Page 114 of Wild Card

I push my anxiety aside, focusing instead on the present. Her. Tonight.

“You can pay for it later. Right now, we’re feeding raccoons.” Her eyes widen as I peel the foil back and reveal a tray covered in small bowls filled with different raccoon snacks. And yes, I spent the day researching on the internet to find out what they like to eat.

“Is this…is this…” She leans closer, her fingers hovering just above the variety of food laid out. “Is this a raccoon charcuterie?”

I chuckle. “It’s whatever you want to call it, Gwen. But I picked out an array of options to see if we can get your raccoon friend back.”

Her bright eyes flash up to mine, glowing that pale purple color in the dark blue of the night. “You didn’t have to do that,” she says.

“No, but I wanted to.”

A soft smile touches her lips. She doesn’t respond to that. I know I’ve said it a couple times, but it’s true. With her, nothing seems like that big of an ask. It turns out that when I care about someone—when I love someone—I’m willing to do anything for them.

Join a stupid bowling team that I never really wanted to.

Give them a kidney.

Play Disney Princess with some shitty raccoon.

All just to make them happy. With Gwen, it’s especially easy.

“So what have we got here? Can you explain the menu for me?” she asks with a wink.

“Okay, so over here we’ve got some watermelon. I read they really like that. And then I did some cheese. A little bacon.”

She stops me. “You cooked them bacon?”

“I mean, yeah, the internet said they like that. I figured we could try them all.” Feeling slightly bashful, I carry on as she looks at me with wonder. “There’s canned tuna. Doritos. Marshmallows—apparently they love those, but I feel like it’s probably not good for them.” I point to the last bowl. “And finally, we have cat food.”

Her brows burrow. “Cat food? You went and bought cat food?”

I scoff and wave her off. “No. I asked Rhys if I could borrow some of his cat food. They have a cat, you know.”

She laughs, but it’s more of a giggle, airy and disbelieving. “Is it weird if I tell you that this is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me?”

I eye her carefully. It bugs me that no one has ever done something this simple for her. And I don’t need a bunch of accolades for it, so I deflect. “Yes. Because raccoons are the official animal of romance. Nothing says I’m into you like sharing rabies over a bowl of Doritos.”

Her elbow juts into my side. “Watch it, Rousseau.You’llbe the one paying for it later.”

And with that, she takes a handful of cat food from the bowl and tosses it across the lawn.

I try to stifle my groan.

“What?” she says, sliding her gaze to me with mock offense. “You’re the one who set this up. Now you’re gonna make that little bitchy grumble about it?”

“I’m not being bitchy,” I reply. “I just… Do you know how meticulously I tend to this grass? The raccoons are going to come around and they’ll dig, and they’re going to—you know what? Never mind. It doesn’t matter. If my lawn is fucked up but you’re happy, then it was worth it.”

She throws her head back and laughs. But as she does, a rustling comes from the bushes, and Gwen slaps a hand over her own mouth to stop herself. Moments later, a small, masked bandit—who may or may not be carrying rabies—pokes its head from the bushes. Gwen lets out an excited squeal.

“Oh my god, he’s back!” she says, eyes lighting like a cartoon character with that diamond twinkle in the corner.

Yeah. Googling raccoon foods and texting one of my friends to borrow a cup of cat food was all worth it to see her like this.

The raccoon’s beady eyes land on us suspiciously, but its pointy nose wiggles in the direction of where she threw the cat food. Tentatively, it moves across the yard, picking up a single piece of kibble.

Gwen doesn’t rush it by reaching for more food. Instead, a happy smile spreads across her face as she watches the raccoon make his way from one piece to another, his pointy, evil teeth working maniacally at crunching each chunk.

“How was your day?” Gwen whispers softly.