Chapter 8
EIGHT
The next evening, after a long day staring at computer screens at the office, Zoie knocked on my door at ten till six.
Since she was running late, I hustled across the living room, making a mad rush for the door I was grateful nobody was around to witness.
Then I stood staring at her through the screen door, unable to conjure my words.
Obviously, neither Zoie nor I had realized there’d be a beat of awkwardness—the silent acknowledgment I’d seen her dancing in her underwear.
Her cheeks flushed as pink as the streaks in her hair, and one corner of her mouth kicked up in a bashful half-smile. “So, here’s the leash.”
“Ah, the lead, you mean.”
“What matters most,” she countered, extending it my way, “is that it keeps Nova’s damage to a six-foot radius minimum.”
“I hear you.” I stepped in a bit closer, fingers closing around the end of the lead. “But it’s about guiding the dog, yeah? Leash focuses too much on restraint.”
“No BDSM club for you, then?” As soon as the question burst out of her, Zoie’s eyes flew as wide as her mouth.
I tugged at the collar of my shirt, barely restraining the too-brazen words I wouldn’t necessarily rule it out.
Both of us fidgeted in our spots, avoiding each other’s gaze as she passed me a duffle bag and began rattling off the contents. I’d assumed she’d packed it for work, in order to avoid running in and out of her house several times. Instead, she’d brought an inordinate amount of pee pads, Nova’s favorite blanket, along with several balls, toys, and enough dog food to feed a canine army.
It reminded me of whenever I picked up my sister for an outing and she was leaving my niece and nephew behind with a sitter or their deadbeat father. About four months after Harriet had little Phoebe, her ex-husband had left her for a younger woman he worked with, and she’d been doing it mostly on her own ever since.
Not wanting to be another man who left her without a support system, my sister was one of the reasons I’d nearly sent someone else to California to oversee the merger. It rankled the perfectionist, control-freak within, and in the end, it was Harriet who talked me into going. She assured me she could handle a couple of months, and I’d promised to call and check on her.
Only it was harder than expected due to living in another time zone, and guilt tugged at me for another day gone without checking in.
A quick calculation and I decided I’d stay up late enough that I could catch my sister first thing in her morning. I needed someone to talk to about my intriguing neighbor, even though Harriet would get far too involved in the idea. Since my previous hideous breakup, she’d been on me to “open myself to love again,” whatever that meant. After everything her ex put her through, I marveled she still believed in happily ever after. I envied her optimism, honestly—Harriet managed to turn around shit situations with a smile and a shrug, whereas I was the realist of the family, constantly stewing and pouring in more of my time to make it work.
Another reason this merger was so important to me. While my ma, pa, and Harriet all insisted I keep my money, I felt better knowing that if anything happened, I could care for them.
“Here’s my spare key so you can put Nova in his crate before you turn in for the night,” Zoie said, the keys jingling as she dropped them into my open palm. Slowly she backed halfway out the door, glancing from me to her puppy and clenching the spot above her heart as she glanced over her shoulder, down the sidewalk that led to her car. “You good?”
“All good.” I resisted the urge to reply that with how much stuff she brought, I’d be good for weeks. What she needed was assurance, so I bent to pet Nova and showed her what a cuddly pair we made. Cute and cuddly wasn’t anything I could pull off myself, so I’d have to give the pooch an extra treat for the assist.
After teaching Nova a couple of basic commands, I asked about a walk. He barked and jumped up against the door, and I’d be damned. Zoie wasn’t joking about her puppy peeing when overly excited.
That led to me cleaning up the mess while Nova whimpered, gnawed on the remote, and pawed at the door.
At long last, we were off on our walk, and I steered the puppy toward the beach.
Evenings truly were beautiful here. Sunny but not sweltering, and the closer I got to the receding tide, the more mellow people became. They often smiled—not at me, but the boxer at the end of the lead.
By the time we reached the sand, we’d been stopped several times. At first, the forced interaction left me twitchy, but passersby only ever asked about the dog, not me.
As we strolled along the edge of the water, Nova splashing about, admirers came out of the woodwork. Women in teeny swimsuits not only grinned at my canine companion, but they directed those smiles at me as well.
A group of three rushed over and asked if they could pet my puppy. It didn’t seem worth correcting that he wasn’t mine.
Ladies in bikinis just as small as what Zoie had on last night stopped to lavish Nova with attention and affection. As they bent over, I didn’t struggle with averting my eyes, my mind constantly flashing to Zoie bending down to remove her dog from the blinds instead.
Since she was on my mind, I snapped an extra ridiculous picture of Nova running, cheeks pulled back with the wind and his speed, until he was all gums, tongue, teeth and ears.
I’d just returned my phone to the pocket of my shorts when it chimed with an alert.
A heart was now attached to the text bubble, and I didn’t quite understand the pang of disappointment. I’d wanted to make her smile while she was at work, and the heart implied she had.
It hit me then that I wanted more.
Conversation, for the record.
And to see what knickers she’s wearing today.
Despite not speaking it aloud, I shook my head at myself. There would be no such thoughts. I had a good thing going with this temporary, borrowed pet option. All the fun without the type of commitment I’d struggle to keep up with. Right now, the office days are in the nine-to-five range. Once I began training the manager, I’d have my work to do on top of that.
That meant staying late at the office or bringing my work home. With Zoie’s late-night shifts, I could have Nova keep me company in the evening, so the nonstop hours wouldn’t seem quite as long. Virginia Woof often snoozed away next to me on the sofa as I fiddled with lines of code on my computer, rousing me when both of us needed food or a toilet break.
A tug on the leash and a punctuated, “Ew, gross, no,” jerked me out of my thoughts about the gorgeous neighbor I absolutely shouldn’t have been thinking about.
Then I wished I would’ve stopped that train earlier or that the brakes had failed and the train was still on the tracks. Because Nova had a nappy in his mouth, and the woman holding a baby on her hip kept trying to snatch it from him.
The mutt dodged and avoided, thinking this was the greatest game of keep-away ever.
I cleared my throat and let my CEO voice take control. “Nova, sit.”
Nova did not sit. To be fair, he’d only had one lesson, and success was a spectrum.
That he didn’t come close to landing on.
“Drop it.”
Nova bounded toward me, my wild arm waving too late, and I was definitely going down.
Nope, buckling my knees actually worked. I remained upright—just barely—letting out a relieved puff that he’d released the dirty nappy, fragrant enough I knew we were dealing with a Number Two.
Then he bit into the bundle again, and bloody hell, he was going to eat it.
I dove, sliding toward the boxer on my knees like a baseball player who’d forgotten how to play. Then, stifling a gag, I snagged the nappy.
It’d come loose on one end, and as I attempted to reapply the sticky strap, Nova tried to undo the other side.
I popped to my feet, breathing far heavier than I should after such a short burst, and extended the nappy toward the distraught mother juggling a freshly changed baby in her arms.
Face scrunched up as if I’d been the one having a go at the item, she said, “No thank you. Your dog ripped it open, so it’s your problem now.”
This time, the temptation to say it wasn’t my dog was extra strong. I refrained and held the nappy as far from myself as I could, a shite-filled basketball I couldn’t wait to dunk.
Women didn’t stop me on my return walk, the diaper a stronger deterrent than Nova’s charms. “Quite a feat, really,” I told him as we reached the dry sand, but a stray pile of seaweed had snagged his attention, so the compliment went way over his head.
By the time we arrived at my flat, I’d gone back and forth about whether to tell Zoie about the nappy incident. At first, my goal was for her to never know about the disaster or that I’d been present for it, but another idea struck me shortly before bed.
Since the object was too wiggly for a mere piece of tape to survive, I took drastic measures and removed a lace from my trainers. I scribbled another line at the bottom, attached the note to Nova’s lead, and headed to Zoie’s to secure him in his crate where he could dream about tormenting seagulls and eating gourmet meals like poopy nappies.