Page 57 of 10 Rings I Hate About You
But I was starting to suspect the real one was considerably more complicated.
Which was the most inconvenient thing that happened to me all year.
And given my year, that was saying something.
Chapter Ten
MARC
Glamma’s dining room looked like a place where people confessed sins and signed treaties. Knowing this house, both had probably happened here.
I stood at one of the large windows, watching moonlight fracture across the rippling water of the lake. Usually, I found it soothing. Tonight, the irritation buzzing under my skin had other plans.
My phone vibrated in my pocket.
WYATT
WTF is up with this goat? He keeps escaping from the barn.
I dragged a hand down the back of my neck. I’d asked Wyatt to babysit newly named Chaos—which said something about the state of my life—but the animal had proven to be aggressively opposed to being contained. I’d found him in the fields, in my kitchen, and once, sitting on the hood of my car like he owned it.
MARC
I’ll be home soon. Hopefully. Glamma’s in one of her moods. I told you he was a Houdini.
WYATT
Maybe he just wants to be free, dude. Deep stuff.
MARC
In the pantry is a shelf of snacks for him. If he doesn’t listen, put on cartoons for him in the guest bedroom downstairs. He seems to enjoy them.
WYATT
Goats contain layers. And this one seems to have a lot of them.
I pocketed my phone.
There were times I’d seriously thought about asking if a nearby farm wanted the goat, but each time, I remembered the dirty, matted, starving goat I first saw. And even though he did what he wanted, he’d warmed up to me and even when he escaped, he always seemed to come back.
Behind me, candlelight flickered across the long dining room table where the four elderly women who collectively ran this town sat armed with clipboards, cards, and the particular energy of people who have nothing to lose. Glamma sat at the head, as was cosmically appropriate. Goldie and Gladys flanked to her right and left, respectively, while Martha sat on Gladys’s other side—all of them like generals dressed up for the occasion.
Delaney stood near the sideboard, pretending to be deeply interested in the watercolor that hung there. We’d both neededa minute after that last round. For composure. For distance. For the ability to remain impartial.
I wasn’t sure why her need for composure had started to matter to me.
Or why anything mattered more than keeping the animal yoga event from devolving into a public disaster, but my brain had been … less than helpful lately. Fixating on details. Or more specifically onher.
Delaney’s hair was down tonight. Black, wavy, purple ends catching the low light. She wore a soft-looking, pink cardigan over a T-shirt, and apparently, I was cataloging her wardrobe now. Great. I had a new hobby … noticing small things about Delaney Hart.
I adjusted my glasses and looked back at the lake.
Glamma clapped once, and it boomed throughout the room. “Alright. It’s time for the next event of the evening.”
She saideventwith the gravity of a WWE ring announcer.
Delaney’s eyes narrowed. “Please tell me it’s not another compatibility test.”
