of bird seed and dug his free hand in, scooping out a small amount the way he’d seen Liv do. Then he nudged the sliding door open with his foot and headed out onto the deck. Joe squawked in protest. Clearly, he wasn’t used to waiting for his food.
“Hey.”
Cora almost jumped about ten feet in the air and snapped her laptop closed. “Way to sneak up on me…again.”
“Jumpy?” He grinned.
Pressing a hand to her chest, Cora laughed. “I see you brought a friend.”
“I’d use the word ‘friend’ loosely,” Trent quipped. “Scavenger, maybe. Or sponge.”
Joe snapped his head toward Trent as if to say, Excuse moi? Scavenger?
“I think you insulted him.” Cora’s pale eyes sparkled, and she swung her long legs to the ground.
Trent slowly uncurled the hand containing the seed, and the bird eyed it eagerly. Then he walked all the way up Trent’s arm, across his shoulders, and down his other arm, as if using the man’s body as his own personal climbing equipment.
“Doesn’t that hurt?” Cora watched, fascinated. “I mean, look at those sharp things.”
“He’s pretty gentle, actually.” Trent watched as the bird got a good grip on his hand and bent forward to enjoy his lunch, his beak tickling the inside of Trent’s palm. “I suspect he might have been a pet at some point. Possibly belonging to the people who lived here before Liv bought the place.”
“And they abandoned him?” Cora’s eyes widened. “That’s so sad.”
“Some people have no idea what trust means,” he said darkly.
Um, how did you make this about you?
“I mean…” He scrambled for something to make a connection to that sentence so it didn’t seem like he’d shared something too personal. “People dump pets all the time. The shelter here is always full. It’s disgusting.”
“I agree.” Cora stood slowly, so as not to spook Joe. Then she came closer and watched him eat from Trent’s palm. “I take it you’re an animal lover?”
“I’m not the kind of person to make a menagerie out of my home, but yeah. I have a soft spot for the underdogs of the world.” He grinned. “We had guinea pigs growing up, and my parents were always taking in strays and playing babysitter to other people’s animals. One time we had a baby goat with his leg in a splint.”
“I was never allowed to have pets growing up,” Cora said wistfully.
“No pets and no sports. What kind of childhood robbery is that?” It sounded like Cora had grown up in quite an unusual environment.
“Like I said, my parents were strict.” She shrugged as though it wasn’t a big deal, but her face was a smooth, beautiful mask. Hiding her hurt away.
“Want to feed him?” Trent held his arm closer to Cora, and she bit down on her lip, a mixture of excitement and nerves radiating in the air around her.
“He won’t take a chunk out of me?”
“Naw. He’s a softie.” Trent chuckled. “Foulmouthed, but a softie.”
He moved his arm closer to Cora and nudged the bird so he’d step onto her arm. Joe flapped his wings, his crest fanning out in a flash of brilliant yellow, and Cora sucked in a breath.
“Easy,” Trent said. “You’re all right.”
He tipped the seed into her open palm, and Joe repositioned himself and went back to his lunch. The bird’s charcoal beak nudged her palm, burrowing into the little well of seed as he ate.
“It tickles,” she said, her voice sparkling with unreleased laughter. “Gee. He’s heavy, too.”
The pure, childlike wonder on Cora’s face made her seem even more gorgeous—because it was something beyond her glossy hair and endless legs and the pearls dangling from her ears. It was more than how incredible she looked in a scant bikini. More, even, than the way her eyes had coasted over him this morning when she thought he couldn’t see her watching him. Those things were attractive, sure.
But the look on her face right now was like pure gold.
“Do you really think his family left him behind?” Her eyes drifted up to his. “I can’t bear the thought of it.”
“He’s doing okay.” Trent stroked the front of the bird’s chest, enjoying the soft, downy feel of his white feathers.
“Did Liv name him Joe? Seems like an odd choice for a bird.”
“Oh, she never told you?” Trent chuckled, pulling his phone from the back pocket of his jeans. “Watch this.”
He pulled up the YouTube app, searched for the song “You Can Leave Your Hat On,” and pressed play. The sound of Joe Cocker blared