“Aren’t you a pretty boy?” Parrish said to the little rooster.
“That’s Uncle. He has a bit of a Napoleon complex,” I explained. “Ignore him.”
Marigold giggled when Brenda shook her plume of head feathers and scared Trixie, causing her to jump and flap her wings. One of the flapping wings knocked over one of my newest pullets, and I let out a growl of warning.
“Simmer down, all of you.” I opened the hatch so I could go in and check on the little pullet. She was okay, but a little shaky. “Shh.”
“What’s that one’s name?” Parrish asked.
“Actually, I haven’t named her yet. Maybe you can name her?” I turned to hold the slender bird out to him and realized he was staring past me. I followed his eyes to see Rhonda on one of the swings.
I cleared my throat and placed the pullet back on the ground. “We’ve probably had enough chicken fun for now. Why don’t we head on back insi—”
Parrish’s voice was soft with awe as he continued looking around at all of the chickens and taking everything in—all the hard work I’d done to make them happy and healthy, all the time and care I put into keeping them productive and safe. “You really love them, don’t you, Diesel?”
I must have swallowed some dust or something. I coughed again. “They keep me busy. I’m getting a little hungry. Why don’t I get started on dinner? Marigold is infatuated with the stacking cups you got her, so maybe she’ll let you build a tower she can Hulk smash. I swear we spent hours doing that last night before bed.”
With a hand on his lower back, I angled him out of the pen and back toward the house. Once we entered the living room, Parrish turned and pressed a kiss against my cheek. His lips stayed against my skin for several long beats before he pulled away and pretended to fuss over Marigold’s basket of toys.
“What…” My voice broke so I tried again. “What was that for?”
He didn’t turn to look at me. “Oh, you know. Just… we should probably, um, act like fiancés more. Get used to it so it doesn’t seem awkward.”
“That definitely didn’t feel awkward,” I said, holding a hand up to my cheek as if I could keep the ghost of his lips pressed there forever.
“Besides, I think the way you take care of those chickens is really nice, Diesel.”
I couldn’t see his face, but I could see the crimson edges of his ears, and they were damned adorable. “Thank you,” I said gruffly. “I’m going to get started on dinner.”
Jesus.
It was ridiculous how awkward I acted around him sometimes. I looked back on my effortless flirtation with him the first day he was here and wondered where I’d taken a wrong turn. But the truth was, the more time I spent with him, the more I purely liked him. And while he was maybe the easiest man I’d ever met to be myself with… I also didn’t want to do anything that might inadvertently send him packing precisely because I liked him so much. More than I’d ever liked anyone in my life, besides my aunts.
In short, I’d caught myself in a neat little trap.
I turned on some music at a low volume and pulled out the old dutch oven pot, pouring some olive oil in it before moving over to chop an onion and some garlic. Parrish sat on the rag rug nearby and played with Marigold. Suddenly, I was in the middle of the kind of domestic scene I’d never in a million years envisioned for myself.
It was better than I’d ever imagined, and I couldn’t decide which part of it was hurting my heart. Was it the fact that Marigold wouldn’t grow up in a two-parent household like this or the fact that I hadn’t? I felt a tightness in the back of my throat and tried to stop thinking about it.
“Tell me about work,” I said, hoping to get my mind away from going in this dangerous direction. “How are things going with the new restaurant?”
Parrish’s face lit up. “Great! You should come by and see all the work Mal has done on the furnishings. It looks amazing. And the manager we hired is already doing a great job pre-screening employees. The contractor—do you know Gil Hammersmith?—he’s been amazing.”
As he continued to tell me about the progress they’d made, I pictured the handsome, successful contractor. I’d seen his ass on Grindr—literally—and knew that he would love nothing more than to get sweet Parrish naked.
“Be careful with Gil,” I grunted, taking out my frustration on the tomatoes with my cleaver.
Parrish’s eyes blinked up at me. “Really? Why?”
“He’s gay,” I said, as if that explained everything.
Parrish bit his bottom lip against a smile. Dammit, the man was irresistible.