Page 55 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls

After Celene drove off, Skye nearly rolled down the hill in her reckless jog down the rocks and unseen grooves. She found her balance, but not her breath because she’d been so, so close to kissing her.

Kissing herfakegirlfriend.

Uh oh.

14

An hour before the hammock reading date, Skye just finished sprinkling feed into Phish and Swindle’s tank when she received a text message from Celene. Her smile at the thought of Celene not being able to wait fell when she read it.

Celene – 10:32 am

What kind of bird is this? It hit our gable window and it’s been sitting on the deck for three minutes.

Attached was an image of a small bird with a pointy beak and white speckles along its black wings, feathers fluffed in its state. The species’ characteristic red plumage on the head was absent, so?—

Skye – 10:33 am

Omg

That’s a female Downy Woodpecker.

Second nature, she’d begun stuffing necessities into her messenger bag. The image looked like it’d been taken from inside the summer house, since she must’ve landed in front of the clear sliding doors. Poor little thing. What if she had fledglings somewhere, hungry and defenseless?

Celene – 10:34 am

Her eyes are open. That’s good, right?

Skye – 10:34 am

Yeah. Is she blinking?

Celene – 10:36 am

Yes, and moving her head.

Skye – 10:37am

Those are good signs. Be there in a few.

Skye hurried through the kitchen as she texted, rinsing a cup. To Luce at her standard placement at the dining table, she called out, “Heading to Celene’s. A bird flew into her window.”

Prevention-oriented, Luce pointed a metal nipper to indicate a nearby drawer. “Grab some of those window decals so this doesn’t happen again.”

“Smart. Thanks.”

“Mmph.” She laughed lightly over a large square project, meant for Skye to hear. “You’ve mixed yourself up with a city girl. She’s lucky to have us around.”

Skye was too focused to reply; regardless, her lips ticked into a short simper. She zipped a handful of different decals into her bag, hugged Luce farewell, and jetted out the door.

By her fifteenthglance at her watch in about eight minutes, Celene could finally stop pacing. Skye biked into her driveway like a silver chariot. Anything to save this woodpecker.

Celene unbolted the mostly unused wooden front door and breathed relief, since Skye had already marched that direction, poised to ring the video doorbell. “Ugh, I can’t believe?—”

Skye silenced her with a hug. One much tighter, more certain than anything steeped in shyness yesterday. “Hey, you okay?”

“Um, yes. Of course.” Celene searched the room, suddenly off-balance. “Does Beaker look like she’s going to die?”

“Beaker?”