4. Sadie
4
SADIE
“How could Ian Barlowe move to town and I didn’t hear about it? Have you seen him in his underwear?”
I nearly trip over a rock on the trail in the foothills behind my neighborhood, and Max immediately moves to my side. He’s enjoying the off-leash hike with the other dogs in my care today, my best friend Sally, and her terrier mix, Aspen. Max has never been much for adventure—we have that in common—so tends to stick close.
“Are you joking? Not that I’d peep, Sal, but he keeps the blinds drawn.”
Although, since his daughter arrived two days ago, I’ve noticed the shades open from early morning to sunset.
Sally Mortensen, my bestie since second grade and owner of The Roasted Sky, the most popular coffee shop in Skylark, turns to face me, hands on hips.
“Google Ian Barlowe boxers.” She draws in a few belabored pants. “Also, get me out on the trail more often. It’s embarrassing to suck wind this badly.”
The thought of my blue-eyed, golden maple-haired, drop-dead gorgeous neighbor wearing nothing but boxers makes my breath catch for an entirely different reason. Captain America has nothing on Ian, in my dreams or real life.
“I’m not an internet fangirl.” I sound like a matronly aunt scandalized by the idea of a half-naked man. “I’m not sure why you are, either. What does your wife think?”
Sally laughs then rolls her eyes. “Trina’s one-night stand pass is Scarlett Johansson.”
Trina is a high-powered marketing whiz who worked in Manhattan for years but opted to go remote after falling in love with my best friend when they were set up on a blind date.
“Don’t get me started on how many times we’ve watched the Avengers movies,” Sally continues. “Even the lame ones. I doubt she’d have a problem with me internet ogling Ian’s fine ass.”
“Is he your pass?” And why do I feel a sudden stab of possessiveness?
The dogs congregate around us, wondering why we’ve stopped. All but Aspen, who never stops in her mission to flush out wildlife or discover decaying animal bones.
“Zendaya is my pass.” Sally grins. “Big dick energy doesn’t do it for me anymore.” She jabs a finger at me. “But he could do it for you, Sads. I still don’t agree with the whole bucket list V-card punching, but if you’re going to have a first time with someone…”
I come close to swallowing my tongue at the thought of sex with Ian Barlowe. Boxers are one thing. The Playmaker in the buff would definitely be more than I can handle.
“Don’t think so,” I manage between wheezes.
“I thought you wanted a story to tell the book club. No one could top Ian Barlowe as an adventure. Even if you didn’t recognize him, he’s a bona fide big deal.”
I don’t follow football, not even Sally’s beloved Denver Grizzlies. I might be the only Colorado native who doesn’t subscribe to the belief that sunsets are orange to pay homage to our NFL franchise.
“Of course I’m not going to share details.” Cue the matronly aunt tone again. I need to lock that shit down. It’s embarrassing. Almost as embarrassing as my loose lips making my virginity an acceptable topic of conversation. Why didn’t I pick something easy like skydiving or swimming with sharks?
“Not that I know either of them, but it’s hard to imagine Ian and Monika Graham as a couple,” I tell my friend, hoping to distract her. And to distract myself from thinking about meeting my bucket list deadline. “She’s tinier than she looks in the movies. Doesn’t like dogs.”
Sally frowns. “She said that? Weird. I saw a post of her at the launch party for a book about a dog who kept watch over its owner for weeks after they got lost in the wilderness. I think she signed on to star in the movie version. Something like that. But she seemed to like dogs.”
“No. I could feel her fear across the front yard. The daughter was all about Princess, but not Monika.”
I point to the clouds gathering on the edge of a distant mountain. “Speaking of Princess, I should let her out, and we need to get off the trail before the rain hits.”
“Praise the Lord for afternoon storms,” Sally mutters. “At least your neighbor isn’t a deranged serial killer. I heard he and the kid showed up for breakfast at The Diner this morning. Maybe one of these days, he’ll drop by to grab a coffee, and I can snap a picture for Insta.”
“You can’t do that. He clearly moved here for a life out of the public eye. We need to respect his privacy.”
It makes no sense to feel protective of Ian Barlowe. He’s the last man on earth who needs my help with anything. Plus, we have nothing in common. But now that I know he was feathering the nest for his daughter’s arrival, I feel kind of… Well, I have all sorts of emotions I wouldn’t expect about my new neighbor.
The protective kind are easier to manage than the fluttering in my belly ones.
“Mmmmkay.” Sally doesn’t sound convinced. “Talk to me after you see him in his boxers.”
“I will not be searching that.” Totally Googling him later. My cheeks heat at the thought, and I turn to head down the trail before Sally notices.
This is my second hike of the day, which is typical. Often, I break up my daily dog clients based on personalities. Princess needs a few months before she’ll be ready for a trail hike, and I hope to have her as a client for that long.
Her owner, Penelope, is high-strung, so it’s not a given. However, the pup is back with me for a second day of training after being too exhausted yesterday to leave her usual trail of post-dinner destruction. Princess needs mental and physical stimulation, and I’m good at providing both.
She’s anxious around animals other than Max, who tends to be a dog whisperer in his own right. I took the two of them for a leash walk around the neighborhood before doing a half-hour of obedience training in the backyard and then settling her in a crate to rest.
I noticed Riva Barlowe watching from an upstairs window, her furrowed brow clearly communicating she’s still upset that her dad is holding fast to the no-pets rule.
Good for Ian. I know from experience that a united front is essential. At least to the extent you can compare puppy parenting to handling human children. The most challenging dogs to train are the ones who have unclear boundaries set by different members of their pack.
And, yes, I understand that raising a child and a dog are not the same. Better than most since it was trial-by-fire becoming Piper’s guardian after Mom died.
“Have you told your sister you don’t have a date for the wedding?” Sally asks as we approach the trailhead.
I stop and call the dogs, leashing them up one at a time.
“There’s still time.” I don’t meet Sally’s gaze since I already know how she’s looking at me. Frieda, the standard poodle who comes to doggy daycare every Friday, lifts her head as I clip the leash to her paisley collar, soulful brown eyes reproachful. Et tu, Frieda?
“For what? Are you going to hire a boyfriend for the weekend? This is your life, not a sappy movie where everything can be neatly tied together in a flannel bow.”
“Don’t knock flannel. It’s an underrated fabric.”
“Sadie, I’m serious. You deserve better,” Sally says then calls Aspen. She’s always the last dog to relent to being put back on her harness—more wolf than canine, that one.
“I don’t want Piper to stress. She was so relieved when I told her I’ve been dating someone and plan to bring him to the wedding.”
“Piper is an adult now, not the broken-hearted little girl you returned home to rescue.”
“We rescued each other,” I clarify.
“You gave up your life for her. The career you dreamed of and the guy you’d had a crush on since sophomore year of high school.”
“Bradley and I were never more than friends.”
“You kissed him.”
“Once.” I shake my head. “One drunk kiss after finals doesn’t count. It didn’t mean anything. I doubt he even remembers, and Piper doesn’t know. She can never find out either. Let it go, Sal. I have.”
Her lips press into a thin line. I can lie to myself and fool my sister, but Sally knows. My crush on Brad Carlson—Bradley—is a secret I vowed to take to the grave after Piper revealed the identity of her mystery boyfriend, now fiancé.
It felt like a punch to the gut hearing how surprised she’d been to run into Bradley in the hospital cafeteria during her first week on the job in Kansas City last fall. They’d bonded over long hours, job stress, and their mutual homesickness for the mountains.
I have no right to care, no dibs on him. His family only lived in Skylark a few years, and we became friends after being assigned as chemistry lab partners.
His parents moved to Arizona once we left for college. After I dropped out of school to take care of Piper, Bradley reached out several times, but I never responded.
My heart felt too broken, and I was reeling from all the things I had to do to keep our heads above water.
My crush was just another layer of skin to shed as I became the new version of myself—the one who only cared about raising my half-sister.
“She’s happy,” I say as Aspen barrels toward us from deep within a copse of scrub oak bushes, proudly displaying her latest find, which looks relatively fresh. “Just like this four-legged bone collector.”
Sally makes a retching noise. “How does she always find animal parts? Gross. It still has fur.”
Aspen trots closer, tail wagging. “Drop it,” I command, and she deposits her prize at my feet. I pick up the section of deer femur and reach around to place it in the plastic bucket carabinered to the outside of my backpack. It’s where I stow bags of poo plus other flotsam and jetsam from the trail until the end of the hike. And why Sally walks upwind of me.
“You deserve more than carrying around garbage that makes the people or dogs in your life happy,” my friend reminds me.
“It makes me happy to see Piper happy.” Not a lie but also not the whole truth.
We’ve made it to the trailhead, close enough to my house that I walked over.
“A piece of your blueberry sour cream cake would make me happy.” I smile. “Save me a day-old slice?”
She rolls her eyes. “How about I make it tomorrow’s special pastry and pull aside a fresh piece for you?”
“You don’t have to?—”
“It’s coffee cake, Sads. A low bar as expectations go. Stop accepting less. Take something for yourself. It’s time.” She leans closer. “Also time for you to be honest with Piper.”
The dogs watch with rapt fascination and then glance at me like they’re expecting a sublime retort from their fearless leader.
“Sure,” I agree with a shrug. I can feel the letdown from friend and canines alike, and hate to admit they’re all right. I’m a disappointment even to myself, but is it too late to become someone else?
With a smile so brittle it might cause my cheeks to crack, I wave and start walking toward home.