Chapter 30
Jeremiah
Over the past few days, my phone had become a virtual extension of my arm. Every buzz, every ping, every notification made my heart do something acrobatic in my chest, and I found myself grinning like an idiot before I even checked to see if it was from Theo.
Which, of course it was.
Who else would text me twelve times a day?
We’d been chatting nonstop since our sleepover—random thoughts, pictures of things that reminded us of each other, stupid jokes that made me laugh out loud in the middle of delivery stops.
Yesterday he sent me a photo of a book titled The Care and Feeding of Your Postal Worker that he’d found at a used bookstore.
I laughed so hard I nearly dropped a package right in front of the shop’s owner.
This morning alone, my phone had buzzed nine times, and each text had made me smile wider than the last: one about Debbie insisting that Sir Hornsworth needed his own library card, a photo of his coffee mug that said, “Shhh . . . The Librarian is Reading,” a completely random message that said, “Thinking about you,” followed immediately by another that said, “Sorry, was that too sappy?”
I was halfway through my route, standing outside Peterson’s Hardware with a delivery that required a signature, when my phone buzzed for the tenth time.
My hand automatically moved toward my pocket, but I forced myself to stop.
I needed to get this package delivered first, then I could indulge in whatever adorable thing Theo had sent me this time.
The woman at the counter took forever to find her reading glasses, then longer to actually sign for the package, and by the time I was walking back across the parking lot to my truck, I was practically vibrating with anticipation.
I yanked my phone out of my pocket the second I was clear of the building.
But the message wasn’t from Theo.
MRS. CUDDLES: Jeremiah, I’m so sorry to bother you, but I really need your help. They moved my surgery up to today—the surgeon says it can’t wait. I’m at the hospital and have no idea how fast these drugs will hit. I already feel funny and light, like a potato floating on a cloud.
A what? Was she delusional or delirious?
Either way, I kind of wished I could be there to see it.
Mrs. Chen was already a funny old lady. Give her some drugs and I bet she’d be the life of any party.
But the part about her surgery? I reread it.
A surgeon sounding alarm bells and moving up her procedure couldn’t be good.
All amusement at her addled state evaporated with thoughts of the million things that could go wrong.
MRS. CUDDLES: I didn’t have time to arrange care for Cuddles. Could you feed her tonight? I know it’s last minute, and I feel terrible asking, but I didn’t know who else to call.
My heart sank. Mrs. Chen was having her surgery today, alone, and all she could worry about was her dog? The poor woman was facing something serious enough that doctors couldn’t wait, and she was apologizing for asking for help?
I typed quickly.
Me: Of course. Don’t worry about Cuddles—I’ve got her covered. Focus on taking care of yourself. Do you need anything else? Someone to drive you home after?
Her response came quickly.
MRS. CUDDLES: Thank you so much. You’re a lifesaver. My neighbor will pick me up tomorrow if all goes well. The spare key is where I showed you, and Cuddles gets fed at six. She’s been anxious all day—I think she knows something’s up.
Me: I’ll take good care of her. You just focus on getting better.
MRS. CUDDLES: You’re an angel, Jeremiah. I owe you big time.
I stared at my phone for a moment, processing what had just happened. Mrs. Chen was probably scared and alone, while I was standing in a parking lot worried about text messages from my boyfriend.
My boyfriend.
That word still made something flutter in my chest—and I wasn’t sure I’d earned the title yet, though I desperately wanted it—but right now everything was overshadowed by concern for a woman who’d wormed her way into my heart and become an important part of my life.
And Cuddles, the fang-bearing fluff ball who seemed determined to destroy every work shirt I owned.
Awesome.
The irony wasn’t lost on me.
A few months ago, the idea of voluntarily spending time with Cuddles would have seemed like volunteering for torture in some Soviet prison back before the Russians learned how to be all warm and fuzzy on the international stage.
Wait, that hadn’t happened, had it?
Well, shit.
Now, thinking about driving to Mrs. Chen’s house and feeding her dog, this just felt like helping family.
I checked the time. It was three-thirty. I had enough deliveries left to keep me busy until five, then I’d head home, grab some dinner, and go deal with my canine nemesis turned immediate responsibility.
My phone buzzed again.
Theo: Random question: do you think Debbie would like to learn how to play chess? I found this kid-friendly set at the bookstore and couldn’t resist.
I smiled despite my worry.
Me: She’d love it. Fair warning though—she’ll probably insist the horses are actually unicorns and try to make up her own rules.
Theo: Even better. How’s your day going?
I’m not sure why, but I hesitated before typing a reply.
Me: Mrs. Chen had to have emergency surgery today. I’m going to take care of Cuddles tonight.
Theo: Oh no! Is she okay? Do you want company? I could bring Debbie over—she loves Cuddles.
Something warm unfurled in my chest.
Of course, Theo would offer to help.
Of course, he’d think about how to make the situation better instead of just sending sympathy.
Me: That would actually be amazing. Cuddles might be less likely to eat me if Debbie’s there as a buffer.
Theo: Did you just say you want to use my five-year-old daughter as a human shield?
Me: Have you seen that beast? Fuck yes!
Theo: Ha. She’s a sweetheart. You’re just an overly muscled wuss.
Me: Um, thanks, I think.
Theo: (grin) We’ll be there. What time works?
Me: Seven? Traffic should’ve thinned out by then.
Theo: Perfect. Debbie will be so excited. She’s been asking when she can see Cuddles again. And you can come over for dinner after we get the rabid beast settled.
I put my phone away and headed to my next delivery, but the tightness in my chest wouldn’t ease.
Mrs. Chen was going to be okay—she had to be.
I found myself so lost in thought about the plight of that sweet old lady suffering alone in a hospital that I barely spared a thought for my own peril waiting behind a white picket fence.
The rest of my route passed in a blur of signatures and small talk.
By six-thirty, I was pulling up in front of Mrs. Chen’s house.
Thanks to the doggie door, Cuddles lay in her usual spot on the porch, a golden statue surveying her domain with the regal bearing of a fearsome queen who’d forgotten she was supposed to be cute and cuddly.
The moment I stepped out of my truck, her ears perked up and she sat at attention. Even from across the yard, I could see the recognition in her eyes—and the immediate shift from lazy observation to high alert that meant she was calculating the best angle of attack.
“Hey there, Cuddles,” I said softly, keeping my voice as calm and non-threatening as possible as I approached the gate. “I know this is weird, but your mom asked me to take care of you tonight. We’re going to figure this out together, okay?”
Cuddles watched me with the intensity of an eagle who’d just spotted a hare from hundreds of yards in the sky.
Her tail wasn’t wagging.
I reached for the gate latch, moving slowly and deliberately.
“I’m not here to hurt you, girl. I’m just here to make sure you’re fed and—”
The moment my hand touched the latch, Cuddles launched herself forward with a snarl that could have been heard three blocks away. Hell, they probably heard it on the Tennessee-Georgia border.
Teeth bared, ears flattened, she looked like every nightmare about aggressive dogs that had ever existed.
Thousands of years of evolutionary survival instincts screamed at me to step back, to put distance between myself and the one with very sharp teeth, but something made me hold my ground.
Maybe it was stubbornness, maybe it was the memory of Mrs. Chen’s worried text, or maybe it was just the realization that if I ran now, I’d never be able to face this dog again.
Or maybe I was an idiot.
That was more likely.
Cuddles stopped short of the gate, her momentum carrying her almost to the fence before she seemed to realize I hadn’t moved. She stood there for a moment, still growling, but her posture shifted into something altogether different.
Confusion, maybe.
We stared at each other through the slats of the gate.
Me, trying to project calm confidence while my heart hammered against my ribs.
Her, clearly trying to figure out why her intimidation tactics weren’t working.
“I’m not going anywhere, Cuddles,” I said quietly. “Your mom is counting on me, which means she’s counting on you to let me help. You need me tonight, and I need you. Okay?”
The growling stopped.
Cuddles cocked her head to one side, studying me with those intelligent brown eyes. I could practically see the wheels turning in her head as she reassessed the situation.
Slowly, deliberately, she laid her ears back—not in aggression this time, but in what appeared almost like resignation.
And then, miracle of miracles, she turned around and strode back up the steps to resume her place on her porch-throne. She sat at first, then after another long moment, she lay down, her chin resting on her paws.
Her eyes never left me, but the message was clear: She wasn’t going to attack.
Yet.
I sucked in a deep breath and slowly opened the gate.
The hinges creaked softly.
Cuddles’s ears twitched at the sound, but she didn’t move.
Step by step, I made my way up the front walk, talking to her in the same calm, quiet voice. “That’s a good girl. I know this is weird. Believe me, it’s weird for me, too, but we’re going to be okay. I bet you’re hungry.”
By the time I reached the first step, Cuddles had shifted back to a sitting position, and was watching me with what I could only describe as wary acceptance.
When I sat down on the step next to her, she didn’t growl or snap or try to take a chunk out of my leg.
Instead, she sniffed cautiously in my direction, her wet nose barely brushing against my hand.
“There we go,” I murmured, hardly daring to breathe. “Sniff me good. I like dog sniffs . . . and kisses . . . and pretty much anything but bites.”
I reached out to pet her, and the growl returned, practically vibrating the wood of the porch.
Yanking my hand back, I said, “All right. No petting. Got it.”
The moment my hand pulled back, she quieted.
“Why don’t we start with dinner? You’re a lady, right? Like a man to serve you food? That’s a girl thing, isn’t it?”
She cocked her head and sniffed the air.
Did this beast understand me?
Before I could think too long on that, an amused tenor called from across the lawn, “Did you just call her a lady and offer to serve her dinner?”
Theo opened the gate, and Debbie bolted forward. The moment she entered, Cuddles was off the porch and bounding into her arms. The tense détente quickly devolved into giggles and fur rolling across perfectly manicured grass.
I noticed Theo shaking his head and chuckling—but not at Debbie and Cuddles—at me.
“What?” I slowly rose to my feet.
“You and Cuddles . . . on the same porch . . . clothing intact. We need to write this down or take a picture.”
“Right,” was all I got out before he’d climbed the steps, thrown his arms around my neck, and planted a hungry kiss on my lips.
“Ew! Daddy’s kissing a boy,” rang out from behind, causing us both to laugh and look Debbie’s way. Cuddles was on her back enjoying belly rubs, while Debbie peeked up at us, a bright smile scrawled across her tiny face. “Go on. Get ya some, Willie Wee.”
I spat out a laugh, coating Theo in spit.
“Oh, crap, Theo—”
He wheeled about, scrunched up his nose, then shot forward and licked the side of my face from neck to ear.
“Ew!” I said, recoiling.
“You spit on me. A lick is the least you get, buster.”
“You called him buster!” Debbie crooned. “He’s Willie Wee, Dad. C’mon.”
Theo and I laughed as I reached up and wiped his slobber away. “Come on, let’s get Cuddles fed so we can have our own dinner.”