Page 162 of Huckleberry Hill
“You no longer care what other people think?”
I bit my lip. “Well . . .”
He chuckled. “Yeah, I thought so.”
“I’m a recovering people pleaser. But I’m a work in progress. And you know what? Life is a hell of a lot easier when you finally admit what you want.”
“And actually allow yourself to be happy?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“And you are, right? Happy?”
“Yeah, I’m happy.”
“Mostly happy,” he said quietly. “But not completely happy.”
“I’m still coming to terms with . . . my issue,” I admitted slowly.
Declan glanced down at the baby goat on my lap. “I’ve never slept with a goat on the bed before.”
“Nor have I,” I said.
“She smells okay.”
“Better than okay. She got a bath earlier.”
“Scoot over.”
I moved toward the wall and set Tempest down onto the comforter. Declan climbed back under the blankets and then turned off the lamp.
The sound of the rain on the tin roof was soothing, lulling me back to sleep.
But then Tempest got up and started pawing at the covers.
“What’s she doing?” Declan asked.
“I think she wants underneath the blanket,” I said.
“No. Absolutely not. She can sleep on top of the covers or she can go back in her pen.”
But Tempest was stubborn and adorable, and eventually Declan sighed and lifted the covers. Tempest wormed her way beneath them and plopped down between us and didn’t move.
“This is bad,” Declan said. “We’re teaching her this is okay.”
“You were the one who brought her in here in the first place,” I said with a laugh. “Not to mention, you lifted the covers and let her under.”
“Have you seen her face? You say no to her. Try it, I dare you.”
I laughed again, reaching out to pet Tempest, but I encountered Declan’s hand instead.
He gave my fingers a squeeze. “We’re going to need a bigger bed if we’re going to be sharing ours with a baby goat.”
“A bigger bed.” I snorted. “In this room? It’s already getting crowded.”
He fell silent for a moment, but then he said, “It’s too soon to have this conversation, isn’t it?”
“Yes, definitely.” I paused. “What conversation?”
