4. Nova
“You sure you don’t need anything else, Grams?”
She’s sitting in her old recliner, watching old episodes of M.A.S.H., while Pappap snores loudly from the chair beside her.
They’re a picture, these two.
“I’m fine, sweetheart. You should get some rest. It’s not good for a young lady to be running around so much. You need to take more breaks.”
I smile, even though I want to tell Grams that I’m perfectly capable of determining when I need a break. She’s from a different time, so I understand her concerns.
“I’m okay, Grams. You sure you don’t need my help getting Pappap to bed?”
She waves a hand at him, just as he makes a loud snort in his sleep. He sleeps a lot these days.
“We’ll be fine. Go home and get some sleep.”
I stoop down, giving her a hug before kissing Pappap lightly on the cheek so I don’t wake him.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Leaving their little suite at the inn is always hard. Seeing Pappap as a shell of who he used to be is even harder.
My grandpa practically ran this town back in the day and while power isn’t important to him, the soul of Port Nova is. I know seeing the inn in poor shape is hard on him. It’s partially why I wanted to come here and help in the first place.
The Port Nova Inn is a safe haven for our little town. It’s where everyone convenes, meets with their family, enjoys a piece of chocolate cake if they’re having a bad day . . . I have to fix it. I don’t know how, but I will.
I’ve got a list of everything that needs repaired, but it gets longer every day. Mom and Dad are no help. They’d rather sell the place than make it great again.
That leaves me.
Unfortunately, that will have to wait for another day. Right now, my feet hurt so bad I could cut them off and probably feel better. I think I sweat off five pounds tonight, easy.
Especially with my afternoon with the mysterious asshole fisherman in room B-4.
Okay, so maybe I looked up what room he’s in. Just for science purposes, though.
I swear. Never has a man had me so flustered and hot at the same time. It’s not the way he snaps at me or how he grumbles when he talks, almost like he can’t speak above a certain decibel. It’s definitely not the way he bit my head off for mentioning grandparents, which, yes, I still feel guilty about. It’s not even the body.
Okay, it’s not all his body. It’s the way his eyes follow me, as if I’m the only thing in the room he’s paying attention to. As if he could eat me whole in a single bite.
It’s been a long time since I’ve felt . . . this.
No.
I refuse to give that any merit.
I made a promise and as silly as that promise was, I intend to keep it.
Collecting my bag from Pap’s office, I lock it up for the night. Manto’s gone home. Tara and Beth are gone. The only people left in the inn are Sherri, the night manager and Bonnie, the housekeeper.
Well, and the guests.
I try to ignore the fact that Reid is one of those guests as I tiptoe out the back door to check on my cat situation. I didn’t go back up to the room after our little spat. I still feel guilty about getting drywall on his shirt. That was childish of me. Though . . . he may have deserved it.
Something tells me Reid doesn’t have any family to speak of. I don’t know why, but the way he acted when I brought up grandparents just made me feel . . . sad for him, I guess? What would it be like to be completely alone in the world?
Then again, maybe I’m just reading too much into it.
I stop short when I see possibly the biggest yellow lab in the history of yellow labs eating the cat food I laid out earlier in the night. I’m so startled, the door bangs shut behind me, scaring him to back a few steps.
“Not the cat food, you a-hole,” I complain and he hangs his head low.
Great, now I feel like the a-hole.
He retreats a few steps, backing up to the dumpster like I might hurt him. He’s skinny, some of his ribs pocking out of his sides. My heart cracks a little bit, seeing the sadness in his eyes.
Usually, we don’t get stray dogs out here on the island. The only ones we do get are from the boats that bring the supplies or fisherman with no sense of human decency that just leave their pets here.
I could never. Not with a sweet face like this.
Dammit.
“Come here, buddy.” I kneel down, holding out my hand to him, but he doesn’t come. “Okay, hold on a minute.”
Carefully, I grab the container of chicken Gran made me from my bag and pull some out, tossing it to him. He backs away at first, but soon lunges forward to scarf it down.
“Good, huh? You come with me and you can have the whole bowl.”
I toss him another piece, then another, until he’s right in front of me and sniffing the almost empty container.
“You’re a hungry guy, aren’t you? Where’d you come from?”
I lay the bowl down in front of him and gently reach out, patting the top of his head. He flinches, but when he realizes my pets come with chicken, he loosens up and lets me pet him.
“You’re a dirty boy. You need a bath.”
He pauses, cocking his head to the side as if I told him he had just inherited an estate and two million dollars from a prince overseas.
“Bath? Do you like that word?”
Happily, he wags his tail and it’s the cutest thing I think I’ve ever seen.
“Okay. We can go take a bath. But you aren’t sleeping with me.”
He eyes me. I eye him. Then I crack.
“Okay, fine. You can sleep with me. But you’d better not have fleas or I’m not sharing my chicken with you, again.”
With a giant glob of slobber on his tongue, he licks my face and pushes me flat on my ass.
“Hey, that’s rude,” I laugh, scratching behind his ears and struggling to my feet. “Come on. Let’s go get you washed up.”
“So . . . come here often?”
The dog just stares at me, still happily wagging his tail as I scrub him down. Luckily, he doesn’t have fleas, but he does have a problem with conversation. And manners. And slobber.
“We need to think of a name for you,” I tell him as I scrub his fur. “Tuna. Tom. Toast?”
He cocks his head at Toast and looks at me quizzically.
“Toast?” I repeat and he licks my chin. “Okay. Toast it is. I guess you look like light toast. My favorite kind of toast, really.”
He doesn’t respond.
“Listen, can you put in a good word for me with the cats? I want to give the big orange one a home, too.”
Still no response.
“Not much of a conversationalist, huh?”
Okay, I know he’s a dog. I know he can’t speak. I also don’t really care. Sometimes, life gets lonely and now that I’m not here alone, it’s nice to have someone to just speak to.
Even if they can’t respond.
It gets me thinking about Reid.
Of freaking course.
Who is that man? He’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met before. I get the vibe that he’s more of a nomad than he lets on. Like he never stays in one place for too long.
I wonder what that would be like? To travel and see the world and never have to worry about expectations of the place you live. Would it be freeing or . . . just lonely.
Lonely eyes. That’s it. I’ve been struggling to place the look in those chocolate brown eyes. It’s loneliness. Something about that makes me sad.
He said he’ll be in town for three weeks. Unfortunately, he’ll be under my roof. Well—kind of. Having him at the inn means that I’ll most likely have to see him every day and while that’s tempting, it’s a little too tempting. Especially with the way my body reacts to him being around.
Just his face makes me say stupid things.
I feel like a teenager standing in front of Brad Pitt. You know, back when he was my “future husband.”
As if he can read my thoughts and he’s tired of them, Toast gives me a look.
“Don’t do it,” I warn. He doesn’t listen, shaking and covering me, the bathroom, even the ceiling in water. “You’re an asshole, Toast. We need to work on your manners.”
After his bath, I blow dry Toast, an act that leaves me coughing and sputtering through the massive amounts of dog hair floating around the bathroom.
“This is a disaster.”
Toast has nothing to say.
I clean it up. Clean myself up with a shower. And then finally go downstairs to make something to eat. I’m starving and after a long day, I’m ready for bed. Not that sleep is ever a peaceful act for me, but I’d love to try, nonetheless.
So, after a couple microwave burritos—I know, health at its finest—I collapse into bed for the night, so tired I don’t even want to move to pull the covers up.
Toast jumps up beside me, curling up in a ball.
“You aren’t supposed to be up here,” I murmur begrudgingly.
Leaning forward, he rests his head on my stomach and I know I’m going to have a really, really hard time saying no.
“Fine. But just tonight. Tomorrow, we’re getting you your own bed.”
Closing my eyes, I let sleep pull me under, sans covers, with a dog I just met cuddling into my side and visions of chocolate eyes and an angry scowl clouding my dreams.
Yeah. Reid is definitely going to be a problem.