Chapter 11 Friendly and Broken
FRIENDLY AND brOKEN
Penny
The chorus of barks at Fetch on Fifth settled into a sleepy, satisfied hum after a few hours of play.
A dozen dogs sprawled in various stages of exhaustion, some bellies up, paws twitching, all angling to be nearest me.
Goldie stretched across my lap like the queen she was.
She loved coming with me whenever I could bring her.
I swiped hair off my damp forehead. “Well, that’s another successful Saturday, team.”
Tails thumped.
I leaned back against the playroom wall and sighed. “Oh, the life of a dog. So easy. No feelings for your boss to navigate.”
Goldie nudged my hand with her nose like a therapist saying, Go on, let it all out.
I pulled a brush from my apron and worked it through her golden coat, thinking of Archer when he’d visited.
The photo he took of us lived in my phone’s favorites.
“You guys ever meet someone who makes it hard to think straight? The kind of guy who calls you Ms. Fair, and it lands in your stomach where the butterflies live?”
Rocket, the doodle, cocked his head. Sir Biscuit, the elderly beagle, perked his ears.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to say the B-word. And no, there are none to chase here.” Though I could imagine unleashing a whole cloud of butterflies in the playroom and letting the chaos reign.
“Anyway, my boss is so smart. Impossibly gorgeous, and completely off-limits.” I lobbed a tennis ball toward the corner for one of the smaller dogs who still itched to run.
“He was at the mixer last night, and he…” The memory played back, still vivid—his suit, his laugh, and the way his eyes found me again and again across the room. “Anyway. It’s fine. Totally fine.”
Sir Biscuit grunted like even he didn’t buy it.
“Don’t you start,” I warned. “I am not becoming an HR horror story. Maya filled me in about the last VP and an intern. They call it Closet-gate around the office. As in, caught-in-the-supply-closet-with-your-pants-down-gate.”
Goldie growled, properly appalled.
“Exactly. That’s why we keep things professional.
Strictly dogs and deadlines, no exceptions.
No car rides home. No sneaking glances at his fine ass as he passes by my desk in the office, which he seems to do a lot.
And definitely no fantasies about seducing the boss in his office with the Manhattan skyline in the background. ”
Goldie snorted, unconvinced.
I rubbed her head and exhaled. “Okay, fine. Maybe a tiny part of me wants Archer to need me like I’m oxygen. Like the way Westley stares at Brier. But that’s not happening. Right?”
Her tail wagged. Traitor.
Puggie, the tiny Frenchie with an attitude big enough for Times Square, nosed her rope toy into my palm. I held it up, and she latched on, and the game of tug-of-war began.
“First, we were on a date, then he ghosted me, then he chased me as a zombie, then… oh, the couch and his hands and his lips and that rather large and probably satisfying bulge in his pants. An extra large if I were to order one of Brier’s custom crocheted penises.
And now we’re forbidden to fraternize.” I won the war and tossed the toy for her. If only I could win in real life.
Rocket’s dad entered and waved through the glass for pickup time.
“Welp. Good talk, gang. You’re better than therapy and much cheaper.” I stood and handled the parade of parents until closing. Each dog got a report card for the day, a goodie bag of treats, and a final furry hug goodbye.
With Goldie’s help, I mopped paw prints, and restocked our treat jar. When finished, I clipped the leash to her harness and locked up. A late-afternoon autumn breeze met us on the sidewalk.
“Come on, girl. Take me home.” We walked the eight blocks. My thoughts drifted from Caleb’s to-do list, which was Monday’s problem, to Mom’s “call your mother” voicemail, to Archer and last night’s mixer replaying like a loop.
Shop lights dimmed, and pubs brightened. Kids chased balls in the street until called in for dinner. I loved this city. For a minute, I almost forgot the ache of wanting someone I shouldn’t.
Up ahead, a blue Jaguar sat at the curb outside our brownstone. I stopped to admire it and squinted at the plate. Could that be Archer’s? Goldie tugged hard, eager to go home. I almost tripped on the stairs.
Garlic, tomatoes, and basil hit me before I even walked through the door. Aunt Brier loved to cook, but only for a crowd. On typical nights, we lived on frozen meals or takeout.
Tonight must be a real treat. I unhooked Goldie’s harness at the front door. She wiggled anxiously away toward two male voices.
I stepped into the open kitchen and froze. Goldie didn’t—she launched herself at everyone, her tail a blur.
Westley sat at one side of the table, sweater sleeves pushed up. “Hello again, Penny. And this must be Goldie. I’ve heard so much about you, girl.” He offered a biscuit, then another, instantly upgrading to Favorite Human.
Across from him sat Archer in a fitted blue Henley that did sinful things for his shoulders. He swiveled to face me.
“Hey, Penny.” He waved as if it were perfectly normal for my boss to be in my dining room. All rational thought left me.
Aunt Brier called to me from the stove, spoon in hand. She grinned like she had an inside joke to keep to herself.
“Excuse me one second,” I squeaked, bee-lining for her.
“Right on time for dinner.” She stirred the sauce as if this were any weeknight.
“What are they doing here? You should have told me.”
“I’m sure I did. Remember? Westley wanted to fly in for a visit, and I thought it’d be nice for him and Archer to meet. Besides, I haven’t seen Archer in forever.”
“You did not tell me.”
“Really? Well, my mistake, then.” She shrugged, but I wasn’t buying it. “Now hurry and change into something less… dog-hairy, and use my fancy perfume, too.”
I shot her a glare she pretended not to see, and rushed down the hall. I changed quickly into leggings, a teal sweater, and my UGGs. A messy bun would have to do, and then I doused myself in vanilla-scented perfume.
By the time I slid into the empty seat next to Archer, Westley was extolling Las Vegas’ population growth like he was recruiting Brier to move.
Archer’s eyes melted me. “Hi.”
“Hi.” One syllable and I became hyper-aware of the inches between us. I whispered, “I’m so sorry. I had no idea she set this up.”
His mouth quirked. “I thought you knew but didn’t want to say at work. It’s fine. Dinner as friends isn’t fraternizing. Besides, I’d commit corporate espionage for your aunt’s meatballs.”
“He’s got good taste.” Brier beamed, setting down a large bowl of spaghetti and an even bigger bowl of the meat.
Westley lifted his wineglass. “To my Brier Rose and this amazing meal. And to new friends.” We all toasted. I almost choked when they kissed. Again. And again. Archer and I traded an awkward glance that did nothing to cool the room.
Dinner shifted into happy chaos. The men ate as if it were a timed event, with not a meatball left behind. Goldie begged despite having food in her dish. Archer dared give her one meatball despite Brier’s plea to stop.
I thought Westley would pick up the platter and lick the remaining sauce; he was so into it.
He teased Brier about her secret ingredient. “Is it something sweet?” He guessed through a mouthful.
Brier nodded. “A pinch of nutmeg in the meatballs. And anchovy in the sauce.”
Archer groaned. “No kidding? I’m stuffed. I’m embarrassed I went back for thirds.”
“Fourths,” I said. “You added meatballs when I refilled the wine.”
He smirked. “Observant.”
“You can invite me anytime,” Westley declared. “I’ll hop a flight from Vegas for this.”
“Wait till dessert—my special twist on Devil’s Food Cake. You’ll love it.” Brier turned to him for another kiss. Then another. Possibly with tongue. Maybe a hint of a moan. I had never seen Brier this involved with a man.
Archer side-eyed me, his knee brushing mine under the table. Heat flared between us, leaving me aching for something I shouldn’t reach for.
I cleared my throat. “Let me clean up.”
Westley broke away from Brier. “Nope. I insist. Archer, come on. Ladies get a wine break; we’ll do the honors.”
“Nonsense, you’re guests,” Brier began.
Westley tugged her onto his lap with a laugh. “My mother cooked; the men cleaned. I don’t see that changing.”
“Oh my, I haven’t had a man do my dishes since—” She stopped shy of saying my uncle’s name. “Forget wine, I’m bringing brandy. Aprons are hanging by the sink.”
“Guess we’re the cleanup crew.” Archer winked at me.
“Don’t worry, I’ll only snap one photo of you elbow-deep in suds for the office.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” His eyes narrowed.
My giggles lasted right up until he tied on an apron and somehow made it look sexy. From the living room, Brier and I sipped brandy with a perfect line of sight into the kitchen. Archer’s rear filled out his Levi’s unfairly well. Westley’s ass did fine work in black slacks.
“You’re welcome,” Brier whispered, sipping her brandy.
“You’re too much,” I whispered back.
“Consider it an early birthday present. You can pull that apron bow at the back of Archer and unwrap him.” She elbowed me, even though my birthday wasn’t until Christmas.
I rolled my eyes. “You know that Archer and I can’t be anything more than friends right now.”
“Then be really good friends.”
She wasn’t going to stop matchmaking. I wasn’t complaining.
When the last dish was stacked, Brier offered brandy to the men. Archer reached for his jacket instead.
“This was amazing, but I should head out. Thank you for dinner. Best home-cooked meal I’ve had in ages.” He kissed Brier’s cheek. She slipped a leash into my hand.
“Walk him out, Penny. Goldie needs a post-dinner stroll, anyway.” She winked.
Prior to tonight, I had no idea my aunt was this mischievous.
Archer patted his stomach. “After all that, I could use a walk, too.”