On the making and setting of fairy traps
Content warning: Coarse language
“Where the hell have you been?”
Pidge sat bolt upright on the mossy couch where he’d been lounging watching Animal Planet and the Real Housewives simultaneously on split screen. His eyes were pointing in slightly different directions but he narrowed them both as Chick dropped down from the rafters and started pulling her boots off with a groan.
“It’s been five days,” said Pidge, as if Chick didn’t know. “Not a peep from the birds and I heard nothin’ through the grapevine.” He glanced at the trellis in the corner where dark green foliage and heavy purple fruit hung indolently. “No texts, neither.”
“Aw,” said Chick, tapping soil out of her shoe. “Were you worried?”
“No,” said Pidge and then added, jealously, “You were with Mozzie, weren’t you? You can tell me.”