Page 52 of The Goat Next Door

“I spent years explaining to men named Marcus why sans-serif fonts have more emotional transparency than serif fonts. It was an absolute nightmare.”

“Oh my god, Marcus,” Lauren gasps. “They’re always named Marcus or Julian, and they always wear those minimalist gray cardigans that cost more than my monthly rent.”

“Yes! The gray cardigans!” Ember shrieks, her hands flying in the air. “And they always say things like ‘let’s lean into the friction of the negative space’ when they really just mean they don’t want to pay the illustrator!”

I stand there, my hands tucked into my back pockets, watching the two of them instantly merge into a single, high-frequency creative entity.

They become instant best friends in under ninety seconds.

It’s honestly one of the most terrifying things I’ve ever witnessed.

Sophie is standing between them, her head turning back and forth like she’s watching a tennis match.

“They’re talking about fonts, Daddy,” she whispers, looking up at me with total confusion.

“I know, bug,” I mutter under my breath. “Just don’t look ‘em in the eye.”

“Brooks told me you bought the place from Arthur’s estate,” Lauren says, turning her eyes toward the old house. “The bones of this house are incredible, Emmy.”

“It’s beautiful, right?” Ember says, her tone dropping into that sincere, softer register she used when we talked about the mill fire. “It’s falling apart, and money is the only thing keeping it from returning to the soil, but… it feels real. I wanted to build something I could actually touch.”

Lauren looks back at her, her expression softening into something genuinely sweet. “I get it. I totally get it. Brooks is a pragmatist—he just sees dry rot and code violations—but this place has a soul.”

“Hey,” I interject. “I see functionality. If the porch collapses, the soul doesn’t keep the rain off the floorboards.”

Ember turns her head toward me, her dark eyes flashing with that familiar, sharp mischief as she wrinkles her nose at me. “Look at him. The grump in a blue flannel shirt. Don’t listen to him, Lauren. He secretly loves my aesthetic. He bought me a stove just so I wouldn’t blow up his property line.”

“He bought you a stove?” Lauren repeats, her eyebrows shooting straight up into her fringe.

“It was a floor model,” I say, my ears starting to burn. “The guy owed me a favor.”

“Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Lauren teases, before turning back to Ember and grabbing her by the arm.

I just shake my head, a small, helpless laugh breaking through my chest as I watch the two of them instantly rewrite the social parameters of my afternoon.

The valley is definitely getting crowded, but as I look down at Sophie, who is currently trying to stick a piece of discarded pink caution tape to the toe of my work boot, the heavy knot in my stomach loosens up by a fraction of an inch.

“Alright, look,” I say. “We have to move. I have a shift at the station at five, and the Rogue is currently blocking the tractor path.”

Lauren stops, her long skirt swirling around her ankles as she turns an exasperated look on me. “Brooks. You are a literal human stop sign. We are trying to cultivate a vibe here.”

“The vibe has a timeline, Lo,” I say, but there’s no edge to it.

I look over at Emmy, whose yellow overalls are covered in crushed clover stems and a fresh layer of valley dust.

“And as much as I’d love to watch you two dissect my grumpiness, Emmy’s got about forty square feet of lawn spikes left to wrangle before the sun hits the ridge.”

Emmy leans her weight onto the handle of the aerator, wiping a bead of sweat from her temple with the back of her wrist.

She cuts her eyes toward me.

“He’s right, Lauren. The Chief is very strict about my schedule. If I don’t finish the north quadrant by sunset, I face severe neighborly corporate penalties. I might get my water heater consultation privileges revoked.”

“He wouldn’t dare,” Lauren says, though she’s already tracking the look that passes between Emmy and me—the slow, heavy friction that’s been humming under every word we’ve exchanged since she got into town.

Lauren’s mouth twists into a sharp, knowing little line. “Though, honestly, if he’s managing your infrastructure, you’re in safe hands. He’s incredibly boring, but he’s very thorough.”

“I am standing right here,” I interject.