Chapter 8
EIGHT
Dutch
A scraping at my door woke me from my snooze on the couch. Ten hours of sleep hadn’t been enough, evidently. I frowned at the dark house. The embers of a fire were the only light in my living room.
I rolled onto my side, wincing at the throb of my ankle. It was miles better than the day before, but I’d still been hobbling around.
Another scratching sound made me sit up.
Just how out in the middle of nowhere was this cottage? Did New York have bears? I patted my leg, but realized my phone was still in my dresser drawer. It had been a long time since I’d instantly wanted to look up an answer to a question.
Hell, a long time since I’d cared enough to have a question.
Annoyed, I laid back down and crossed my arms. I stared at the ceiling, the shadows and moonlight from the window stretching across the shiplap in a dizzying pattern.
Another thump then the tick of nails on the porch had me looking at my front door. Coyote looking for some shelter or food?
Wolves?
Opossum?
I rolled over and faced the back of my couch. Probably that damn dog.
“Not my problem,” I muttered.
But the pacing continued.
“Dammit.” I flipped the blanket off my legs and struggled to my feet, hissing at the dull pain. I padded to the door and looked through the peephole. Sure enough, the dog was pacing across the porch. He walked up to the door and tapped it with his paw, then sat waiting.
Why the hell was he back?
Hadn’t Phoebe taken him with her?
I opened the door, but blocked the threshold when he tried to slip inside. “This isn’t your home.”
He whined and lowered his head before laying in the snow that had drifted onto the porch. He tucked his face between his paws and stared up at me.
“No.”
He huffed then curled himself into a ball, tucking his nose under his tail.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“Dog!” My gaze zeroed on the house across the road. Phoebe was standing in the golden light of her doorway. “You’ve had enough time to do your business! C’mon!” She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders showing only the top half of her face as she stomped her feet.
The wind howled and I stepped back with a gasp. While San Francisco got cold on the foggy days, it was nothing like that brutal wind.
The dog lifted his head, hope in his dark eyes.
“Go on. She’s calling for you.”
He looked over his shoulder then back at me and retucked his nose under his tail.
“You can’t stay out here. You have a perfectly warm spot to hang over there.”
He just tucked himself into a tighter ball.
I tipped my head back. “You’re not coming in.”
The wind whipped up the steps, bringing snow with it. My toes curled at the cold and I stepped back. “You gotta go.”
“Dog!” Phoebe called again in the distance.
“You still don’t have a name?”
The dog picked up his head, giving me a long look, eyes ridiculously forlorn.
“Freaking mouse.”
He stood up, his tail swishing.
“That wasn’t an invitation.”
His head lowered.
“She’s calling for you, Mouse.”
He stepped forward hesitantly.
I nodded toward Phoebe’s house. “That way.” I stepped back and closed the door, my hand still clenched on the doorknob. “Go,” I barked through the door.
I checked the peephole and finally, he slunk back down the stairs.
I forced myself to walk away. He was fine.
Phoebe would make sure he was safe and warm back at her house.
I limped my way to the kitchen and stared into the fridge.
I gulped down some milk as I picked around the shelves for something to eat.
The soup from the day before was packed away in leftover containers, neatly stashed on the top shelf.
Hell.
She’d even put away the soup she’d made for us.
Who the hell was this girl?
Woman.
Definitely a woman. No matter how much I wanted to ignore her, there was no denying she was a fully grown woman who made her own decisions. I reached past the trio of neatly stacked leftover containers for the bag of pepperoni and slammed the door shut before I ripped it open.
After I ate a handful, my belly growled against the pathetic offering.
“Fuck it.”
Annoyed, I opened the fridge again and pulled a soup container out, ripped off the lid, then popped it in the microwave.
Five minutes later, I was dunking bread into the delicious soup.
I ate over the counter like a damn animal, but my stomach stopped twisting with hunger.
I wasn’t sure where the day had gone, but much like my apartment in California, I’d just zoned out for the day overthinking plot points and discarding them.
I tried to make some notes on the limited idea I’d scraped together with the newspaper clippings, but they were halfhearted at best.
I tried music.
I tried silence.
I tried podcasts—nothing sparked any interest.
I sopped up the last of the soup with another hunk of bread and dumped the empty container in the sink. I couldn’t stop myself from checking on the porch one last time. Thankfully there was nothing but a few paw prints fading in the drifting snow.
Good.
He’d gone back to Phoebe where he belonged.
I rubbed at my sternum, annoyed that I worried over a stupid dog that wasn’t even mine. I padded down the hall and flicked on the light in my office.
The little drawing peeking over my power strip had me snapping the light back off.
I didn’t need that woman in my head. Or the look on her face when I scared her.
I raked my fingers through my tangled hair and laced them at the back.
I thought maybe a shower would help.
It did not.
Well, not my head anyway. The hot water relieved the tightness of my ankle and the perpetual ache in my shoulders. Giving up on the day, I crawled into my bed naked and realized my mistake.
I hadn’t changed the sheets.
Wet dog and snow-soaked honey assaulted my senses. I wasn’t sure how snow and honey overlapped one another, but it did.
I flipped onto my back and stared at the ceiling again. The scent of both of them churned me up again.
Mostly her.
Phoebe.
Hell, I didn’t even know her last name. And she only knew mine.
Annoyance burned under the more concerning fascination with the strange woman with too much light in her eyes.
I’d written about darkness for most of my career, but I recognized incandescence when I witnessed it.
It was a rare commodity, but she owned it.
I draped my arm over my eyes, but instead of blocking her out, her face grew clearer. A strong jaw with a chin so stubborn it made my teeth ache. But it was her eyes. Those eyes that spoke of forests and secrets.
Of kindness.
I rolled over onto my stomach and flipped my pillow over my head.
I focused on the wind outside. The creaking branches of the trees above my house—the house. This wasn’t mine. I was on borrowed time and I needed to remember that.
The distant rush of water and ice breaking over the rocks lulled me into sleep. The next time I was aware, sun was slanting in my room.
I really needed to find my blackout curtains.
I pushed the suffocating sheets and pillows away.
In the night, I’d buried myself under them thanks to endless dreams of the lake.
I arched my foot, relieved to feel most of the pain was gone leaving only a bit of stiffness.
I sat on the edge of the bed surprised that my ankle wasn’t the only thing stiff that morning.
I’d been near convinced my dick was as dead as my creativity.
Falling asleep with Phoebe on my mind was probably the culprit.
She was annoyingly sunny, but she was damn beautiful.
And I had no business thinking about her.
I had a book to write. Ignoring my dick, I stripped my bed and dumped the sheets in the washer.
I didn’t need her scent in my head either.
I set it to wash and focused on my morning routine.
My head was so damn chaotic, that I had to start order somewhere.
I got dressed and attacked the boxes I’d been ignoring.
I trashed the box of memorabilia adding some more things that reminded me of Chris.
Unfortunately when my best friend was so thoroughly layered in my life, that meant torching even more than I expected.
By the time I was done, I had a box of the stupid kitchy animal ceramics, half my sports jerseys, and a stack of books. My head felt clearer than it had in months.
Maybe I’d take the lot of them with me into town.
I needed to figure out what I was working with for stores at the very least. I layered up and put my boots on this time. No need to fuck up my ankle again. When I opened the door, there was a familiar ball of white fur on my porch.
“What are you doing here?”
The dog scrambled to his feet, his tail wagging.
I glanced over at Phoebe’s house. The road between our houses had been fully plowed and the winding stairs to her house were cleared. Her truck was parked between her house and another structure that was nearly as large. A work from home situation?
I tried to remember if she told me what she did for a living. Things were a blur from the brain fog and my rageful outburst. God, I was a fuck.
I picked up the box of animal dishes. Maybe a little peace offering was in order. I needed to thank her for the soup at the very least. And more importantly, to lead the dog back to her house.
“C’mon, Mouse.”
His tail wagged as he barked and did a few spins.
I sighed and started down the stairs. He chased me and took off across the road toward the beach before racing back up to me. He hit me in the thigh with his nose, barking happily.
I rolled my eyes.
Undeterred, he raced ahead of me and up the hill toward Phoebe’s house then dove face first into the snow and tunneled through it on his back making a dog version of a snow angel.