Charlie leans against the counter. “Because you’re punishing the ghost. For being a dickbag.”
“Right.”
He shakes his head and grabs a paring knife from the knife block. “Give me that tomato,” he says. Her hand is visibly trembling when she picks up the too-firm fruit, Everett’s chill still making it feel like she camped outside overnight with no sleeping bag in the middle of January.
Charlie’s fingers brush against hers as he lifts the tomato from her palm. “God, Acorn, your hands are freezing.”
“I, um, I tend to run cold,” she says. Which is the truth, just not the reason for her current temperature-regulation issues. But when she looks into Charlie’s eyes, there’s a tiny ember of softness there, something she suspects could grow and glow into full-blown interest in her welfare. It’s the same one from last night when he gave her the bag of mini shampoos and conditioners—beforeshe opened her mouth and reminded him of the reason she’s here, the reason he hates her. Whether it’s because Everett’s right and she does need to hunker down and be more strategic, or because part of her wants nothing more than to be the recipient of some of that softness, Gretchen knows that, whatever she does, she cannot let that ember burn out again.
16
She’s at the kitchen counter, doing...something. It’s unclear. Or maybe her task keeps shifting. And then there’s Charlie, suddenly behind her. His strong forearms come to either side of her, caging her in. It’s like when he reached for the plates, except this time he’s pressing up against her, pressinghimselfagainst her lower back, and his hand leaves the countertop to travel up her arm, brush over her bare shoulder (wasn’t she wearing clothes a second ago?). His touch is gentle, but he bows his head to place his lips beside her ear and his tone is desperate, angry. “God, I need you,” he says like it’s an accusation. “Do you need me?”
“Yes,” she sighs.
“Acorn.”
Maybe he didn’t hear her the first time. After all, it was barely more than a word-shaped exhale. “Yes,” she tries again.
“Acorn!”
“I said YES!” But by the end of the sentence she realizes she’snot in the kitchen, about to do something deliciously debauched, but sitting up in bed in the farmhouse’s guest room.
Charlieisthere, though. And he’s wincing in response to her unexpectedly intense wake-up.
“Yes? Yes to what?” he asks.
“Nothing.” Gretchen rubs the sleep in her eyes away with her fingertips. “Why are you in here?” It sounds more hostile than she intends, but going from such a wonderful but confusing dream to this reality with no time to ease into it has her brain scrambling to sort out what’s real. She’s almost certain none of the good parts were.
“I need you,” Charlie says.
“...What?”
He blinks as if trying to determine if he said something nonsensical that warrants her confusion, then repeats slowly, “I. Need. You. In the barn. Now.”
Gretchen’s brain is still playing catch-up, trying to figure out why they’re going to have sex in the barn of all places.No, no, that was the dream, she reminds herself. So what does he mean, he needs her in the barn now?
She must still look adequately baffled, because he explains, “One of the goats is in labor, but the kid is in an awkward position. So I need a hand. Literally. And yours are smaller than mine.”
“You want me to...” Gretchen recalls the animal birthing scenes inAll Creatures Great and Small.Oh no, she thinks.He wants me to James Herriot it.“But I don’t know how to—”
“Get dressed and meet me out there.”
She throws on yesterday’s outfit and slips into her rain boots as quickly as she can, though her movements feel like trying to swim through pudding, thanks to the interruption of her REM cycle.
When she arrives at the barn, Gretchen is struck first by thestrange metallic smell, and then by the pained bleats cutting through the otherwise quiet night. She goes over to join Charlie inside one of the birthing pens.
“So... what, exactly, am I—”
“Take off your coat,” Charlie orders. “Thoroughly wash your hands and arms up to the elbow. Then grab a pair of gloves from that box over there.”
Gretchen does as told, feeling like a surgeon in a medical drama. That makes her think of Everett. Where is he anyway? She hasn’t seen the ghost since their fight in the kitchen earlier. He’s probably roaming around the property, grumbling about how mean she is because she won’t let him have any fun killing people.
“Okay. Where do you want me, boss?” she says, joining Charlie and an extremely uncomfortable-looking black goat. Its name is... something with a B, she thinks. Beulah, maybe?
“Behind her. Just reach in there and feel around until you find the kid’s head. It’s bent backward a little, which isn’t going to work coming out. So you need to guide it into a different position. I’m fairly sure there’s only one in there, so it should be pretty easy to—”
“Am I going to hurt it?” she asks.
