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“Good day!” he chirps, bobbing his head like he’s congratulating himself. “Good boy!”

Several of his toys are scattered across the bottom of the cage—one of the bell balls has a new beak-sized dent in it—and most of his food is gone. Only a few sunflower seeds cling stubbornly to the edge of his bowl.

I open the cage door, and he wastes no time, hopping straight to my shoulder, claws digging into the soft cotton of my sweatshirt.

“Och,” I mutter halfheartedly. “You’re going to stretch this one out again.”

“Stretch the jumper!” he repeats proudly.

Despite myself, I crack a smile and walk over to the ring toss toy I left out this morning. It’s a wooden stand with colourful plastic rings stacked on one end. Sometimes, I think he’s actually getting the hang of it, but for the most part, he just randomly throws the rings and demands praise like he’s performed a miracle.

“Go on, then,” I say, crouching beside the toy.

Fergie squawks, flutters down from my shoulder, and grabs a red ring in his beak before promptly dropping it on the floor instead of the peg.

“Close,” I say flatly.

“Winner!” he cries.

“Not quite.”

He pecks the green one, scoots it toward the stand, then nudges it into place with what almost looks like precision.

“Och,” I say, watching him carefully. “That was actually decent.”

Fergie puffs up with pride. “Goal!” He hops back onto my shoulder, his beak brushing my jaw. “Treat?”

“You’ve had enough—”

Ding-dong.

The doorbell cuts me off mid-sentence.

Fergie squawks loud enough to set off what sounds suspiciously like his impression of the fire alarm.

I grimace. “Fantastic. All right, back in the cage. I’ll go down to see who it is.”

“Who is it?” Fergie says, turning his head.

I shake my head. “I’ll be right back.”

Closing the cage behind him, I head back downstairs, wondering who it could be. I check the peephole and almost lose my balance when I see who’s on the other side.

Millie Templeton is standing on my doorstep.

Chapter 7

Callum

“What are you doing here?” I demand the moment I open the door.

“You ditched me again,” she says, pushing past me. Her bubble-gum-pink raincoat drips water all over my hardwood floors. “Told you I’ve had enough.”

Just brilliant.

I shut the door slowly, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of my nose. “Well, I was done for the day. Didn’t realise I needed permission to leave.”

“You gave me your word,” shefires back. “‘After training,’ you said.Thisis after training.”