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Wiping my cheeks, I sniff, force down a hard swallow, and gather something like fraying resolve.
I’m over relationships. They aren’t worth the trouble. From now on, I will train hummingbirds to sit on my palm and drink out of little plastic flower cups. From now on, I feed the crows and teach them to bring me shiny rocks. From now on—
A tiny yip freezes me midway through putting my headphones back on.
I stop, assess my knowledge of bears, and turn once I’m certain they don’t sound like squeaky toys.
My heart stops.
There, sitting perfectly in the center of the clearing, is a tiny, tan-and-white chihuahua.
Its big brown eyes focus on me, searching.
Releasing my headphones, I crouch slowly and whisper, “Oh my goodness. Hi.”
It yips again, stands, takes one cautious step forward toward my outstretched hand.
“You’re so cute. Hi, baby.”
It stops. Its eyes flick off my hand.
“I won’t hurt you. Do you have a family? Are you lost?” It’s not wearing a collar, but it’s also not dirty. It hardly looks like it’s been out here for very long.
I’ve heard rumors that an alt woman lives in the woods. Maybe this is her puppy?
Maybe this is a perfect excuse to meet the alt woman in the woods and make a friend.
Oh my goodness.
I love that plan.
Reaching into my pocket, I pretend to pull out a treat. “You want this?”
It inches closer.
I move my hand, but its eyes stay locked on mine as though it’s entirely uninterested in whatever I may or may not be holding.
Might be too smart for me, this one.
It stops a foot away from me and sits.
When I reach for it, it closes its eyes but stays put, letting me pluck him up into the cradle of my arms. “You’re a timid thing, aren’t you?” I pet his little head, and he melts against my chest.
The idea that he might belong to someone else guts me, but I can’t steal someone’s dog. That’s wrong. Too wrong to even think about.
My every step weighs me down as I navigate through the trees toward the other side of the forest, where the cluck of chickens cushions a quaint cottage. “This is where the person people call a witch lives…?” I murmur. Holding puppy up, I ask, “What do you think, baby? Terrifying or the most perfect place ever?”
The tiny boy cracks an eyelid, then scrambles.
“Oh!” I catch him before he leaps out of my hands and hold his wriggling body steady. “Okay…maybe you do find adorable cottages threatening.”
He yips, imploring, as I start up the stone pathway to the front door.
“I’m positive she’s not actually a witch. People are just mean to people who look different.” Tucking him under one arm, I knock. “Hello?”
“Zy. A human.” The female voice drifts, eerily disinterested.
Within, a cat coos, and a few moments later, the door swings open to reveal a towering man in all black rubbing his ankle with one bare foot as he scrubs his eye. “Mm?” he mumbles.
