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“Will do.” I set Freya on the floor and grab the takeout, knowing I won’t be able to juggle holding her as well as the food.
Back outside, the early evening sun is showing off, making the pink rocks beneath the water gleam like something from another realm, one better than this one, where no kid ever feels unwelcome in their own home.
Situations like Zack’s confirm my belief that we’re alone here on this spinning orb. If there were a higher power looking out for us, it wouldn’t let assholes like Zack’s parents have a child, while so many people who would make lovely parents—or at least not shitty ones—remain infertile.
I’m so busy thinking about Zack and juggling the food and carrier of hot coffee, that I’m not holding Freya’s leash as tightly as I should be. When a man in jogging shorts charges around the corner, yelling something about profit margins into his ear piece, Freya easily tugs out of my grasp.
“Freya no, come back here right now!” I call out, crouching to set the food and drinks on the ground so I can chase after her.
Before I can stand back up—or Freya can reach the shouting guy’s crotch—Wesley sprints up the trail behind the man. His hair is sticking up in all directions and he’s sporting a five o’clock shadow that makes him look a little dangerous in the best way. As he cuts across the grass and leaps into the air, diving in front of the man to grab Freya before my fearless protector can reach her target, a zing rushes through my blood.
“What the fuck?” the man shouts as Wesley rolls across the grass on the other side of the trail, Freya cradled against his chest. “No, not you,” the man barks into the phone before pressing his cell to his stomach and demanding in a none-too-friendly tone, “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You almost knocked me down.”
“I’m so sorry, he was just trying to grab our ferret before she jumped on you,” I say, hurrying over, food and coffee in hand. “She’s afraid of loud noises, and—”
“I don’t give a shit,” the man says. “If your animal doesn’t know how to behave in a public space, it shouldn’t be in one. Same goes for the two of you.”
“She said she was sorry,” Wesley says, rising to his feet, a chittering Freya squirming in his hands, begging to be set free to handle this red-faced jerk on her own. “And we truly didn’t mean any harm. It’s a beautiful night, so why don’t we just go our—”
“Shut the fuck up,” the man says, his face flushing a deeper crimson. “Don’t use that fucking ‘calm down’ town with me, asshole. I have every right to be pissed.”
“But she didn’t hurt you,” I say, inserting myself in between Wes and Mr. Roid Rage. “And neither did Wesley. Please, let’s just go our separate ways and be done with it. We don’t even live here, so you’ll never see us again. I promise.”
He grunts and his jaw clenches, but after a beat, he mutters, “Fine, whatever. I’m in the middle of a call anyway.” He starts down the trail, but then turns, shouting back at us, “But keep your animal on a fucking leash. Or next time it attacks someone, it might end up with its head crushed under a boot.”
I suck in a scandalized breath, while Freya lets forth a stream of ferret chatter so intense, there’s no doubt in my mind that she’s telling him just where he can stick his threat, his cell phone, and his bad attitude.
“Here, let me take the coffee and the bag,” Wes says, gathering the supplies with one hand as he guides Freya into my arms with the other. “She needs her mom.”
“Of course, she does,” I say, cuddling Freya close and stroking her sweet little head, the one that I never want to imagine being smashed under a boot ever again. “I’m so sorry, baby. I should have held tighter to your leash. I know, I know,” I add, lowering my voice to an even softer, more soothing murmur as I turn back toward the parking lot. “He was a dick. You’re right.” She clucks and whips her tail back and forth. “Yes. And probably on steroids. That’s what I thought, too.”
Wes snorts in soft laughter. “Me, too. I think his bicep was bigger than my head.”
I shudder and stick out my tongue. “I know. So gross.”
He arches a brow. “Not a fan of big, bulging muscles?”
“No, I like normal muscles. The kind that only strain a t-shirt a little bit.” I fight the urge to glance down at his arms and lose. When he catches me, and his grin widens, I add, “Yes, like yours. They’re nice. I can admit that your muscles are my favorite kind of muscles.”
“Your favorite kind of muscles,” he echoes thoughtfully. “That’s nice to hear. Now I’m really glad I came running in just my undershirt when I heard you scream.”
“You’ve been doing a lot of that lately,” I say. “Hopefully tomorrow will be a less scream-y day.”
“I’ve been thinking about tomorrow,” he says. “About tomorrow and the next day, the whole week, in fact.”
I frown, continuing to stroke Freya as she recovers from the excitement. “Okay.”
“And I don’t see any reason why we shouldn’t take these lemons and make lemonade.”
I arch a brow. “You mean enjoy the park? Hike and make s’mores, stuff like that?”
“Well, yes, but…more than that.” He runs a hand over his wild hair. “How about we clean up in the camper, and I’ll take you out to eat? We can have a nice dinner and discuss our options.”
I nod, intrigued. “All right. I bought sandwiches at the café, but they’ll keep in the fridge until tomorrow. And Freya should be fine in the crate for a while after her walk. I wouldn’t want to leave her loose in the camper while we eat, not after all the excitement with Mr. Roid Rage. She can get up to destructive mischief when she feels nervous.”
“Me, too, Freya,” Wes says, reaching out to run gentle fingers over her head. To my surprise, she leans into his touch, welcoming the show of affection.
Come to think of it, she didn’t tear him limb from limb when he tackled her, either. After only a day, Wes has won over my savage little beastie.
