Just as my brother was close enough for me to yell out and for him to hear it, the irritating sound of a rooster crowing filled the air, making both of us freeze.
“Did you get another one?” I gasped.
Ren turned slowly and stared up at the trees. “No, we didn’t.” Not seeing anything, he looked down at my foot, then tilted his head to the side. “Why are you wearing a to go cup of coffee and what looks like a blueberry muffin on your foot?”
Slowly and still bracing for the chicken slipper scenario, I followed where he was looking. Sure enough, there was a crushed paper cup under my foot, with the plastic lid thingy almost pancaked on top of it.
And like that wasn’t bad enough, my toes were stuck inside one of my favorite muffins from the deli. These were the primo muffins of muffins, the muffin-daddies. Soft—and I hated the word, but I could use it when it came to these things—moist and filled with blueberries and some sort of blueberry jam in the middle. They weren’t overly sweet, and they just melted in your mouth.
That was my slipper.
To prove how much of an asshole he was, Crispy appeared beside me and began pecking at it, adding salt to a very raw and deep wound.
Come to find out, I also had a wound on the bottom of my foot, thanks to the plastic lid.
But the note scrawled over the cup was kind of sweet.
Helping you start your day the perfect way.
Love, Mark xx