Chapter Three
The next morning, Jensen got up early, showered, and headed immediately for Blake’s house. He’d slept well enough, but he had had a few strange dreams regarding Blake, and he wasn’t sure what to make of them. The parts he could remember were disgustingly domestic. He didn’t usually dream about cooking eggs, unpacking boxes in a garage, or arguing about Christmas decorations. Usually, his dreams featuring men were either much stranger or much more X-rated. These had felt almost real. Or prophetic.
He would have been lying if he claimed he didn’t find the other man a little attractive. He might not have been the type to catch eyes at a bar, but he was fit, smart, and he had the most intense eyes Jensen could ever recall seeing. He also was kind to a mangy-looking cockatoo that could have taken his finger off.
And the bird seemed to like him instantly. Maybe that was a sign. Though honestly, Jensen had so little experience with birds that he didn’t know if they were like dogs and could sense when someone was a bastard. Maybe cockatoos weren’t good judges of character.
He certainly wasn’t.
Jensen pulled up in front of the house and stared for a second. In the dark and snow, it had looked like any of the other Victorians that were scattered around the area. In the daylight and covered with a fresh coat of snow, it looked like a frosted cupcake in blue and cream. It was almost fanciful. A sign for “Dr. Renoir, Veterinarian” hung on chains on the porch railing.
A battered 1990s truck with a bit of a lift on it sat in front of the garage and looked like it had already had the ice and snow removed.
Jensen got out of his small SUV and went to the front door to ring the bell.
Blake appeared a moment later, looking sweaty, grouchy and dressed for heavy-duty farm work in thick coveralls and a hat from the last century.
“Morning,” Jensen said just a little warily, recalling the man’s gruff tone the night before.
“Morning. I’ve got the bird packed up for you and ready to go. There’s a horse with bad colic at one of the ranches near the national park, and I need to get over there. Just wait here for a second.” Blake turned to go back into the parlor and came back with the bird packed up in a dog carrier, complete with what looked like a baby’s car seat cover wrapped around it to keep the drafts out. He handed it to Jensen, along with a folder with a few papers in it. “Here’s my notes, what few I took. They’ll be able to do a lot more for him than I can. I called ahead, so just ask for Dr. Mitchell when you get there.”
“Okay, thanks.” Jensen looked up from taking the carrier and their eyes locked for a long second. Jensen felt his cheeks go pink and Blake swallowed hard before looking away and clearing his throat.
“Anyway, I told them to send the bill to me, so if there’s any confusion, just tell them to run the credit card I have on file.”
Jensen’s eyes went wide. “I thought the county would—”
“Nah, they’d just put him down if they had to pay for it. Exotics are pricey. Don’t worry about it. I already told Jeanie that I’d keep him.” Blake coughed, still not looking at him. “Always liked cockatoos. And the parrot rescues in Colorado are all full to bursting anyway. If I find him a good home, good. If I keep him, that’s fine too. The office could use a mascot.”
Jensen couldn’t help but grin. This man was definitely his kind of person. Anyone that would dump potentially thousands of dollars into an animal, and then decide to keep the animal spur-of-the-moment? His type. “All right, sounds good. Though I can help cover the costs. I’d be glad to help.”
Blake shook his head. “Appreciate it, but don’t worry about it. You’re working as a barista. I don’t imagine you have a lot of extra coming in.”
“I’m…not hurting. But okay. I’ll call when I get to Ft. Collins.”
Blake followed him onto the porch and locked the door behind him, then headed for the old truck as Jensen got into his SUV and headed east, while Blake drove the old truck toward the park.
Jensen glanced at the carrier and saw a beady black eye looking at him through the grate. He turned onto Highway 34.
“I hope you’re not as sick as he seems to think you are.”
The bird didn’t respond.
“Maybe I should have told him that I’m not a struggling barista barely making rent, but if he wants to keep you, maybe that doesn’t matter as much.” Jensen sighed, watching the road, driving slowly to avoid sending the car skidding into a ditch. “But then again, it is a bit insulting he thinks Angie would pay me badly. Or maybe he thinks I’m bad with money? I don’t know.”
Jensen had always had a habit of talking to himself in the car. Anyone watching him would think he was having a heated conversation with someone through the car’s speaker system, but the truth was that he almost never used it and didn’t have too many people to call if he wanted to. His parents were alive and well, but they had always been distant and cold as long as he could remember. They were well aware he was gay, and it had never been much of a concern to them. His older sister and older brother were the darlings of the family anyway so he could do whatever he wanted without consequences.
Of course, that also meant he very rarely got much attention when he was growing up.
His two best friends growing up had been Sophia and Emmanuel, but he hadn’t spoken to either of them in years. Since his last relationship, in fact. The temptation to call them was there. It was always there. He’d missed them this entire time. He just didn’t know how to begin to tell them how sorry he was for everything, and how he wished he’d listened when they told him to run away from the man who had ruined his life. Sophia had reached out to him a few times since then, but he had never returned her calls or messages. Judging from social media, it looked like she and Emmanuel had finally accepted what everyone else had known for years and had started dating, which only made things more painful. He had always joked that he would be there to help her plan her wedding, silently assuming that wedding would be to Emmanuel.
The bird made a grinding noise with its beak, startling him a bit, and he glanced over. It had its eyes closed and looked sleepy.
“I wish I knew what your name was. Feels strange to keep calling you ‘bird’ all the time.”
The bird opened one eye. “Pretty bird, Ginger. Pretty bird,” it said in a gravelly voice.
Jensen almost drove off the road in shock. “Ginger? Is that your name?”
“C’mere, Ginger. Pretty bird.”
“Oooookay then. Guess it’s Ginger.”
He was almost at the turn for Wilson Ave, which would take him the rest of the way into Ft. Collins and avoid the traffic and chaos on I-25. He didn’t need the traffic readout on his navigation system to tell him that I-25 was a mess. It was always a mess. At least the snow had let off.
They made it to the veterinary school without any further surprises, and Jensen went inside with the carrier, trying to move quickly without slipping on the ice. He checked in with the receptionist, and within a minute the bird was taken to the back for diagnostics, and Jens was given a cup of coffee that, while not particularly good, was at least drinkable.
He pulled up a book on his phone and settled in to wait.