Chapter 8
CAL
“Mr. Spence! Mr. Spence!” Robbie yells as the last few stragglers make it back to the parking lot of Vetted Paws. He’s a junior and has really taken to Freya, the black-and-white Border Collie he’s been running with the last few weeks.
The program was an instant success when I took over the varsity cross-country team.
I’d read about it working at another school and immediately sat down with Tanner and Sorren.
A few town and school meetings later, plus lots of parental signatures, and we now have a partnership that allows dogs—especially working breeds—to get a good run in while we prepare for our next race.
It’s been a dream come true.
The kids and dogs have something to look forward to, plus Vetted Paws gets the exposure needed to rehome the dogs.
More than a few have gone home with the kids they run with every day, and I smile at Robbie because his mom is bringing him after school to pick up Freya and take her to her forever home.
Tanner waves from the entrance as he helps the rest of the team bring their dogs inside and get them settled.
“Hey Robbie, what’s up?” I ask, wiping my face on the sleeve of my shirt, not that it’s any drier than the rest of me.
“Check this out!” he says excitedly as he runs through a series of tricks with Freya, ending with her spinning in a couple of tight circles before he pats his chest and she jumps into his arms, licking his face as he laughs.
I can’t help but smile too.
He’s going to lose his mind when he realizes she’s going home with him.
“That’s awesome. She picked that up really fast.”
“She’s so smart.” He beams and then frowns as his eyes track to where Tanner is standing, his shoulders slumping at the thought of putting her back in the kennel.
It’ll be okay.
I want to shout it from the rooftops, but I can’t because I promised his mom I wouldn’t ruin the surprise. Tanner is trying just as hard, his lips pressing into a line to stop the smile that wants to spread across his face.
It’s going to be so good.
It takes a minute longer to wrangle the rest of the team and make sure everyone is either on their way home to shower or headed to the school to get ready in the locker room.
With a final goodbye, I get in my Jeep and race home, noting that I have a little less time than usual. I have no idea what Blake’s schedule is, but there’s no way he’s still sleeping.
Not on a Monday.
Pulling into the driveway, that notion is confirmed when I see the kitchen light shining through the window, and any hopes of avoiding him are dashed as I step into the house.
This is fine.
I can do this.
“Mornin’” he says, his southern accent prominent as he looks me up and down over his coffee cup.
I’m no stranger to a good accent, but Blake’s has been subtle since we met.
Today though, that single word has my whole body responding, a shiver snaking down my spine and my blood pumping faster in my veins.
“Morning,” I manage, swallowing hard and running a hand through my hair. “I coach the boys’ varsity cross-country team. A couple of days a week, we take the dogs at the shelter for a run before school.”
“That’s amazing,” he says, his eyes lighting up. “I love those kind of think-outside-the-box efforts. Maybe we could talk more after school? I have some ideas.” He lifts a shoulder and lets it drop like maybe he’s embarrassed by his enthusiasm. “I mean, if you have time.”
“Yeah, that sounds great,” I tell him honestly before glancing at the clock. “I have to shower and get back to school.”
He nods. “Of course.” Clearing his throat, he adds, “I was thinking stuffed shells for dinner. Is that okay?”
“Sounds fancy,” I tease and he smirks.
“Hardly, but I appreciate you thinking so.”
“More than I’m usually up to making, so thank you.”
“Sure.”
Sensing an opening, I give him a brief nod and then hurry toward the stairs to shower and get myself ready for the Monday of all Mondays.
“I’m still not talking to you,” I say without looking up from the paintbrushes I’m setting out on each desk. Ellison’s very pregnant shuffle is hard to miss and honestly, I’m surprised she’s waited this long to come talk to me.
It’s been a whole three periods.
“Oh, don’t be like that,” she coos, rubbing her belly as I turn and scowl.
She grins.
Typical.
“How was I supposed to know Blake was your ex-boyfriend?” I hiss, cognizant of the fact the kids will be coming back from lunch at any moment.
“Because he was the only guy that looked like he stepped out of an ad for GQ magazine, and the rest of our friends wear cowboy boots and their good jeans to dress up.”
“Okay, fine, but why would I assume he was your ex? Maybe he worked with your dad or was a cousin or another trust fund baby.”
“Now that’s just hurtful.”
She smirks and I roll my eyes. “As if that’s not enough, he’s staying in my house looking stupidly hot, cooking me dinner tonight, and being extremely respectful of my boundaries.”
“Sounds like a dream.”
“It’s not.”
“Well, an orgasm would probably fix that.”
“We’re definitely not doing that.”
“Why not?” This time instead of being flippant, her tone is understandably confused. But I can’t tell her about Liam, definitely not here, so I point out the obvious, more superficial issues.
“He doesn’t live here, El, and his idea of casual looks like he’s going to a networking event in the hotel lobby.”
She opens her mouth and then closes it again before narrowing her eyes. “That’s not the problem.”
How could she possibly know that?
“I’m just saying that we’re from different worlds,” I say, trying again to redirect her. “And I don’t fit in his and…” I start, swallowing hard before admitting, “I’m afraid if I let myself have that one piece, I’ll get attached.”
I don’t want to break again.
The hurt is palpable, anguish trying to break out of the box I shoved it into all those years ago.
“Montana and I were from different worlds and look at us now.”
“That’s not even a fair comparison.” I snort. “You guys are on a whole different level.”
“You’re not telling me something.”
“I’m allowed to have secrets,” I say without thinking, her eyes bright with mischief when I turn to face her.
Dammit.
“Are you gonna tell me your secrets?” she says on a singsong, and I groan because why would I say that?
She’s never going to let that go.
“No. And I need you not to ask.”
She studies me for a moment and then dips her head. “I won’t.” And like the Cheshire cat she adds, “For now.”
And I sigh, because I wouldn’t expect anything less.