33. Unbelievable
UNBELIEVABLE
SAWYER
I’m probably breaking a first-week-adoption don’t by bringing Chloe’s dog over after we leave the theater that night. But I don’t want to be without her—not after that rehearsal. Not after the way she fell apart on me on the piano bench.
I don’t want to be without her dog either. They’re a package deal.
We swing by her place and pick up Captain. Chloe changes out of her dress and tosses on leggings. She looks as sexy in casual clothes as she does in a dress and heels.
When we reach my home, Chloe says hi to Mister Dog first, then we let the guys meet in the back yard. Captain’s cautious at first and barks once or twice, but soon they chase each other around the yard, then a tree, then do that dog-bow welcome thing.
I wrap an arm around Chloe. “I think they like each other,” I say, my heart swelling at the way they get along.
Sure, they’re dogs. It’s in their nature to pal around.
That’s the premise of my business too. That dogs are friendly and social.
Still, I’m aware that dogs don’t always like each other, so I’m happy to take the win.
“Me too,” she says, resting her head against me with a happy sigh.
I want to bottle up that sound, hold on to it. Instead, I press a kiss to her forehead, words welling up in my throat. Words like I’m so glad they get along, since you’re going to be here all the time. Or I’ll be at your place. Or we’ll be together.
But is it too soon to say them? It feels ridiculous not to since we’re already spending nearly every night together.
I need to slow my roll though. It’s been a little more than a week since the first dance lesson, when she spent the night and I made her breakfast in the morning.
Barely even a week and a half since she strong-armed me into doing the fundraiser.
How am I already thinking about all these next steps with her?
But you are. You can barely think about anything else.
That’s the thing. She’s top of mind, and the more time I spend with her, the more time I want to spend.
As I watch the dogs play, I clench my jaw, trying to figure out how the hell I wound up in this spot so soon after getting out of a terrible romance.
This is not what I moved to Darling Springs for.
To fall for someone I work with. To fall for someone I have all these endless entanglements with.
If we’re together, then all these boundaries I’ve built at work will be pointless.
I’d go from Mister Serious Boss to the smitten guy who’s crazy about the woman who works five freaking feet away in a pink-and-white dog training nook.
So crazy for her I’ve been leaving her roses and cinnamon rolls every day.
And yet, maybe I’m ready for those boundaries to come down.
I let out a long exhale, weighing that option.
Best to be sure though. I’ll give myself a few more days. Invite her to spend the night again. Get through the fundraiser. Then maybe ask her to be—I swallow roughly—my girlfriend, after we perform.
Yeah, that sounds like a plan. It feels…like a responsible one too. One I’ve considered from all angles.
I turn to meet her gaze and start implementing. “Chloe, want to stay over tomorrow too? And maybe we can go to your place on Wednesday?”
Her smile is teasing. “Look at you with all your planning.”
“Just trying to be efficient.”
She laughs, then pats my chest. “Right. All about efficiency.”
She sees right through me, and I think I love it. I love it, too, when she says, “And the answer is yes to both. But we should stay here. It’ll be better for Mister Dog.”
My heart squeezes. “You’re right. And thank you.”
But she really sees through me when she turns to meet my eyes. “Are you inviting your parents to the fundraiser? Or your sisters?”
Talk about a surprise. “I…” That’s a good question. I pause. “I haven’t told my folks. I did mention it to my sisters, but I’ve deliberately avoided the details.”
Her smile is soft but encouraging. She doesn’t back down though. She never has. “You should, don’t you think?”
“Why?”
“Your sisters know you do karaoke. So does your friend Monroe, you said. But has anyone really heard you sing recently? Besides me.”
That’s an even better question. I stare up at the stars flickering in the inky night sky, then back down at her, shaking my head, feeling a little called out but not in a bad way. “No. It’s been a while.”
“And your dad? Does he know?”
I shake my head.
“Any reason?”
I blow out a breath. “Damn, you don’t pull punches.”
“You’re right. And that’s why you like me.”
Her confidence is addictive, just like her. I take a beat, then dig down and offer up the unvarnished truth. “It just never fit the image.”
“Of the professional?”
“Yeah.”
She squeezes my arm. “He seems like a good man. A supportive man. I bet he’d enjoy it.”
I try to picture my dad in the front row. It’s hard to see though, but maybe because I’ve only let him see my responsible side.
I’m hardly ever the rebel one. And really, singing “Fly Me to the Moon” isn’t that edgy.
I swallow past the nerves, then say, “I’ll do it.”
That earns me the hottest kiss of my life.
* * *
In the morning, Chloe takes off with her dog, and I’ve got just enough time before I need to head into work to make the call. I pace in the kitchen, amped up on coffee. I grab my phone and stab my dad’s contact name, and the phone rings.
This shouldn’t be hard. Really, it shouldn’t. I’d like to settle these annoying nerves all the way down.
But when he answers with a, “Hey, son,” the nerves fly back up my chest.
I’ve always wanted to stay in the lines, stick to the plan, be an upstanding guy who maintains boundaries. Like he taught me. Will this change how he sees me?
“Hey, Dad,” I say, wishing my stomach weren’t flipping like a goddamn pancake. But…fuck it. Sometimes you have to dive in. Besides, the whole town is going to know soon. What’s the difference?
Because he’s your dad.
Here goes nothing. “I’m performing a song at the town fundraiser this weekend. Want to come?”
There’s silence for a few seconds. Then a clearing of his throat. “You are?”
He sounds perplexed. Shit.
“Yup. The guy who was supposed to do it broke his leg, so Chloe asked me…and anyway, yes I am.”
“Huh,” he says, sounding almost amused. “I always did think you were good at singing in the shower.”
I stop in my tracks. I guess my secret habit wasn’t such a secret. “Thanks,” I say dryly.
“I’ll be there. Can I bring Latanya?”
“Sure,” I say, giving him the details.
“Great. I can’t wait.” He blows out a breath, then says genuinely, “Thanks for the invite.”
“You’re welcome.”
I hang up, relieved. After I leash Mister Dog so he can come to work with me, I dictate a text to my sisters, inviting them as well. Then my mom too.
It’s not like I’m telling them about Sam. It’s just me performing. And it’ll be fine. Really, it’ll be fine.
* * *
The show’s in three more days, and after another rehearsal on Wednesday night, I’m ready. This one is a full-cast rehearsal, so it doesn’t end the same way as Monday’s. Shame. But I’ll live.
“Meet you later?” Chloe mouths from the piano.
I nod a yes, knowing she needs to stay to wrap up a few issues with her mom.
As I make my way along the aisle, her mother catches my attention. Seated elegantly in the second row, she’s regal and bold, her blouse a muted shade of gold, her rhinestone glasses shiny. Her boyfriend is next to her.
“Sawyer,” she says, her voice commanding.
For a brief second—no, several—I think I’m in trouble. For what, I have no idea. But it feels that way.
“Yes, ma’am?”
Angelo laughs, shaking his head. “Don’t call her ma’am.”
“Um, Miss—”
“Director,” Angelo supplies. “Call her Miss Director.”
“Oh hush,” she tells him with obvious affection, then says, “it’s still Rivers. Why give up a good last name once you’ve got it?”
“Unless you get a better one,” Angelo says under his breath, a hopeful note to his voice.
Her eyebrows rise. “We’ll see.”
Well, I guess someone wants to marry Chloe’s mom.
With a laugh she turns back to me. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done. Thank you.” Then she lowers her voice, her smile vanishing, her tone sharp. “And be good to my daughter.”
For fuck’s sake, am I wearing a sign above my head that says I’m into her?
But then, as long as I don’t advertise my feelings at work, I’ll be fine. Even after I ask her to be my girl on Saturday night. Even when I tell her how I feel. It’s just best to make sure the workplace isn’t a love fest.
“Yes, ma—Miss Rivers.”
“Karen is fine,” she says.
“Thanks, Karen,” I say, then leave, heading home to let out my dog.
Home. It feels that way. The faint scent of cinnamon lingers on the towel Chloe used this morning from the bodywash I bought for her, and it mingles with the clean smell of freshly bathed dog swirling around my guy.
After a quick walk around the block, I settle in on the couch, the furry guy nudging my leg, craving some attention. Chloe won’t be here for a few more minutes, so I grab my tablet and review the plans for tomorrow’s Dog Day Afternoon as I pet Mister Dog.
The event at the community pool has ballooned. When Alexandra learned about it, she arched a brow and said, “We should set up a photo op with Jubilee.”
That sounded like a perfect way to connect the show to Dog Tails and to Chloe’s business, which is also sponsoring the event. I gave the only response I could: “Let’s do it.”
It’s since turned into a bigger photo opportunity with Saffron, Ava, and Veronica planning to attend, too, along with the director and the writer. Alexandra will be there as well, and some of the guest stars for the next episode.
Bring it on. Let them see what we’ve built at Dog Tails and with Chloe’s Paw-sitive Dog Training.
Now, I scroll through my email and spot a new one from Alexandra. It’s a list of items Jubilee’s handler says the little star will need tomorrow.
Fresh water for drinking. Easy.
An umbrella so she doesn’t get too hot. Fair.
And…no tennis balls within ten feet. Okay. I can ask Levi and Hazel to monitor tennis ball placement. They’ll love that.
I write them a text—pretty sure email for them is like a black hole—and schedule it to send in the early morning.
That done, I set the tablet down and scratch my dog behind his ears. My dog. I’m still getting used to that. But it’s another thing that feels just right.
“What do you think, Mister Dog? You happy here?”
The fox-like pooch rests his snout on my leg. I take that as a yes.
“Yeah, me too.”
* * *
The next day, I’m hanging out by the deep end of the pool, my shades on, wearing a short-sleeved button-down that’s safe for work since my tattoo has faded, and surveying the scene as Zuri hands out pup-sicles for the pooches near the shallow end.
The sun is shining brightly, the dogs are splish-splashing in the pool, and the place is packed.
Every pool chair is occupied—and everyone has their phone out, snapping pics and videos of the dogs.
Easily a hundred—maybe two hundred—people are here today, with their pets cannonballing into the cool water so they can chill out on a hot August day.
Hazel and Levi are in their element, tending to the no-ball zone around Jubilee, who sits properly in a lawn chair, her handler by her side, under an umbrella, a few feet from the lifeguard stand by the deep end.
Corinne keeps a hand on the chair, ready to snatch the star from harm if need be, but also gives her the space she needs as the guest of honor.
A line snakes around the deep end of fans patiently waiting for a chance for a picture.
A photographer I hired for the event snaps pics of people with Jubilee—the guy who owns the bookstore, Delilah from the tattoo parlor, Callie, the manager of Pick Me Up, and even Dottie Birch from The Horny House, who flashes the biggest smile I’ve ever seen, then hands the cutie back to Corinne.
Chloe weaves past some people in line and moves next to me. “This is going great,” she whispers to me as dogs paddle in the water, chasing rope toys and Frisbees, while others cavort around the edge of the glistening blue water, waiting for a turn to dive back in.
Briefly, I wonder if Jubilee wants to take a dip. But that doesn’t seem like her thing. She’s content to sit and pose. As Katrina from The Sweet Spot slides next to Jubilee for a pic, I say to Chloe, “It’s unbelievable.”
She flashes me a knowing grin as I use our word from the first night we met. She’s unbelievable. What we’ve built is unbelievable. That we’ve made this work is unbelievable.
And, fuck it, I rest a hand on her back. Feels good. Feels right. So good and so right, I steal the chance to swipe a strand of hair from her cheek and tuck it behind her ear.
But when I let go, my gaze lands on blond hair, a spray tan, and an asshole grin.
Chloe’s ex. He’s strutting into the pool area, eyes locked on us.
He’s with that dog trainer who nearly got the job.