Page 20 of Fibre and Ink

“Okay, maybe something like nachos to get us through and then a more substantial dinner?” He went to the kitchen. I wasn’t sure if he was

asking me or just talking to himself.

I made sure my writing was saved and backed up on the cloud and closed my laptop. Whatever he was going to do, I felt the need to be close to him.

“Nachos sound great.”

He was looking after me. I relished it.

Chapter Eight

Mickey

After dinner Aster came with me to check on the herd.

The alpacas had learned already that Aster usually brought carrot sticks so they swarmed around him. The way they fawned was adorable — almost as adorable as his delight at how unafraid they were of him.

People usually know only two things about alpacas: that they’re like llamas, and that they spit. But alpaca only spit when provoked. They’re gentle creatures, who love their herd and anyone who treats them kindly.

The alpacas adored Aster.

Maybe they got that from me?

It was hard to remember that I wasn’t supposed to be into him when I watched him with the herd. The sun was beginning to set, heading into the golden hour, and I could see the way Aster’s shoulders and arms were beginning to fill out. He wore an oversized T-shirt with a frog on the front of it, and he was laughing, talking gently to the herd the same way I did.

Why couldn’t I have him?

We had a history. Did that make it weird or creepy?

He was my little sister’s best friend, but we’re all adults now. The age gap was a consideration, but... did it really matter?

Aster caught sight of me looking and raised his head. “What?”

“Nothing,” I looked away and saw movement on the far side of the furthest field. Close to the base of the foothills, stood a group of three or four people. From the shapes of their shoulders, they were wearing suits.

Suits? Out here? “Who’s that?”

Aster followed my gaze and frowned. “We should go check.”

I nodded.

I don’t like confrontation. I don’t like yelling or shouting, or accusing people of things but... Whoever they were, they were sneaking around. My herd were relaxed right then, but they could get agitated if these strangers came much closer.

I started walking towards them, climbing stiles to cross the fields in the most direct route. Aster followed. When I glanced back, I saw the herd was watching as well, curious about what had upset me.

They could pick up on emotions, I was sure of that. I always tried to be as calm and loving as I could with them.

The second I got annoyed, they knew about it, and they knew I was their protector. If I was upset, I’m sure they interpreted it as danger. And for all I knew, this was true. These men could very well be a threat to their well-being.

I got more and more het up as I approached the men.

Getting closer, I saw they weren’t paying any attention to me. One of them held a clip board, and another a measuring tape. Their dark grey suits and boring short haircuts that screamed official of some kind, like middle managers in a corporation or agents for the government. They were talking to each other and pointing at the relatively flat land between my fences and the foothills of the mountains. Wild animals and birds lived in this zone. I spotted a car way back on Lakeside Drive, they must have walked from there.

They certainly did not look like hikers, or people who were lost on their way to the Meadery.

I raised my voice. “Excuse me.” It was satisfying to see them all turn towards me startle.

All of a sudden, there was tension in those shoulder-padded jackets.