Chapter 5
FIVE
It’d been a long day, and honestly, the only idea worse than returning to an empty flat was going out for a drink with my coworkers.
Knocking elbows with the chaps was something I should do, but after eight hours of meetings with forced small chat in between, the last thing I wanted was more of it.
Then again, getting a bit pissed might help.
Maybe tomorrow.
As I neared the front door to my rental, a pale pink envelope took shape. A pinkish-red paw print marked the sealed flap, and my heart lurched in my chest, as if it wanted to reach the letter first.
Seconds ago, I could barely summon enough energy to walk up my sidewalk, and suddenly I was racing up the three, crumbling cement steps, not nearly as cautiously as I should, either.
My grin continued to stretch my cheeks as I attempted to pry it free, only the tape Zoie used—presumably it wasn’t Nova, what with his lack of opposable thumbs—took extra gusto. I peeled it up with my thumbnail and finally ripped it free, the tape far sturdier than the tiny opaque strip I’d “borrowed” from the office dispenser the previous day.
I shoved inside the flat, studying the pink glitter that coated one side of the adhesive, colorful in the same way my neighbor was.
Thunk . My laptop bag hit the coffee table, and I flopped onto the sofa, unsealed the envelope, and withdrew the letter. Due to the grand presentation of the inked pawprint, pale pink envelope, and matching cardstock within, I’d expected looping, beautiful calligraphy.
I’d thought my half-cursive, half-scrawl was hard to read, despite my primary school teacher’s best efforts, but Zoie’s sloppiness put mine to…well, shame wasn’t the right word. The more I thought about it the more it suited her—I’d often seen the woman racing full tilt down the sidewalk, as if her pink-streaked hair was aflame. Rather than settle behind the wheel of her automobile, she flung herself inside. Then, with the driver’s side door still thrown wide, the engine would purr to life.
Only for her to erupt from the car in a blur of oversized shades and return to her home for whatever object or task she’d forgotten. Once, I’d watched her curse and kick the front door when the handle was locked before she sprinted back to her car to retrieve her keys and then back up the sidewalk again. No matter the day, she was forever forgetting something that required grabbing at the last minute.
I’d spent more time than I liked to admit watching her ransack her own place in search of a lost or misplaced object. I could blame boredom, loneliness, and the fact that our cottage windows lined up—and they’d played their parts, sure. But it was intrigue and a pinch of exasperation that kept me coming back for more.
It didn’t make any sense. The women I dated were more reserved, as spontaneity ruffled my organizational feathers. Unexpected usually meant disastrous, and both of those were an accurate description for Zoie. I didn’t have time for disastrous or even mildly distracting. This was just the first time in a long time I’d experienced any regrets about that fact.
Shaking those stray thoughts from my head, I lifted Zoie’s note to read it. When I’d penned the letter to her, I’d decided I didn’t have anything to lose besides perhaps my dignity.
A small price to pay if the answer was yes.
First, however, I had to sort out her messy penmanship.
Dearest Neighbor that I enjoy jumping on,
The greeting evoked images of Zoie leaping into my arms, a notion I rather enjoyed. In fact, the temperature in the room was climbing, the blood pumping hotter in my veins. I tugged at the knot of my tie, only to find I’d yanked the fabric free already.
My steps slowed, eyebrows drawing together in confusion over Zoie’s apology for ruining my dinner.
Then I understood; she’d penned the letter from Nova rather than herself, the curious comment about her digging through the trash making much more sense now.
I would love to go on walks and play fetch with you. “Walk” is my very favorite word. My human can’t utter it aloud without me rushing to the door so fast I nearly take the screen along with us. She insists on a leash, which I’m sure she’ll lend you, as the farther away I get from a responsible adult, the more havoc I wreak.
But I dog-gress.
I snorted at her cheesy joke. Once I’d sorted out the slope and slant of her words, it became easier to read her handwriting.
The truth is, I am as naughty and disobedient as I am sweet and energetic. If that doesn’t change your mind, I’d be so excited to accept your request. Like, so excited I might pee a little
If I haven’t scared you off, and these terms are acceptable, please contact my human to arrange some playdates.
At the bottom of the note, Zoie had jotted her phone number. There was the familiar—numbers—my comfort language.
I let my gaze travel over the lines and the curves of the numerics until I’d committed every digit to memory.