eight | will
EIGHTWill
Emberly changed to go out for dinner. And by changed, I don’t mean she put on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt.
She’s wearing a sleeveless green dress that matches her eyes.
It flares out at the waist and stops about two inches above her knees.
Oh. And it turns out she did bring another pair of shoes with her.
Gold braided leather, with a heel higher than the ones she was wearing this morning.
Her hair is piled on top of her head in the casual knot my sisters favor, but on Emberly, it doesn’t look casual.
She looks like a runway model. Knowing how fast news travels around here, I’m surprised my phone isn’t blowing up with messages from all the guys on Knox’s pond hockey team who play darts at the Grill on Monday nights.
Juni notices Emberly, too. Her ears lift and her tail thumps the ground.
“Dial it back, Juni,” I mutter. “She’s not happy with you.”
As Juni’s owner, I’m guessing she isn’t happy with me, either.
Emberly cautiously descends the stairs and I grab Juni’s collar as she lunges forward, eager to meet her new best friend.
My boots start to slide across the grass. Skijoring minus the skis. “Don’t worry. She’s harmless.”
“Tell that to my brat burger and onion rings.”
The Monday night special. Juni scored big, but it’s going to be a long night when she wakes me up every few hours to go outside.
Emberly doesn’t sound upset, but she isn’t exactly smiling, either.
“Sorry about that. The guests tend to spoil her,” I say. “We’re working on boundaries.”
Have been for years, but no reason to mention that.
Emberly pauses at the bottom of the stairs. “She does look like a wolf.”
Something in her tone dares me to disagree.
I’ve seen wolves and Juni’s features are much more refined, but I’m not going to argue with the woman whose dinner got eaten. I’m not going to mention that wolf sightings are common in this area, either. Not when meeting Otto freaked her out.
Juni whines and I release her collar, confident she won’t knock Emberly over. Thievery aside, she’s a pretty good dog.
She’s also smart. Emberly braces for impact, but Juni stops six inches from Emberly’s feet and sits down. In the light from the porch, I see an onion gleaming in her whiskers.
I expect Emberly to recoil. Run back up the stairs. At the very least, ignore the paw that Juni politely lifts as if she’s trying to impress a judge at the Westminster dog show.
“I hope you enjoyed my dinner, Juniper.”
I watch in disbelief as Emberly not only shakes the greasy paw, she runs her hand through the thick layer of fur that runs down Juni’s back.
I’m suddenly, insanely, jealous of my dog.
I also feel like I should make this right. It’s not like Emberly has access to a kitchen to make herself something else.
And you don’t want her driving back to the Grill, an inner voice teases.
I ignore the inner voice.
“I can make you a pudgy pie,” I hear myself say.
Emberly straightens. “A pudgy what?”
“Pie.”
“Thanks, but I’m not sure I want something sweet this late at night.”
I feel a smile forming and wrestle it down.
“It’s not pie. It’s real food.” Kind of.
Emberly looks skeptical. And intrigued.
And beautiful.
I’m already regretting this, but it’s too late to back out.
“You might want to change your clothes, though.”
Emberly looks puzzled by the suggestion. “Why?”
“I make them over the campfire.”
“The campfire,” she repeats.
“Did you see the firepit down by the waterfront?”
Emberly nods.
“Meet me there in ten minutes.”