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Fortunately, that dilemma hit the perfect spot for Luca—the one he loved about writing. It was the little spark that said: There’s something here. Follow this path. See where it leads.
It was the same fascination that made his mind flare and his fingers itch. It was the indescribable pulse of curiosity that jolted him awake at three in the morning, grasping for a pad and spending the next few hours scrawling notes in the half-light of the bedside lamp. When the words couldn’t stay locked away. When the questions had to be written down.
Because this mattered to Luca.
His readers might not know why it mattered. There were very few that did.
And Luca wasn’t in any rush to change that.
He’d learned that lesson the hard way.
Luca shook the ache from his hand.
He was about to break open the nut bar he’d stashed in the pocket of his bright green gym shorts when he was joined by an unexpected visitor.
Among the distant sway of ferns popped a carrot-colored head, giving Luca the same curious expression that he’d received a week prior.
It was Bowie, looking tiny and inquisitive and entirely adorable among the undergrowth, like he was wearing a green medieval ruff of leaves.
Luca lowered the pencil. “Hey there, buddy! What are you doing out here?”
He tensed slightly as he waited for the fox’s friend to appear from among the trees. But Artair didn’t come. It seemed that Bowie was alone.
The fox twitched his nose in response, cocking his head like a baby staring at a set of rattling car keys.
Luca had seen his fair share of foxes. Or, more accurately, he’d seen evidence of them. In the torn-apart supplies of poorly stored food while camping, as well as the occasionally upturned bin in the suburbs of Lynden.
Usually, they were cautious creatures.
Usually.
Luca chuckled as the fox bounded toward him. It wasn’t the low and stalking crawl of an animal hoping to go unnoticed, but a carefree trot, like a curvy girl strutting into a club in a body-hugging dress, knowing that every eye was on her and loving every moment of the attention.
When Bowie arrived at the fallen trunk, he immediately started sniffing Luca’s boots, setting his little teeth on the dangling laces.
The fox made adorable, high-pitched growls when Luca pulled his boots just out of reach, only stopping when he returned them to snapping distance. The yanks were quite strong for such a little thing, but even Bowie’s jaw was no match for laces woven with hiking in mind.
When the fox finally grew tired of the game, he jumped up on the tree trunk beside Luca, flopping down like a ginger floof—bushy tail swishing gently against the bare skin of Luca’s lower thigh.
Luca was once again mesmerized by the strangely puppy-like behavior, with the fox doing everything short of barking at the mailman and humping his leg.
In fact, it was such a dog-like act that Luca momentarily forgot that he was dealing with a wild animal, reaching over and giving a heavy scratch between the pointed ears.
The fox gave a growl at the pressure, making Luca yank his hand back. But instead of being a warning, Bowie headbutted Luca’s palm, driving soft but wiry fur deeper into his touch.
And then Luca realized that it wasn’t a growl. It was a purr. Soft and content and calm, like a cat sleeping in a sunny spot.
After a time, when Luca finally stopped patting Bowie’s dense coat and got back to his writing, the fox wandered away.
“Thanks for the cuddle, Bowie!” he said, as the orange flash disappeared into the undergrowth.
The air was cooler now, and it was probably time to make his own journey back. There were still a few hours of sun left, but Luca didn’t like to leave the tower unattended for too long—despite Sandy’s encouragement that he not glue himself to the seat all day.
And yet . . .
The reappearance of Luca’s first visitor to the tower turned his mind to his second—as it had every night since he laid eyes on the stunning man.
His mind drifted to the soft-focused scenario of being trapped under the desk once more, splayed and vulnerable and exposed. It drifted to what might’ve happened if, rather than saying Whoa! and Luca banging his head in shock, the beefy boy had instead swung his sweaty shirt over his shoulder, hairy chest slicked salty from his long hike, and said, Hey bro, looks like you’re stuck. Need someone to help get you out of that sticky situation?
