Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
ROWAN
It’s amazing how seemingly insignificant choices can drastically change the trajectory of your life.
Take, for instance, my current predicament of attempting to wrangle a seventy-five pound rambunctious Labrador Retriever down Main Street of an adorable small town I stumbled on a few weeks ago.
I came here because I heard the diner had the best pie around.
And if there’s one thing I’ll never say no to, it’s pie. All flavors. Apple. Pumpkin. Cherry. Chocolate. Peanut Butter.
If it has the word “pie” attached to it, I’m eating it.
Except for Shepherd’s Pie. In my opinion, that dish has no business calling itself a pie.
But that’s a story for another day.
This love affair with pie isn’t born from a relentless sweet tooth, although I’ve never been one to turn down something filled with sugar.
Instead, it’s because there was a time when I didn’t think I’d ever get to taste pie again. Or a cake on my birthday. Or my favorite deep-dish Chicago pizza. Or a New England lobster roll. Or a Maryland crab cake.
Now that I have a second chance, I’m doing all those things. Trying to experience everything life has to offer. Saying yes to any and every new adventure that comes my way.
I know better than anyone it can all be taken away tomorrow.
This drive to say yes is how I ended up staying in this small town instead of just stopping by for a piece of pie.
Because after that piece of pie, I decided to walk off some of the sugar before continuing on my way, which led me to striking up a conversation with a woman around my age walking a dog.
Who told me the local shelter was looking for volunteers to help walk the dogs waiting to be adopted.
I had no choice but to say yes.
Although, as Bark Twain practically pulls me down Main Street, I can’t help but question whether it was a good idea.
“Slow down, Bark Twain,” I huff, trying to pull on his leash to reel him in. But there are too many smells and sights for him.
It’s obvious he’s happy to be out of that kennel. I can’t blame him. I feel the same sense of exhilaration every time I visit a new city. New town. Have a new experience.
“I get that this is exciting, but I need to take it easy.”
To my surprise, he actually listens to me. I nearly trip over the yellow lab as he slows to a complete stop.
“Huh. Maybe I’m, like, the dog whisperer or something,” I muse.
But it only takes a matter of seconds for me to realize I’m no dog whisperer. Instead, what had him come to a stop wasn’t my plea or hold on his leash.
It was his nemesis.
The squirrel.
The second I see the tiny creature a block away, I try to tighten my grip on the leash.
But it’s no use.
He’s already on the attack.
The leash slices through my palm as he rockets forward. One moment I’m in control. The next, the leash is airborne.
“Bark Twain! Heel!” I shout, sprinting after him. “It’s a squirrel! Not a jar of peanut butter!”
The world blurs into storefronts and early-morning diner scents. I dodge a chalkboard sign advertising Tuesday Bingo at the senior center. Thankfully, there are enough obstacles between Bark Twain and the squirrel that I’m able to catch up to him and snag his collar.
“Got you,” I say, feeling victorious.
And that’s when I slam into what feels like a brick wall.
Except it’s not a wall.
It’s a body.
My gaze travels up a broad chest straining beneath a dark suit, to dark eyes sharp enough to cut glass and along a jawline scruffy enough to inspire questionable thoughts I absolutely do not have time for this morning.
And then I reach his mouth.
Correction.
I reach his scowl.
If there were a competition for biggest scowl, this one would win. Hands down.
Which is why my stomach shouldn’t be fluttering and my heart shouldn’t be skipping a proverbial beat.
Not a real beat.
That would be concerning.
“Oh, my god, I’m so sorry!” I push myself upright as I attempt to keep Bark Twain’s leash firmly in my grasp.
Thankfully, the squirrel realized he was being targeted and scaled a tree.
“If you can’t control your dog,” the man grumbles, flinging spilled coffee from his hands, “maybe you shouldn’t have one.”
I blink. Once. Twice. Taken aback by just how rude he is, even after I apologized. But I refuse to let it get to me. Life’s too short to walk around angry.
Maybe Mr. Grump in a Suit needs to realize that.
“I’ll get you another coffee,” I offer, smiling wide. “My treat.”
“Don’t bother.” He sidesteps me like the sight of me disgusts him.
Granted, I haven’t showered yet today. My dark hair is a bit disheveled in the messy bun piled on top of my head.
I’m not wearing any makeup, but I’m not a big fan of it anyway.
I’m still dressed in pajama pants with tacos all over them and a sweatshirt that says “undiagnosed but something is definitely wrong”.
I discreetly sniff myself to make sure I put on deodorant, and I’m happy to report I did.
“I’m already late,” he says with an air of importance as he stalks off, shoulders tight, scowl deepening.
I watch as he hurries down the sidewalk, everyone seeming to stay out of his way. The lights on a dark Porsche Cayenne blink as he approaches, and he slides into the driver’s seat.
Of course he drives a freaking Porsche. In a town where the local diner still serves pie on mismatched plates.
I crouch down and meet Bark Twain’s dark, apologetic eyes. He looks so sad. No doubt Mr. Grump in a Suit’s energy oozed onto this sweet dog who doesn’t know any better.
But Mr. Grump does.
“It’s okay,” I assure Bark Twain as I scratch behind his ears. “I’m not mad. I could never be mad at you. This is why dogs are infinitely better than humans.”
I glance at the Porsche as Mr. Grump in a Suit drives away.
I half expect him to speed. He doesn’t. In fact, he drives very carefully.
But as he passes me, his eyes find mine, and he treats me to a glare to end all glares.
Which I return with a bright smile, refusing to allow his negative energy to impact my day.
Once he rolls past me, I turn my attention to Bark Twain. “Especially that human,” I mutter under my breath.
The dog leans further into my touch, and I give him a few more head scratches before pulling myself up to my full height.
“Come on. Let’s go get you a pup cup.”
That’s all it takes for Bark Twain to dance in circles, the run-in with Mr. Grump in a Suit long forgotten.