” she scolded them playfully, her laughter mingling with the soft jingles of Christmas music.
“All right, everyone, let’s acknowledge our furry little helpers and find our way to a seated position,” the instructor suggested, her voice laced with laughter as she observed the chaos unfolding around her.
As they settled onto their mats, cross-legged and still chuckling, the goats meandered between them, seeking out scratches and affection. Willow reached out to stroke one that approached, its coat warm under her fingers. In that moment, surrounded by friends and the innocent antics of the goats, Willow felt a surge of gratitude. Here, in this space of lightheartedness and connection, she could momentarily shed her armor of all the thoughts clogging up her mind.
“Deep inhale,” the yoga instructor instructed. “And exhale all that does not serve you.”
Willow closed her eyes, breathed out slowly, and allowed herself to just be—one with her breath, her friends and the playful spirits of the goats.
The class came to a gentle end. The playful goats were back, nuzzling against their hands, looking for treats.
“Anyone up for some hot apple cider?” Aubrey suggested, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm.
“Definitely,” Charly agreed, taking the lead toward the small counter where steaming mugs awaited.
Willow followed, the spicy aroma of cinnamon mingling with the earthy scent of hay. They each took a mug.
“To friendship,” Aubrey toasted, raising her mug.
“And to Christmas goats,” Charly added with a giggle, clinking her mug against the others.
“And to being here, together,” Willow concluded, finding truth in her own words. She took a long sip and set her mug down, watching as a mischievous goat, adorned with a tiny Santa hat, nudged Aubrey’s side, seeking attention.
“Okay, spill,” Charly said, her tone soft but insistent. “You’ve been miles away all morning. What’s going on in that head of yours?”
The question hung in the air, mingling with the soft strums of “Silent Night” playing in the background. Willow hesitated. “I’m still just trying to get my thoughts together.”
“That’s okay. Take your time. You don’t need to rush any of this,” Aubrey said gently. “We’ve got you, okay? No matter what happens.”
“Exactly,” Charly chimed in, offering a supportive squeeze to Willow’s shoulder. “You’re not in this alone, and you never will be.”
The words seemed to wrap around Willow like a warm blanket, their truth sinking into her skin. “I know I can be...a lot,” she whispered, feeling the vulnerability sliding through her veins.
“Everyone’s ‘a lot’ in their own way,” Aubrey said with a chuckle that held no judgement, only affection. “And we love every bit of your ‘a lot,’ Wills.”
“Besides,” Charly added with a knowing smile, “being ‘a lot’ means you have that much more to offer. Your heart is huge, which can sometimes be emotional, and that’s not something to ever apologize for. It’s the most wonderful thing about you.”
Willow looked from one friend to the other, their faces alight with earnestness and care. A small laugh bubbled up inside her chest, surprising her with its lightness. “I love you both so much.”
“We love you too,” Charly said.
“Always will,” Aubrey agreed.
Willow leaned into their warm embrace as they threw their arms around her, until a goat began nibbling on her ankle.
She glanced down and told it, “I’m not food.”
It kept on nibbling.
Aubrey laughed. “I think it disagrees with you.”
Out in front of his house, Eli stood at his table saw. With every deliberate movement, he sent sawdust spiraling into the frosty air, the rhythmic hum of the sander pulsating against the raw wood. It was a desperate attempt to silence the chaos in his mind. His hands knew their task, rough and steady as they glided over the planks, but his thoughts were elsewhere—entangled in a mess in his mind, lost in thoughts of Willow.
He wasn’t sure what he was building. A bench? A table? A chair? It didn’t matter. He needed to keep his hands moving, to somehow carve out a new purpose from the cedar beneath his fingers because nothing made sense anymore.
A sudden crunch of gravel broke through the monotony of his task, snagging his attention. Eli’s hand stilled, the persistent drone of the sander falling silent as he straightened up, eyes narrowing with curiosity.
