Prodigal Daughter
Copyright© 2025 by DB86
Chapter 18
“So, where are these chickens, anyway? All I see is dead grass and a dilapidated shack. If that’s where they live, I already feel sorry for them. It’s like the chicken ghetto,” Elise muttered, shifting under the hot sun.
Marshall chuckled and kept walking. “Chick, chick, chick,” he called, shaking the coffee can.
There was something absurd about a full-grown man calling, “chick, chick, chick,” that cracked her up. Elise laughed.
“Don’t tell me that actually works—” she started, then yelped and ducked behind him as dozens of chickens swarmed out of the coop, clucking madly and stampeding toward them.
Marshall started tossing bits of dinner rolls and potato salad into the yard. The chickens charged faster, hysterical and pecking like tiny feathered maniacs.
Peeking out from behind him, Elise stared, wide-eyed. “Oh my God, that’s the freakiest thing I’ve ever seen. They look like women at a clearance sale.”
Marshall laughed. “That’s pretty accurate.” He tossed a few chunks of fried chicken after the rolls.
“You’re feeding chicken to chickens? Eww.”
“They’ll eat anything.” He glanced at her, his tone suddenly softer. “Elise ... why are you upset with me? You’ve been avoiding me ever since...”
“Since we kissed? Swapped spit? Sucked face?” She stepped out from behind him, her voice sharp. “Is that what you’re referring to?”
Upset was putting it mildly. She felt stupid. Like a dumb blonde who’d thrown herself at the strong, silent type and moaned at his touch. Ugh. Gag.
“Yes. Since we kissed.” His voice was steady, serious. “I already apologized—and I meant it. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
She blinked. “What, exactly, do you think made me uncomfortable?”
Why couldn’t he just take a step back? He was too close. She could smell him—not sweat, but of manly musk and the faintest trace of soap. Her fingers twitched with the urge to grab his pecs. His brow furrowed.
“When I kissed you. You gave me this sweet, comforting little kiss and I came back at you with tongue. It was rude. Tacky. I shouldn’t have—”
Elise wanted to lie, to brush it off and accept his apology. But she couldn’t let him believe he’d done something wrong. She wasn’t some fragile maiden. If anything, she had given him signals. He hadn’t taken advantage—he’d responded.
“Hello? I wanted you to kiss me, you big idiot.”
Marshall scratched the back of his head. “You did?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes! You might’ve noticed I was kissing you back?”
He scratched the side of his head, frowning. “Yeah ... I noticed. So you really did want me to?”
“Yes. Duh.”
“Then why did you pull away?”
“Because Justin was in the yard, and I didn’t want him to walk in and see us tearing each other’s clothes off.”
“Oh.” His eyes widened. “Ohhh ... Wait...! Would we have been ... tearing clothes off?”
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