Chapter Seven Remi
Chapter Seven
Remi
I was thinking about blue-eyed dogs and blue-eyed men and how much trouble they’d caused in my life recently, and that was the only reason why I burned dinner.
“Holy shit, bug, what is that smell?”
I’d been staring at the tile backsplash, stirring absently, not paying the slightest bit of attention to the black edge accumulating on the pan of meat sauce. When Pops asked the question, I blinked down at the stovetop and grimaced. “Oh, um, it’s dinner. It’ll be fine. I can add more seasoning.”
I picked up the garlic salt and the Italian seasoning, and Pops quickly snatched them out of my hand. “I’ll do that,” he said, nudging me out of the way.
I sighed, handing over the wooden spoon with a lift of my eyebrows. “Fine. But you weren’t supposed to come over and do the work. I’m supposed to be taking care of you.”
“Oh, come on, I’ll get dementia faster if I sit here and do nothing. You don’t want that, do you?”
“I’m not sure that’s how it works, but fine, you can finish dinner.”
As I sat in one of the chairs at the kitchen table, Pops brought the sauce to his lips, wincing slightly when he tasted it.
“What’s wrong? I didn’t burn it that much.”
“Just needs a little garlic, is all.” On his way to the pantry cabinet, he patted my shoulder. “How was work today?”
“Weird.”
“What did Ness do now?”
I laughed. “Nothing, actually. It was just . . . weird.”
He must have caught something in my tone, because Pops gave me a long look over the rim of his glasses. “Something you want to talk about, bug?”
I shook my head. “I’ll get it figured out.”
Maybe.
Probably.
It was so much better when Archer stayed in his damn lane. We had roles now—I was professional and didn’t hit anyone. He was smug and annoying and tried everything he could to get under my skin.
If he was thoughtful and did nice things, where the hell did that leave us?
Nowhere I wanted to be, thank you very much.
Except he was doing nice things. In another life, Archer must have been a professional dog wrangler.
I didn’t know how to process what had happened.
Couldn’t even think about trying, because my entire life was a wobbly house of cards.
One stiff blow—or dog rescue, as it were—would knock the entire damn thing over, and I’d be left to pick up the pieces for everyone involved.
Processing could happen later, when he was back in his life and no longer the number one threat to my sanity.
Pops crushed some garlic with the flat side of a knife, a move I’d never quite mastered, but his worried gaze kept flicking to my face.
“I’m fine,” I told him. “I promise.”
Gavin ran into the kitchen, his eyes bright and smile wide. “Pops, I just saw the first oriole in the backyard!”
“Oh baby, did you get a picture on my phone?”
Gavin nodded and turned the screen around so Pops could check it out.
He held the phone away from him. “Nice one, buddy. Add it to the folder.”
“Okay.”
He took off toward the backyard, and Pops chuckled under his breath. “What I’d give for a tenth of that energy.”
“No kidding.”
“Honey, you’re not even thirty. Don’t talk to me about feeling old and tired until you’re past fifty.”
I scrunched my nose. “I feel like I’m going to be an old lady by the time I turn forty. I’ll have a kid in college.” My mouth fell open as that realization hit. “Oh God, I’ll have a kid out of college when I turn forty. What the hell will I do with myself when he’s gone?”
Pops interrupted the maternal spiral with a deep laugh. “Maybe you’ll be married and have more kids by then.”
“Doubtful. Unless the perfect man literally drops out of the sky and into my lap, I’m not looking for any kind of relationship.” I eyed the way he kept adding spices to the sauce. “I’ve got enough men stressing me out, thank you.”
Pops took another taste and nodded approvingly. “I know you don’t mean me.”
Gavin yelled from the other room, “Mom, does Sharpie come off if someone accidentally colored on the walls?”
Pops chuckled. I dropped my head into my hands and groaned.
“It’s just a little touch-up paint,” he said. “Now, come on. You set the table and let’s eat.”