Chapter 4
Declan
My phone pings, and when I see the name on my watch screen, I smile, though it doesn’t quite reach my insides.
Supermarket Zara: Hi! It was nice meeting you earlier. Interested in drinks this week?
Supermarket Zara: My hotel’s Urban Blue. That would be great.
Me: Looking forward to it, Zara.
Supermarket Zara: Me too, Declan.
I change her contact name to simply ‘Zara.’ I haven’t been on a date since Austin, which isn’t exactly unusual, but I haven’t even tried since kissing Bree. When I saw her at Hank & Lulu’s earlier, a spark of joy instantly filled me.
Then I met Cal. Her fake boyfriend.
It was so obvious from the petrified look of disgust on the guy’s features as I walked up. He played his part, but not very well. Still, I don’t mess with other men’s partners, fake or not.
So, when I stopped by the grocery store afterward to grab more coffee and waters for my office, Zara from the supermarket was just who I needed to meet. Tall, dark, exotic. She’s in town on business, though she didn’t say what. Looking forward to finding out tonight.
Having parked two blocks over, I head down the sidewalk toward my truck, my steel toe boots shuffling against the concrete.
Traffic is steady since the historical district draws tourists.
Why is it that an image of Bree pops into my head right after I confirm drinks with another woman.
The Austin beauty made it clear that she’s not into me.
Twice, I might add. But the spark of heat in Bree’s eyes at seeing me on the stairwell tells me there’s still something there.
Not that I’m going to do anything about it.
My watch dings again. The Wild Ones.
Wild Ones Text Chain
Ford:
Gunnar:
Brock:
Me: Get to work, assholes.
Ford: Trivia on Tap tonight at Drafthouse West?
Brock: In.
Gunnar: In.
Me: Have a date.
Gunnar: Of course you do.
Brock: Leave our little Romeo alone.
Me: Says the Don Juan who’s probably meeting up with two girls at Trivia on Tap tonight.
Brock: Love that you’re jealous, bro.
Ford: Didn’t want you there anyway.
The sun is still overhead, the air cool as I press the unlock button on my key fob. Just as I open my door, a woman’s voice shrieks right behind me.
“Oh, no! Stop!!”
Then a blur runs by me as tires screech close enough to make me jump. I whip around to find Bree dropping to the ground while the driver of the car hops out.
“Did I hit it?” The stricken look on the gentleman’s face, likely in his sixties, hits me in the gut.
Bree reaches out her hand to the small dog huddling near the car’s tire. “No, thank gawd.” The guy stands in front of his car, waving the traffic on.
The poor thing is shaking visibly, so I walk over and crouch next to the little ball of fluff, a sandy orange puggle mix, from the look of it.
“Hi.” As it sniffs my knee, I unbutton my flannel, and in a calm voice I say, “I am going to hand this to you. We’re going to wrap it in the shirt and carry it into one of these businesses. ”
The thing about Indigo Hills is that it’s full of locally owned businesses. We look out for our own.
Bree slides my shirt around the pup, whose shaking worries me. I’ve never seen a dog that scared. I place my hand on its back, and when it doesn’t growl or bite, I slide my hand underneath its belly and pick it up, quickly wrapping my sleeves around body so that only its head is showing.
The driver who stopped leaves his number in case there’s a problem, and then drives off while I stand on the sidewalk with Bree.
“Bring her in here.”
I don’t pay attention to where I am until I step inside Sun Ridge Records, my buddy from high school’s business. “You work here?” I’m a little confused as I scan the small reception area.
Sun Ridge was built in an old bank building, the old bank vault still intact and serving as the recording studio. Gold records and authographed photos line the wall, evidence that Nash Rivers has come a long way from the football player who played guitar for fun.
“Mhmm. I do. I’m an executive assistant here.” Bree feels along the pup’s neck, the wood floor creaking as she changes positions. “I don’t feel a chip, but we should take her to a vet and get her scanned anyway. I’ll check Maps and see if any are still open.”
I reach out for the dog, Bree’s gaze sliding over my biceps, which flex underneath my white tee. Am I imagining the heat in her eyes?
She heads upstairs while I plop on the ground with the dog, who I realize is an older puppy.
A few months old, maybe. I slowly unwrap the little thing to check her out more thoroughly.
I hold one hand at her chest and slide the other down her spine, checking for signs of pain.
Nothing until I reach her hind leg. She winces and runs off, heading toward the vault door, which leads to the recording studio.
I missed the ribbon-cutting, but Nash gave me a tour after one of the chamber meetings, so at least I know where I am.
“It’s okay. Not gonna hurt you.”
I follow the pup into the studio and find it hiding behind a chair under the soundboard. I sit in the middle of the floor, talking softly. “It’s okay, little thing.”
The lighting in here is more subtle, ambient noise muted from the soundproofing texture on all the walls. The equipment is shining and new, likely state of the art.
“I found a vet about a five-minute drive from here that can scan her for a chip.” Bree steps into the studio, stopping in her tracks about two feet in. “Why are you sitting on the floor in here?”
“Isn’t it obvious, Austin?” I point to the cowering dog, my voice more frustrated than I intend. I soften my tone. “I’m trying to get her to come to me.”
Bree sits close, cross-legged, her tan legs showing a little extra skin as her full skirt rides up. “I’ll be quiet.”
I say nothing, cocking my head and quirking my eyebrow. Her version of quiet would scare a herd of horses. Rolling her eyes, she holds out her hand, motioning to the pup with her index finger. The little thing doesn’t budge, preferring the safety of its dark spot.
For several minutes we try to coax the little thing out of its hiding place, but each time either of us moves close, the pup scoots back against the wall and shakes like we’re trying to hurt it.
I don’t blame her. She was almost hit by a car, and strangers scooped her up and touched a tender spot. That’s why we have to earn her trust.
Bree catches my eye and shrugs her shoulders, mouthing, “What do we do?”
I mouth back, “Give her a little more time.” What I don’t say is that moving the chair out of the way may spook her even more. It sure would be easier to grab her that way, but the poor thing’s been through enough.
Just as I scoot an inch closer, the vault shuts behind us with a loud click, the lights turning off. We’re in pitch darkness.
“What the hell just happened?”
Bree sighs. “It’s protocol for the last person who leaves to close the vault door for the night. The light is on a connected switch with the lock.” Bree’s voice turns all business. “I left my phone in the chair out there with my purse. Can I use yours for the flashlight?”
“Left mine on the seat of my truck, but here’s my watch.”
I undo the clasp, feeling for the side button, and turn on the flashlight app for Bree. She takes the watch, lighting the path to the door, where she pounds several times.
“Hey, Cal. I’m in here. Let me out, please.”
Nothing.
“Cal.” More pounding. “Cal?”
“I don’t think he can hear you, Austin.”
“He has to hear me.”
“That steel door has got to be at least six inches thick. Do you really think anyone can hear us in here?”
“Okay, Mr. Negative. What bright ideas do you have?”
You’d think the glow of my watch would dim her beauty. But no. It highlights her creamy skin, her light brown eyes framed by long, dark lashes. Her cupid’s bow lips pursed, emphasizing their fullness. I do my best to fight the image of those lips crashing into mine.
“Well?”
“Can you call someone?”
She smirks. “Do you really think the Wi-Fi signal reaches in here with the vault door closed?”
Touché, beautiful.
“Oh, wait! There’s a safety release.” Bree shines the light on the wall next to the vault door, behind the regular door that’s used during recording sessions. She presses the button several times, to no avail. “It’s not working.”
“Of course it’s not.” As the words leave my mouth, a cold little nose nuzzles my hand. I scratch the pup’s head. “Look who came to visit.”
Bree shines the light at me and the sweet puppy who’s trying to make sense of all this. Me too, little one.
“When do you think someone will be back to open the door?”
“Eight in the morning.”
Bree sits back down next to me, and I check the bars on my watch. No signal. Fuck.
I’ve never stood up a woman in my life, but even if I get out of here in the next half hour, we still need to get the puppy checked out.
Why don’t I feel worse about this than I do?