It’s a five.

  * * *

  To: Lucas Xavier

  From: Harrison Bates

  CC: Lola Dumont

  Subject: What will it take to get that to a ten?

  * * *

  Want me to add more clues to make it a ten?

  * * *

  To: Harrison Bates

  From: Lucas Xavier

  CC: Lola Dumont

  Subject: That doesn’t sound like your thing

  * * *

  You said you wouldn’t do that.

  * * *

  To: Lucas Xavier

  From: Harrison Bates

  CC: Lola Dumont

  Subject: You have me on that point

  * * *

  True, true. I am a man of my word. And speaking of words, I must return to them because this gives me an idea . . .

  * * *

  When I set down the phone, the spell is broken. The moment of holding hands has passed. We’re no longer two people enjoying a wild-goose chase. We’re two people who needed to know there was a purpose to the last twenty-four hours. A purpose beyond getting to know each other again. And we got what we needed with the partial deposit—confirmation we’re not wasting our time.

  But really, this shift is for the best. It has to be.

  Because how can you fall for someone in one day? Hell, it’s been less than twenty-four hours.

  There’s no way I could be falling for her again.

  That would be like chasing bubbles on a beach and expecting to catch them.

  That would be foolish indeed.

  When the train arrives, we exit, but it feels like we’re not the same people who handed our tickets to the conductor an hour ago. There’s a new heaviness in the air. Maybe an awareness that any feelings might be foolish. I focus on facts instead. “So, the debate rages on,” I say. “Are alpacas llamas?”

  As we get into a Lyft, we google pictures of the animals, and since the differences are apparent – alpacas have shorter ears and are smaller in size, while llamas have longer faces—we’re not debating whatsoever. We’re agreeing as we point out the similarities.

  When we reach the sanctuary, she shoots me a wistful look. “Guess we aren’t arguing anymore. Like we did last night over how we met.”

  “Guess we aren’t like them at all.” I fasten on a smile. Not arguing is a plus, surely.

  She sighs. “Good. I don’t want to be like them. I don’t want to argue.”

  “I don’t either.” But while that’s true, it doesn’t feel entirely right.

  Maybe because I don’t know what I want us to be.

  Because when we exit the car, we’re not arguing, but we’re not holding hands either.

  That’s because you’re friends, you dumbass. Be her fucking friend, something you failed to do ten years ago.

  Right.

  That’s it.

  I’m fixing the mistakes of the past.

  I’m not the guy who messed around with a girl and then freaked out when she only wanted to be friends.

  I gesture to the white picket fence surrounding the farm. “Hey, have you ever considered whether this might be a haunted alpaca farm? Maybe Harrison is masterminding a horror novel.”

  Her lips curve into a grin. “I bet he is.” We walk a little more, then she says, “Lucas?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ll beat up the clown if one comes after you.”

  I laugh. “What more can a man ask for?”

  And, truly, I can’t ask for anything more, because we’re back in business.

  20

  Lola

  Things I never expected to do on a Saturday with my pseudo ex, sorta lover, new friend: tour a llama and alpaca sanctuary.

  But I’m a little bit in love with the cousin camelids.

  That’s what Davina calls them, the Melissa McCarthy look-alike who runs The Cousin Sanctuary. “We grew up with both these creatures in Auckland,” she says in a light New Zealand accent. “That’s why I wanted to work with abandoned, neglected, or abused ones here when I came to the States. So many needed a home.”

  She ushers us into the barn, along the stalls, past stacks of hay, and to her “lovelies,” as she calls them.

  A thick-furred creature lifts his snout at us, humming.

  “That’s Harvey. He’s just saying hi,” Davina says, then pats the animal on the nose. “He’s shameless. Always angling for a little loving.”

  I peer at the license-plate-style placard on the green gates of Harvey’s stall. It says Want to adopt me? Alpaca my bags.

  “How often do they get adopted?” Lucas asks, studying the creature cautiously, like he’s never seen an animal before.

  Davina smiles softly, sadness in her expression. “Not too often. Most people don’t have room for alpacas, or llamas for that matter. Lots of folks think they do. They think it’ll be so cute to get a little llama on a leash for a youngster’s birthday. And then a few years later, it’s all, oops, I actually have to take care of this animal. Like, with a barn. And hay! And it eats two to four percent of its body weight every day,” she says, then shifts to her normal voice. “But that’s why your brother and his belle came here. They had this idea that someday they would have a farm and take care of these lovelies,” Davina says, walking past another stall bearing a sign that says Spit happens.

  “Always dreaming,” Lucas remarks, but there’s no mockery in his voice. More an appreciation for his brother.

  Davina glances back at us. “Stars in their eyes, true. But I’m grateful for the two of them. They come out here and help. Lugging bales of hay, cleaning up, and taking care of my little lovelies.”

  Lucas nods thoughtfully, like he’s assembling this image in his mind. “I can see that.”

  We pass another stall housing a pair of black llamas nuzzling each other. The sign on the gate boldly proclaims No llama drama here.

  I point to it. “That’s sweet,” I say, my heart warming as the taller of the two rubs a snout against the other’s.

  Davina scoffs. “Ha! They’re showing off for visitors. Normally they’re screaming at each other. Huffing and puffing and arguing about something.” She stretches out an arm and pats one on the head then the other.

  Lucas shoots me a knowing grin. “That sounds like Rowan and Luna.”

  Davina chuckles, stopping in front of the next stall, home to a couple of black-and-white llamas. “Here’s Frick and Frack.” The sign on this stall declares The Alpacalypse is coming! You’ve been warned.

  “They’re brothers, but mostly there’s no sibling rivalry,” Davina explains. “Want to feed them?”

  Lucas straightens his spine, his jaw tightening. “Feed them what?”

  A laugh bursts from my chest. “Lucas, are you afraid of llamas too?”

  “No!”

  Davina laughs deeply. “They don’t bite.” She strokes her chin, adopting a serious expression. “Well, I hope they don’t.” She winks at me.

  “So, they do bite?” he asks, clearly concerned.

  I nudge him. “They’re up there with clowns on your list, right? It’s okay. I can protect you from these guys as well.”

  He rolls his eyes. “I’m not afraid of alpacas.”

  “Good, but those are llamas,” I say.

  “No, they’re alpacas,” he says, pointing to the Alpacalypse sign.

  “Nope.” I shake my head as I gesture to the long-faced animals. “Definitely llamas.”

  “Then why does it say Alpacalypse?”

  “Because the llamas are warning us about it,” Davina cuts in, slapping her thigh, laughing. When she finishes, she bends to grab some hay. “Animal puns get me every time. And don’t feel bad—Rowan couldn’t tell the difference either. He and Luna went round and round all the time on this one. Here you go.” She offers some to Lucas. He holds out his hand, a little reluctantly, giving the hay the side-eye.

  “You never had pets growing up, did you?” I ask.

  “No. My parents hated them.”

  “Ouch,” I say, frowning. “Hate’s a strong word.”

  Davina bends to grab more hay when a loud buzz emanates from her jeans pocket. She grabs her phone then holds up a finger. “Got to take this. Just keep feeding Frick and Frack. They like hay.”

  She wanders toward the end of the barn.

  I tip my forehead to the bale of hay. “Want help?”

  He scoffs. “I can handle an alpaca.”

  “A llama,” I say with a laugh.

  He winks. “I know that, Dumont. Just making sure you were paying attention.”

  I grab some hay and lean against the metal bars, offering some to one of the guys. He munches from my hand. “No pets growing up, huh? And I’m only just learning this now?”

  He shakes his head. “Not a one. My parents said they were dirty, stinky, and full of disease.”

  “Ah, so it was just a slight dislike.”

  “Just a tiny bit. Also, now that I’ve said that out loud, I think my parents were kind of dicks,” he says, fiddling with the hay in his palm.

  With my free hand, I squeeze his shoulder sympathetically. “Sorry, Lucas. I know you weren’t crazy about their decisions. I’m getting the impression you are even less wild about them than you were before.”

  He opens and closes his fist around the hay. “I don’t want to be like them.”

  It’s a simple statement, but it resonates.

  It’s how I’ve lived my life too. That’s my mantra. I’ve chosen a certain path over the last several years. One with the least llama drama.

  Because I don’t want to be like my parents either.

  Since we’ve been opening up, I draw in a deep breath and do that once more. “I feel the same about mine. Maybe that’s why I’ve never been in any relationship that became serious.” I’m a little nervous, but glad too, to admit this particular truth. This unexpected quest we’re on seems to easily unlock doors to emotions and secrets. Like we’re on a road trip, and the open highway is freeing our minds and our hearts.

  We’re saying things we wouldn’t otherwise say. Admitting things we’d have kept tightly under wraps.

  He tilts his head inquisitively. His tone is soft, caring. “You haven’t? Not at all?”

  “Don’t get me wrong. I do date. But I’m not out there swinging it every night. I’m not a player.”

  “You better not be,” he grumbles.

  I bump my shoulder to his. “Hey, same for you!”

  “Don’t worry, Dumont. Despite this face, I’m not either,” he says with a deliberately charming grin.

  “You’re not?”

  “Does this surprise you?”

  “Well, you said it yourself. You have a very pretty face. So, you could be.”

  “And yet I don’t carry the player card,” he says.

  “Any particular reason?”

  He shakes his head. “Just busy . . . you know. Focused. And I’ve dated, had girlfriends, but . . .”

  “But no one who hooked you long enough to want more?” I ask, filling in the blanks, because they feel like my blanks.

  “I haven’t experienced that click. That connection, like Rowan has with Luna, you know?”

  “They’re kind of crazy for each other,” I say, shuddering like the thought scares me. And it does in many ways. I’ve seen where that kind of intensity can lead.

  Lucas has too, and he mirrors me, shuddering as well. Two kindred spirits, understanding the dangers of love. “They are, and I don’t know what I’d do in that type of . . . situation,” he says, choosing his words carefully, it seems. “But then, it hasn’t happened to me.”

  “Same here. I’ve dated, had some long-term boyfriends. But no one who rocked my world,” I say, but there’s more to it. There’s a part of me that’s terrified of a love so powerful that it could consume me. I’ve seen the kind of damage that can do. I don’t want to watch other parts of my life, and myself, burn to embers. “Love feels like such an all-or-nothing proposition,” I say with a sad sigh.

  His eyes meet mine again. There’s an intensity in his gaze, but an understanding too. “It does. Why can’t there be some middle ground?”

  I force out a laugh. “Halfway love?”

  “That sounds like a book title. We’ll design the cover after we finish Things Overheard in Coffee Shops.”

  “As long as it’s not a cracked heart design, I’m in.”

  “Please. We’re kick-ass, not derivative,” he says, then he flinches, startled, and turns to find Frick rubbing his snout against his shoulder.

  “I believe someone wants something from you,” I tease.

  Lucas smiles at the animal, and whatever wariness he felt earlier has vanished. “This guy doesn’t want halfway love. He wants it all,” he whispers, then thrusts out his hand and offers the food. The llama scoops it up with his tongue. Lucas’s eyes light up with childlike glee. “Ha! That’s awesome.”

  The delight in his expression is infectious. It spreads through my soul. I bounce on my feet, smiling. “Lucas Xavier, you are definitely not like your parents at all.”

  He tilts his head, meeting my gaze. “Why do you say that?”

  I point at the animal eating happily from his hand. “Because you’re falling in love with a llama, and there’s nothing halfway about it.”

  He narrows his eyes, but the corner of his lips turns up as he meets Frick’s gaze. “Hey there, buddy.”

  And my heart—forget warming up; it’s simply glowing as he pets Frick. “You so are,” I add.

  “So what? He’s cute,” Lucas grumbles. “Want more, buddy?” He bends to the bale, grabs some hay, and returns to feeding.

  “You went from wary and suspicious of llamas to in love in sixty seconds,” I remark as I snag some hay for Frack.

  Lucas nods to Frack. “Same for you, woman. Didn’t take Frack long to romance you.”

  “Maybe I’m easy when it comes to four-legged creatures,” I say as Frack hums against my palm, gobbling up the hay.

  He smiles. “Did you have pets growing up?”

  “Cats. We had all the cats in Miami. My parents rescued stray cats any chance they could. We had a menagerie for some time. Funny thing is, the pets were about the only thing they took care of when they lost interest in Luna and me.”

  He shoots me a sympathetic look. “For real?”

  I shrug, but it doesn’t hurt like it did when I was younger. “They loved their cats more than their kids. I guess they’re dicks too.”

  Lucas lifts his free hand and strokes Frick’s snout. “Let’s make a vow not to be like that. What do you think, Lo?”

  “I’m down with that plan,” I say, mirroring him as I pet Frack.

  We’re quiet for a few moments, feeding the pair of siblings as they purr their appreciation for the simple things in life.

  “Seems there’s more to Luna and Rowan than I thought,” Lucas says, his voice a little faraway. “I always pictured them as this hotheaded young couple, but there was more going on. And they have quite the interesting life.”

  I nod, picturing Luna and Rowan spending the occasional weekend here. “It’s funny because I think I know my sister, but I can also see there’s a lot I don’t know about her. She’s more selfless than I thought.”

  He smiles a crooked grin. “Kind of cool to learn, isn’t it? It makes me feel better about picking up the slack for him now and then,” Lucas says as he hands more hay to the animal. “He really tries to give back. Did you know he visits the children’s hospital and plays games with the kids?”

  I smile, loving that image, as I offer hay to Frack. “I had no idea. That’s so sweet.”

  “He’s a good one. Total pain in the ass, but total softie too.”

  “What would they say about us if the roles were reversed?” I ask.

  Lucas’s dark eyes roam up and down my frame. “You are definitely a total pain in the ass, but a softie too.”

  “Hey! I’m not a pain in the ass. Or a softie.”

  “But maybe I am,” he offers, a little quiet, a little vulnerable.

  “Are you? Both?”

  He doesn’t say anything at first, then he answers me with vulnerability in his eyes. “I know I’m a pain in the ass, so no argument there. But the soft side—you tell me. You said I was falling in love with a llama . . .”

  I study his handsome features, from the square jaw, to the carved cheekbones, to the dark eyes. His hair too. All that lush hair I love running my fingers through. This man who hates clowns, who can’t stand rudeness, who embraces directness, who picks up after his brother, and who thinks and feels and listens.

  Is he a softie? Is he a pain in the ass? Does he love halfway?

  I sidestep, finding a better way to address the questions. “I think Rowan would say he’s damn lucky you’re his brother.” I’m proud of Lucas, of what he’s done and of the life he’s leading.

  He feeds Frick the rest of the snack, then says, “And I bet Luna would say Cassiopeia brought her a terrific sister. She didn’t even have to wish upon a star for you.”

  My heart slams against my chest, pounding mercilessly, desperate to get closer to this man. I’m tempted to reach for him, touch him, wrap an arm around him, hold him, and kiss him.

  And there’s nothing halfway about that feeling.

  But something rubs against me. A soft, fuzzy head jutting up against my cheek. And it’s humming.

  It’s Frack.

  I laugh, nuzzling him now.

  Lucas glances at the creature, then at me. “Maybe he’s falling in love with you,” Lucas says, soft and tender.

  I pet Frack’s head as I gaze at Lucas, my stomach flipping, my heart hammering. I no longer know who’s falling for who, or if we’re sliding together into a wildly dangerous new territory.

  Davina returns, a wide grin on her face. “I see they’ve won you over. I may have to enlist you on the farm.”